"But those boy he don' pay some attention. Hee's give beeg
smile to thees _senorita_, beeg smile to thees one, beeg smile to that
one, beeg smile for all the mama, but for the _querida_ I tell to you
Don Miguel hee's pretty parteecular. I theenk to myself--Carolina,
too--'Look here, Pablo. What he ees the matter weeth those boy? I
theenk mebbeso those boy she's goin' be old bach. What's the matter
here? When I am twenty-eight _anos_ my oldes' boy already hee's bust
one bronco'." Here Pablo paused to scratch his head. "But now," he
resumed, "by the blood of those devil I know sometheeng!"
"What do you know, you squidgy-nosed old idol, you?" Parker demanded,
with difficulty repressing his laughter.
"I am ol' man," Pablo answered with just the correct shade of
deprecation, "but long time ago I have feel like my _corazon_--my
heart--goin' make barbecue in my belly. I am in love. I know. Nobody
can fool me. An' those boy, Don Miguel, I tell you, _senor_, hee's
crazy for love weeth the Senorita Kay."
Parker crooked his finger, and in obedience to the summons Pablo
approached the bench.
"How do you know all this, Pablo?"
Let us here pause and consider. In the summer of 1769 a dashing,
care-free Catalonian soldier in the company of Don Gaspar de Portola,
while swashbuckling his way around the lonely shores of San Diego Bay,
had encountered a comely young squaw.
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