on the ranch. The Yankee mayordomo can tell you that."
"A tree would tell as much!" Don Abrahan said. "Call Helena."
"She has heard; she is coming. There is her candle in the hall!" Doña Carlota pressed her elbows to her sides, drew her shoulders as if trying to shrink upon herself.
Helena appeared, lifting her candle high to peer beneath it at the intruders upon her midnight peace. The flaring bottom of the candlestick threw a shadow on her face, only her hair coming into the light. She was draped in a long, dark, voluminous cloak, her arms bare in its wide sleeves, the white frill of her nightdress peeping at her throat out of its austere envelopment.
"It is a late hour for a visit, Don Abrahan, Roberto," she said, looking from one to the other in questioning surprise. "I heard horsemen in my patio. What does it mean?"
"We have come to you for a man who has run away from a debt, like a thief," Don Abrahan replied. "Your mayordomo is hiding him on your ranch, I have been told. It is to your authority I appeal, as a magistrate of the law, Helena, to compel the delivery of this fugitive alien into our hands."
"My mayordomo is only obeying my orders," Helena replied.
She placed her candle on the deep window-sill, gathering her cloak closer about her neck, standing
