On arriving at the rancho, the
vaqueros scattered among the _jacals_ of their _amigos_, while June and
myself were welcomed at the _casa primero_. There we found Uncle Lance
partaking of refreshment, and smoking a cigarette as though he had been
born a Senor Don of some ruling hacienda. June and I were seated at
another table, where we were served with coffee, wafers, and home-made
cigarettes. This was perfectly in order, but I could hardly control
myself over the extravagant Spanish our employer was using in expressing
the amity existing between Santa Maria and Las Palomas. In ordinary
conversation, such as cattle and ranch affairs, Uncle Lance had a good
command of Spanish; but on social and delicate topics some of his
efforts were ridiculous in the extreme. He was well aware of his
shortcomings, and frequently appealed to me to assist him. As a boy my
playmates had been Mexican children, so that I not only spoke Spanish
fluently but could also readily read and write it. So it was no surprise
to me that, before taking our departure, my employer should command
my services as an interpreter in driving an entering wedge. He was
particular to have me assure our host and hostess of his high regard for
them, and his hope that in the future even more friendly relations might
exist between the two ranches.
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