Who stole the cattle of the natives, calmly appropriated the choicest bits of valley land without so much as a by-your-leave, and who treated the rightful owners with contempt and as though they had no right to live in the valley where they were born.
"Last week," he went on hotly, "an evil gringo with the clay of his burrowings still upon his garments cursed me and called me greaser because I did not give him all the road for his burro.

I, Jose Pacheco! They had better have a care, or the 'greasers' will drive them back whence they came, like the cattle they are.

When I, a don, must give the road to a gringo lower than the peons whom I flog for less impertinence, it is time we ceased taking them by the hand as though they were our equals!" His eyes went accusingly to the face of the girl.
She flung up her head and met the challenge in her own way, which was with the knife-thrust of her light laughter.

"Ah, the poor Americanos! Not the prayers of all the padres can save them from the blackness of their fate, since Don Jose Pacheco frowns and will not take their hand in friendship! How they will gnash the teeth when they hear the terrible tidings--Jose Pacheco, don and son of a don, will have none of them, nor will he give way to their poor burros on the highway!" She shook her head as she had done over the tragedy of the little cakes.

"Pobre gringos! Pobre gringos!" she murmured mockingly.
"Children, have done!" The hand of the senora went chidingly to the shoulder of her incorrigible daughter.