[Frontier Stories by Bret Harte]@TWC D-Link bookFrontier Stories PROLOGUE 43/424
"It is at your disposition, _caballeros_," he repeated, leading the way as his guests passed into the corridor. Two hours passed.
The hills were darkening on their eastern slopes; the shadows of the few poplars that sparsedly dotted the dusty highway were falling in long black lines that looked like ditches on the dead level of the tawny fields; the shadows of slowly moving cattle were mingling with their own silhouettes, and becoming more and more grotesque.
A keen wind rising in the hills was already creeping from the _canada_ as from the mouth of a funnel, and sweeping the plains.
Antonio had forgathered with the servants, had pinched the ears of the maids, had partaken of _aguardiente_, had saddled the mules,--Antonio was becoming impatient. And then a singular commotion disturbed the peaceful monotony of the patriarchal household of Don Juan Briones.
The stagnant courtyard was suddenly alive with _peons_ and servants, running hither and thither. The alleys and gardens were filled with retainers.
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