"
"That would be disobeying your husband," I said, trying to look stern.
"Never mind, I will confess it all to the priest some day, then it
will be as if it had never happened. Such a husband--poof! If you were
not a married man--_are_ you married? What a pity! Say again, am
I pretty?"
"Say first, Cleta, have you a horse a woman can ride on, and if you
have one, will you sell it to me?"
"Oh, yes, the best horse in the Banda Oriental. They say it is worth
six dollars--will you buy it for six dollars? No, I shall not sell
it--I shall not tell you that I have a horse till you answer me. Am
I pretty, sir stranger?"
"Tell me first about the horse, then ask me what you like."
"Nothing more will I tell you--not a word. Yes, everything. Listen.
When Antonio comes back, ask him to sell you a horse for your wife to
ride. He will try to sell you one of his own, a demon full of faults
like his master; false-footed, lame in the shoulder, a roarer, old as
the south wind. A black piebald--remember. Offer to buy a roan with
a cream nose. That is my horse. Offer him six dollars. Now say, am I
pretty?"
"Oh, beautiful, Cleta; your eyes are stars, your mouth is a rosebud,
sweeter than honey a thousand times."
"Now you talk like a wise man," she laughed; then, holding my hand,
she led me to the tree and sat down by my side on the _poncho_.
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