you, Father, thank you."

Now, Esteban thought, all I have to do is work hard enough to buy a pony of my own to go with this fine saddle, and maybe work twice as hard and buy a pony and saddle for Arturo.

Instead of watching the Indian games that were played next, a form of ice hocky played on land, Arturo and Esteban, who was carrying his saddle over his back, walked toward the men's bunk house in the light of the setting sun.

Esteban spoke as he splashed water over his face, arms and chest to wash away the dust and grime of the afternoon's activities. "I told you I would win me a prize and I did."

"Yes, that is so," the other Indian agreed.

"Now all I have to do is win me another prize and that is . . . you." He brought water up to his face.

"Perhaps you have won me already."

Esteban looked up, water running from his face, as if he could not believe what he had heard. Then his lips stretched back into a wide grin revealing his white teeth. Arturo took one look at the grinning face and then glanced down at the ground, mounding the dust up into a little pile with his foot. "Go and get me something to eat. I am hungry.'

Arturo looked up. "I did not say I was yours yet, to order about. I am hungry too. We will both eat."

The Mission grounds were lit up that night by the flames of many torches. An Indian band was playing Spanish pieces and ravishingly beautiful senoritas were dancing about on a stage, clicking their castinets and swirling their petticoats beneath their green and scarlet dresses. Sequins sparkled in the firelight, guitars strummed, and high heeled slippers stamped upon the wooden boards.

The two Indians sat beneath a pepper tree whose long hanging branches swayed gently in the evening air. Esteban sat on the ground and leaned back against his saddle and Arturo squatted drawing strange Indian designs among the dead leaves. All was not dark here for a nearby bonfire gave off enough light to see by. "I am glad you won something today," said Arturo.

"And I am glad you are glad, little one."

"Why do you call me 'little one'? We are both short and of the same size?" "I call you 'little one' as I would call it to a swallow or a dove. They were meant to be handled gently and not to be harmed and that is how I feel for you." The music in the background took a wide change now as drums throbbed and shakers were shook and sticks rattled. Semi-nude Indian men and maidens leaped and twisted in the sensual, primitive rhythms of their ancestors while the crowd looked on. Firelight gleamed against the slippery wet backs of the male dancers, and the smooth hips and fine legs of the females. Their breasts swayed in time with their shoulders and they arched themselves in graceful backbends. The men fell to their knees and clasped the girls about their bare waists. They slunk like panthers, swayed like flowers upon a stem, they stretched like snakes. And the music grew more intense, fiery and passionate.

Esteban and Arturo knew what the drums spoke of, for though they had been raised within the Mission's confines, their parents had taught them on the side, a little of their race's religion.

Arturo moved his hand over the ground and across the fallen leaves until his fingertips touched Esteban's thigh. Then his hand was seized by Esteban and pressed hard against his thigh.

one