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space in the circle!
    Bernardo’s pony spun in the opposite direction and tried to cut him off. The best he could do was land one solid whack! on Juan’s back before the vaquero skidded to a safe stop in the circle. Juan laughed like a maniac as he rubbed his back. “Only a sweet caress!” he called.
    Carter was so excited that he shook Stackpole as he spoke, hurrying the translation: “He says that this is polo if the players used each other as the ball!”
    Now it was Bernardo’s turn to look worried. The vaqueros whooped and called out to him, facing in again with their hands ready. Diego, mounted on a spotted Indian pony, chuckled at the thought of Bernardo getting a few whacks. But then suddenly Bernardo thrust the bamboo into Diego’s hand.
    Diego tugged on the reins, and his pony reared back, then tore into a gallop. Diego turned inside Bernardo and stayed between him and the circle. They passed the empty place in the circle over and over as Diego swung the bamboo in whistling circles. Ducking, changing pace, Bernardo avoided all but a few of the blows. “You’ll get it now,” Diego shouted. He rode up close to whack the daylights out of poor Bernardo, but no! Bernardo leaped completely out of the saddle, holding only the big horn and the flared cantle. He was pulled along on the far side of the galloping pony with bounding steps. The bamboo flailed against the saddle as Diego tried to catch one of Bernardo’s hands and dislodge him.
    Now the space in the circle was approaching again. Bernardo waited until Diego finished one swing andleaped into the saddle, pulling his pony into a skidding slide. Diego galloped past, and Bernardo walked the pony into the circle to the cheers of the vaqueros and Diego’s moans. Now it was his turn to fret.
    They played until the sun went down and the riders were only blurs. Then Scar gave a deafening whistle and they all rode to the hitching rail, laughing like children. The beaten and beaters laughed together, not a moment of resentment. They were vaqueros and, rough as it was, this was their game.
    â€œClean up, you filthy cowmen!” Estafina shouted, and they lined up at the stone troughs with their thirsty horses, perching their hats and neckerchiefs on their saddle horns to scrub up.
    The vaqueros had begun to load tin plates with barbecue when Doña Regina appeared on the veranda. “Gentlemen!” she called. “Dinner is waiting in the dining room.”
    Captain Carter would have been delighted with the hearty fare around the barbecue fire. He had been confined for months aboard his small vessel, so anything but a tin plate of dried peas would have looked wonderful. When he saw the dining room, it seemed like a view of heaven. The table glowed with a dozen candles, silver serving dishes and tableware, lace tableclothsand—as always—the striking beauty of Doña Regina. Her thick black hair was swept up and held with tortoiseshell combs. A smile from her high-boned, bronze face seemed to leap out, white and dazzling.
    The captain had won the doña’s favor by bringing her a printed silk shawl of green and blue, as intense as a peacock’s feathers. He was scrupulously polite, but shy and awkward with his beautiful hostess. Stackpole’s uniform was clean, though a bit frayed at the sleeves. He carried himself with quiet courtesy that showed he had been a guest at gracious tables before. Padre Mendoza, charming and warm as always, discovered that he liked these Yankee sailors.
    Estafina was in the kitchen now. She had worried all day when she learned that she would be cooking for two foreigners. The honor of the Spanish Empire and all of California weighed heavily on her shoulders. She was especially wicked to all of her helpers, and her voice rose hourly.
    The fragrant dishes were brought in. Don Alejandro carved a young goat perfectly roasted with raisins and rosemary. It was surrounded by