He named not the senorita! Eh, what would you?
It is the common cackle of the barnyard.

But I say 'Mees Silsbee.' For look you.

There is a Silsbee of Sacramento, the daughter of her aunt, who writes letters to her.

Pepita has seen them! And possibly it is only that Mees of whom the brigand Pedro boasts." "Possibly," said Clarence, "but as far as this rancho is concerned, friend Nascio, thou wilt understand--and I look to thee to make the others understand--that there is no Senorita SILSBEE here, only the Senorita PEYTON, the respected daughter of the senora thy mistress!" He spoke with the quaint mingling of familiarity and paternal gravity of the Spanish master--a faculty he had acquired at El Refugio in a like vicarious position, and which never failed as a sign of authority.

"And now," he added gravely, "get out of this, friend, with God's blessing, and see that thou rememberest what I told thee." The retainer, with equal gravity, stepped backwards, saluted with his sombrero until the stiff brim scraped the floor, and then solemnly withdrew.
Left to himself, Clarence remained for an instant silent and thoughtful before the oven-like hearth.