A Nation of Shepherds. Donald L. Lucero

money’s no good here,” Juan responded. “You’re my guest, and while you’re here you’ll pay nothing.”

      In the lean-to-kitchen, built of poles and cornstalks that stood against an outside wall of the placita, Juan worked to start a small fire and the group enjoyed its warmth.

      The Robledo children were roused from bed by the smell of food, and by the pungent scent of a brushwood fire. They appeared in the doorway, cold, stiff, matted, and looking waif-like. They continued to stand in the doorway, appearing shy and unsure of these people whose home they had taken, and holding themselves apart from Maria and from the Penol children who also seemed shy. A litter of puppies occupying a den beneath the house provided a catalyst for play, and the children soon began to warm to one another.

      Juan’s wife, Maria de Anahuac, who was there to receive the Robledos, was decidedly the mistress of the household. An individual of perhaps 30 years of age, she had a remarkable presence. Her small face, prominent nose, high cheekbones, and wide forehead were of a reddish-brown hue approaching cinnamon in color. She had straight black and exceedingly glossy hair. Her most arresting feature was her eyes, each of which seemed to be directed towards the bridge of her nose. The Robledo children were afraid of her for she looked like no one they had ever seen.