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Until the coming of the Americans, indeed, these people led a life of ease and quiet, in the midst of the fullest abundance of everything they could desire. Kind-hearted and hospitable, their houses were always open to strangers, who were worthy of their confidences. Their lives were spent indeed in idleness for in this climate and with this soil, but little was demanded of them. The Indian population furnished them with their servants, and their time was passed in those amusement which their fathers had brought with them from old Spain. Then came our countrymen, who robbed their ranchos, seized their lands and drove them to the wall. At the very time Don Juan was showing this unbounded hospitality to a party of American strangers who had no claim upon him, several of whom could not even speak his language, his son arrived one morning from one of his ranchos on the other side of the line, ninety miles distant, having ridden in on a single horse, in one night, to announce to his father that Walker’s company of filibusters had killed the cattle, driven off the horses, and perfectly … [next]
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