"DOWN, DOGS!"
Notwithstanding her apparent _sang-froid_, and the presence of mind she
surely possesses, the rider of Lolita is affrighted--far more than the
vultures, that have soared higher at her approach.
And no wonder that she is affrighted at such a strange apparition--the
head of a man, with a dark moustache on his lip, holding in his hand a
blade that shows blood upon it! This, too, in such a solitary place!
Her first thought is to turn Lolita's head and hurry off from the spot.
Then a reflection stays her. The man is evidently alone, and the
expression on his countenance is neither that of villainy nor anger.
The colour of his skin, with the moustache, bespeak him a white man, and
not an Indian. Besides, there is pallor upon his cheeks--a wan, wasted
look, that tells of suffering, not sin.
All this the quick eye of the huntress takes in at a glance, resolving
her how to act. Instead of galloping away she urges the mustang on
towards the yucca.
When close up to it she flings herself out of the saddle, and, whip in
hand, rushes up to the hounds, that are still giving tongue and
threatening to spring upon the stranger.
"_Abajo, perros! abajo, feos_!" (Down, dogs! down, you ugly brutes!)
"_A tierra_!" she continues to scold, giving each a sharp cut that at
once reduces them to quiescence, causing them to cower at her feet. "Do
you not see the mistake you have made?" she goes on addressing the dogs;
"don't you see the caballero is not an Indio? It is well, sir!" she
adds, turning to the caballero, "well that your skin is white. Had it
been copper-coloured, I'm not certain I could have saved you from
getting it torn. My pets are not partial to the American aboriginal."
During these somewhat bizarre speeches and the actions that accompany
them, Frank Hamersley--for it is he--stands staring in silent wonder.
What sees he before him? Two huge, fierce-looking dogs, a horse oddly
caparisoned, a young girl, scarce a woman, strangely and picturesquely
garbed. What has he heard? First, the loud baying of two bloodhounds,
threatening to tear him to pieces; then a voice, sweet and musical as
the warbling of a bird!
Is it all a dream?
Dreaming he had been, when aroused by the growling of the dogs. But
that was a horrid vision. What he now sees is the very reverse. Demons
had been assaulting him in his sleep. Now there is an angel before his
eyes.
The young girl has ceased speaking; and as the vertigo, caused by his
sudden uprising, has cleared away from his brain, he begins to believe
in the reality of the objects around him.
The shock of surprise has imparted a momentary strength that soon
passes; and his feebleness once more returning, he would fall back to
the earth did he not clutch hold of the yucca, whose stiff blades
sustain him.
"_Valga me Dios_!" exclaims the girl, now more clearly perceiving his
condition. "_Ay de mi_!" she repeats in a compassionate tone, "you are
suffering, sir? Is it hunger? Is it thirst? You have been lost upon
the Llano Estacado?"
"Hunger, thirst--both, senorita," he answers, speaking for the first
time. "For days I have not tasted either food or drink."
"_Virgen santissima_! is that so?"
As she says this she returns to her horse; and, jerking a little wallet
from the saddle, along, with a suspended gourd, again advances towards
him.
"Here, senor!" she says, plunging her hand into the bag and bringing
forth some cold _tortillas_, "this is all I have; I've been the whole
day from home, and the rest I've eaten. Take the water first; no doubt
you need that most. I remember how I suffered myself. Mix some of this
with it. Trust me, it will restore your strength."
While speaking she hands him the gourd, which, by its weight, contains
over a pint; and then from another and smaller one she pours some liquid
first into the water and then over the tortillas. It is vinegar, in
which there is an infusion of _chile Colorado_.
"Am I not robbing you?" inquires Hamersley, as he casts a significant
glance over the wide, sterile plain.
"No, no! I am not in need, besides I have no great way to go to where I
can get a fresh supply. Drink, senor, drink it all."
In ten seconds after the calabash is empty.
"Now eat the tortillas. 'Tis but poor fare, but the _chili vinagre_
will be sure to strengthen you. We who dwell in the desert know that."
Her words proved true, for after swallowing a few morsels of the bread
she has besprinkled, the famished man feels as if some restorative
medicine had been administered to him.
"Do you think you are able to ride?" she asks.
"I can walk--though, perhaps, not very far."
"If you can ride there is no need for your walking. You can mount my
mare; I shall go afoot. It is not very far--only six miles."
"But," protests he, "I must not leave this spot."
"Indeed!" she exclaims, turning upon her _protege_ a look of surprise.
"For what reason, senor? To stay here would be to perish. You have no
companions to care for you?"
"I have companions--at least, one. That is why I must remain. Whether
he may return to assist me I know not. He has gone off in search of
water. In any case, he will be certain to seek for me."
"But why should you stay for him?"
"Need you ask, senorita? He is my comrade, true and faithful. He has
been the sharer of my dangers--of late no common ones. If he were to
come back and find me gone--"
"What need that signify, caballero? He will know where to come after
you."
"How should he know?"
"Oh, that will be easy enough. Leave it to me. Are you sure he will
find his way back to this place?"
"Quite sure. This tree will guide him. He arranged it so before
leaving."
"In that case, there's not any reason for your remaining. On the
contrary. I can see that you need a better bed than sleeping among
these sage-plants. I know one who will give it. Come with me,
caballero? By the time your comrade can get back there'll be one here
to meet him. Lest he should arrive before the messenger I shall send,
this will save him from going astray."
While speaking she draws forth a small slip of paper from a pouch
carried _a la chatelaine_; along with it a pencil. She is about to
write, when a thought restrains her.
"Does your comrade understand Spanish?" she asks.
"Only a word or two. He speaks English, or, as we call it, American."
"Can he read?"
"Indifferently. Enough, I suppose, for--"
"Senor," she says, interrupting him, "I need not ask if you can write.
Take this, and put it in your own language. Say you are gone south, due
south, to a distance of about six miles. Tell your friend to stay here
till some one comes to meet and conduct him to where you'll be found."
Hamersley perceives the rationality of these instructions. There is no
reason why he should not do as desired, and go at once with her who
gives them. By staying some mischance might still happen, and he may
never see his fair rescuer again. Who can tell what may arise in the
midst of that mysterious desert? By going he will the sooner be able to
send succour to his comrade.
He hesitates no longer, but writes upon the piece of paper--in large,
carefully-inscribed letters, so that the _ci-devant_ Ranger need have no
difficulty in deciphering them:--
"Saved by an Angel.--Strike due south. Six miles from this you will
find me. There is a horse, and you can take up his tracks. If you stay
here for a time, one will come and guide you."
The huntress takes the paper from his hand, and glances at the writing,
as if out of curiosity to read the script of a language unknown to her.
But something like a smile playing around her lips might lead one to
believe she has divined the meaning of at least the initial sentence.
She makes no remark, but stepping towards the yucca and reaching up,
impales the piece of paper on one of its topmost spikes.
"Now, caballero," she says, "you mount my mare. See, she stands ready
for you."
Hamersley again protests, saying he can walk well enough.
But his tottering steps contradict him, and he urges his objections in
vain.
The young girl appealingly persists, until at length the gallantry of
the Kentuckian gives way, and he climbs reluctantly into the saddle.
"Now, Lolita!" cries her mistress, "see that your step is sure, or you
shan't have the pinons I promised you. _Adelante! Nos vamos, senor_!"
So saying, she strikes off through the sage, the mustang stepping by her
side, and the two great hounds, like a rear guard, bringing up behind.