Hamersley lies pondering on what he has seen and heard, more especially
on what he has overheard--that sweet soliloquy. Few men are insensible
to flattery. And flattery from fair lips! He must be indeed near death
whose heart-pulsations it does not affect.
But Don Prospero! Who is he? Is he the owner of the voice heard in
dialogue with Walt Wilder? May he be the owner of all? This thought
troubles the Kentuckian.
Approaching footsteps put a stop to his conjectures. There are voices
outside, one of them the same late sounding so sweetly in his ears. The
other is a man's, but not his who was conversing with Wilder. Nor is it
that of the ex-Ranger himself. It is Don Prospero, who soon after
enters the room, the lady leading the way.
A man of nigh sixty years of age, spare form and face, hair grizzled,
cheeks wrinkled; withal hale and hearty, as can be told by the pleasant
sparkle of his eye. Dressed in a semi-military suit, of a subdued tint,
and facings that tell of the medical staff.
At a glance there is no danger in Don Prospero. The invalid feels
easier, and breathes freely.
"Glad to see you looking so well," says Don Prospero, taking hold of his
patient's wrist and trying the pulse. "Ah! much more regular; it will
be all right now. Keep quiet, and we shall soon get you on your feet
again. Come, senor! A little more of this grape-juice will do you no
harm. Nothing like our New Mexican wine for bringing back a sick man to
his appetite. After that, we shall give you some wild-turkey broth and
a bone to pick. In a day or two you'll be able to eat anything."
Other personages are now approaching the chamber. The lady glides out,
calling,--
"Valerian!"
"Who is Valerian?" feebly interrogates the invalid. Once more the name
of a man is making him unhappy.
"Don Valerian!" responds the doctor, in a tone that tells of respect for
the individual so designated; "you shall see, senor. You are about to
make his acquaintance. No; I am wrong about that. I forgot. You
cannot now."
"Cannot! Why?"
"Because you have made it already. _Mira_! He is there!"
This as a tall, elegant man, under thirty years of age, steps inside the
chamber, while a still taller form appears in the doorway, almost
filling up the space between the posts.
The latter is Walt Wilder, but the former--who is he? Don Valerian, of
course!
"Colonel Miranda!" exclaims Hamersley, starting up on his couch. He has
already dismissed all suspicious fears of Don Prospero; and now he no
longer dreads Valerian.
"Colonel Miranda, is it you?"
"It is, _mio amigo_, myself, as you see. And I need not tell you how
glad I am to meet you again. So unexpected in this queer quarter, where
I little hoped to have the pleasure of entertaining an old friend. Our
worthy doctor here informs us you will soon get strong again, and become
more of a tax on my hospitality than you have yet been. No doubt, after
your illness, you'll have the appetite of an ostrich. Well, in one way,
that will be fortunate, since we are living, as you may see, in a
somewhat Homeric fashion. _Carrambo_! you will be deeming my manners
quite as rude as the roughest of Homer's heroes. I am forgetting to
introduce you to one of whom you've heard me speak. Though it don't so
much signify, since the lady has made your acquaintance already. Permit
me to present my dear Adela."
It is the beautiful huntress who steps forward to be introduced, now
looking more beautiful than ever.
To Hamersley all is explained by her presence. He remembers the
portrait upon the wall, which accounts for his fancy of having seen her
face before.
He sees it now; his wonder giving way to an intense, ardent admiration.
Soon, the young lady retiring, his curiosity comes back, and he asks his
host for an explanation. How came Colonel Miranda there, and why? By
what sinister combination of circumstances has the military commandant
of Albuquerque made his home in the midst of a howling wilderness, for
such is the Llano Estacado?
Despite the smiling oasis immediately surrounding it, it cannot have
been choice. No. Chance, or rather mischance, must have led to this
change in the affairs of his New Mexican acquaintance. More than an
acquaintance--a friend who stood by him in the hour of danger, first
courageously protecting, then nobly volunteering to act as his second in
a duel; afterwards taking him on to his home and showing him
hospitality, kind as was ever extended to a stranger in a strange land.
No wonder Frank Hamersley holds him dear. Dearer now, after seeing his
sister _in propria persona_--she whose portrait had so much impressed
his fancy--the impression now deepened by the thought that to her he has
been indebted for his life.
Naturally enough, the young Kentuckian is desirous of knowing all, and
is anxious about the fortunes of his Mexican friend, that for the time
seem adverse.
"No," is Colonel Miranda's response to his appeal. "Not now, Senor Don
Francisco. Our good doctor here places an embargo on any further
conversation for the present. The tale I have to tell might too much
excite you. Therefore let it rest untold till you are stronger and more
able to hear it rehearsed. Now, _amigo_, we must leave you alone, or
rather, I should say, in the best of good company, for such has your
worthy comrade, the Senor Wilder, proved himself to be. No doubt you'll
be anxious to have a word with one who, while your life was in danger,
would have sacrificed his own to save it. Don Prospero permits him to
remain with you and give such explanations as you may need. The rest of
us are to retire. _Hasta luega_." So saying, Miranda steps out of the
room. "Keep perfectly quiet," adds the ex-army surgeon, preparing to
follow. "Don't excite yourself by any act or thought that may cause a
return of the fever. For in that lies your greatest danger. Feel
confident, _caballero_, that you're in the company of friends. Don
Gaulterio here will be able to convince you of that. Ah! senor, you've
a nurse who feels a great interest in seeing you restored to health."
Pronouncing these last words in undertone and with an accent of
innuendo, accompanied by a smile which the invalid pleasantly
interprets, Don Prospero also retires, leaving his patient alone with
his old caravan guide.
Drawing one of the chairs up to the side of the bed, the ex-Ranger sits
down upon it, saying,--
"Wal, Frank, ain't it wonderful? That we shed both be hyar, neested
snug an' comfortable as two doons in the heart of a hollow tree, arter
all the dangersome scrapes we've been passin' through. Gheehorum! To
think o' thar bein' sech a sweet furtile place lyin' plum centre in the
innermost recesses o' the Staked Plain, whar we purairey men allers
believed thar wun't nothin' 'ceptin' dry desert an' stinkin' sage-bush.
Instead, hyar's a sort o' puradise aroun' us, sech as I used read o'
when I war a youngster in the big Book. Thar's the difference, that in
the Gardin o' Eeden thar's but one woman spoken of; hyar thar's two, one
o' which you yurself hev called a angel, an' ye hain't sayed anythin'
beyont the downright truth. She air a angel, if iver thar was sech on
airth. Now, not detractin' anythin' from her merits, thar's another
near hand--somewhat of a smaller sort, though jest as much, an' a little
bit more, to my likin'. Ye won't mind my declarin' things that way. As
they say in Mexican Spanish, _cadder uner a soo gooster_ (cada una a su
gusto), every one to his own way o' thinkin', so my belief air that in
this. Gardin o' Eeden thar air two Eves, one o' which, not countin' to
be the mother o' all men, will yit, supposin' this chile to hev his way,
be the mother o' a large family o' young Wilders."
While Hamersley is still smiling at the grotesque prognostication, the
ex-Ranger, seizing hold of his hand, continues,--
"I'm so glad you're a goin' to rekiver. Leavin' out the angels we love,
ther'll be some chance to git square wi' the devils we've sech reezun to
hate. We may yit make them pay dear for the bloody deed they've done in
the murderin' o' our innercent companyuns."
"Amen to that," mutters Hamersley, returning the squeeze of his
comrade's hand with like determined pressure. "Sure as I live, it shall
be so."