"Well, friend Faustino, from something you said before setting out, I
take it you're going to Don Gregorio's on an errand very similar to my
own? Come, _camarado_! declare it!"
"Declare yours!"
"Certainly. I shall make no secret of it to you; nor need I. Why
should there be any between us? We've now known one another long
enough, and intimately enough, to exchange confidences of the closest
kind. To-day mine is--that I mean proposing to Don Gregorio's
daughter--offering her my hand in marriage."
"And I," returns Calderon, "intend doing the same to his
grand-daughter."
"In that case, we're both in the same boat; and, as there's no rivalry
between us, we can pull pleasantly together. I've no objection to being
your uncle; even admitting you to a share in the old Spaniard's
property--proportioned to your claims of kinship."
"I don't want a dollar of the Don's money; only his grand-daughter. I'm
deeply in love with her."
"And I," continues De Lara, "am just as deeply in love with his
daughter--it may be deeper."
"You couldn't. I'm half-mad about Inez Alvarez. I could kill her--if
she refuse me."
"I _shall_ kill Carmen Montijo--if she refuse _me_." The two men are
talking seriously, or seem so. Their voices, the tone, the flashing of
their eyes, the expression upon their faces, with their excited
gesticulation--all show them to be in earnest.
At the last outburst of passionate speech they turn in their saddles,
and look each other in the face. De Lara continues the dialogue:
"Now, tell me, Faustino; what hope have you of success?"
"For that, fair enough. You remember the last _fandango_ held at Don
Gregorio's--on the day of the cattle-branding!"
"Certainly I do. I've good reason to remember it. But go on."
"Well, that night," proceeds Calderon, "I danced twice with Inez, and
made many sweet speeches to her. Once I went farther, and squeezed her
pretty little hand. She wasn't angry, or at all events didn't say or
show it. Surely, after such encouragement, I may ask that hand in
marriage--with fair presumption of not being refused. What's your
opinion?"
"Your chances seem good. But what about himself. He'll have something
to say in the matter."
"Too much, I fear; and that's just what I do fear. So long as his bit
of grazing-land was worth only some thirty thousand dollars, he was
amiable enough. Now that by this gold discovery it's got to be good
value for eight or ten times the amount, he's become a different man,
and in all likelihood will go dead against me."
"Like enough; it's the way of the world. And therefore, on that
account, you needn't have a special spite against the Senor Montijo.
You're sure no one else stands between you and your sweetheart? Or is
there something in the shape of a rival?"
"Of course there is--a score of them, as you ought to know; same as with
yourself, De Lara. Suitors have been coming and going with both, I
suppose, ever since either was old enough to receive them. The last
I've heard of paying attentions to Inez is a young naval officer--a
midshipman on board a British man-of-war now lying in the harbour.
Indeed there are two of them spoken of; one said to be _your_ rival, as
the other is mine. Shall I tell you what's been for some time the talk
of the town? You may as well know it, if you don't already."
"What?" asks the Creole, excitedly.
"Why, that the one represented as your competitor has cut out all
Carmen's other admirers--yourself among the rest."
Bitter words to the ear of Francisco de Lara, bringing the red colour to
his cheeks, as if they had been smitten by a switch. With eyes
flashing, and full of jealous fire, he exclaims:
"If that be so, I'll do as I've said--"
"Do what?"
"_Kill Carmen Montijo_! I swear it. I'm in earnest, Calderon, and mean
it. If it be as you've heard, I'll surely kill her. I've the right to
her life--by her giving me the right to her love."
"But did she do that? Has she ever confessed to loving you?"
"Not in words, I admit. But there are other signs of assent strong as
speech, or the hand-squeezings you speak of. Carmen Montijo may be
cunning. Some call her a coquette. All I know is, that she has led me
to believe she loved me; and if she's been playing a false game, she
shall rue it, one way or the other. This day I'm determined to
ascertain the truth, by offering her my hand, as I've said, and asking
hers. If she refuse it, then I'll know how things stand, and take steps
for squaring accounts between us. She shall find that Frank Lara is not
the sort of man to let one of womankind either laugh at, or play tricks
with him."
"I admire your spirit, _amigo_. I catch courage from it, and will
imitate your action. If it turn out that Inez has been trifling with
me, I'll--well, we must first find what answer there is for us; which we
shall, I suppose, soon after ascending yonder hill. One of us may be
accepted, the other rejected. In that case, one will be happy, the
other wretched. Or both may be accepted, and then we'll both be
blessed. Taking things at their worst, and that we both get refused--
what then? Despair, and a speedy end, I suppose?"
"The last, if you like, but not the first. When despair comes to Frank
Lara, death will come along with it, of soon after. But we waste time
talking; let us forward and learn our fate!"
With stroke of spur, urging their horses into a gallop, the two hasten
on; in the countenances of both a cast showing them half-hopeful,
half-doubting--such as may be seen when men are about to make some
desperate attempt, with uncertainty as to the result. On Calderon's,
notwithstanding his assumed levity, the expression is almost despairing;
on that of De Lara it is more defiant and demon-like.