There are no sluggards on a Texan plantation. The daybreak begins the
day; and the bell, conch, or cow-horn, that summons the dark-skinned
proletarians to their toil, is alike the signal for their master to
forsake his more luxurious couch.
Such was the custom of Casa del Corvo under its original owners: and the
fashion was followed by the family of the American planter--not from any
idea of precedent, but simply in obedience to the suggestions of Nature.
In a climate of almost perpetual spring, the sweet matutinal moments
are not to be wasted in sleep. The _siesta_ belongs to the hours of
noon; when all nature appears to shrink under the smiles of the solar
luminary--as if surfeited with their superabundance.
On his reappearance at morn the sun is greeted with renewed joy. Then
do the tropical birds spread their resplendent plumage--the flowers
their dew-besprinkled petals--to receive his fervent kisses. All nature
again seems glad, to acknowledge him as its god.
Resplendent as any bird that flutters among the foliage of south-western
Texas--fair as any flower that blooms within it--gladdest was she who
appeared upon the housetop of Casa del Corvo.
Aurora herself, rising from her roseate couch, looked not fresher than
the young Creole, as she stood contemplating the curtains of that very
couch, from which a Texan sun was slowly uplifting his globe of burning
gold.
She was standing upon the edge of the azotea that fronted towards the
east; her white hand resting upon the copestone of the parapet still wet
with the dews of the night, under her eyes was the garden, enclosed
within a curve of the river; beyond the bluff formed by the opposite
bank; and further still, the wide-spreading plateau of the prairie.
Was she looking at a landscape, that could scarce fail to challenge
admiration? No.
Equally was she unconscious of the ascending sun; though, like some fair
pagan, did she appear to be in prayer at its apprising!
Listened she to the voices of the birds, from garden and grove swelling
harmoniously around her?
On the contrary, her ear was not bent to catch any sound, nor her eye
intent upon any object. Her glance was wandering, as if her thoughts
went not with it, but were dwelling upon some theme, neither present nor
near.
In contrast with the cheerful brightness of the sky, there was a shadow
upon her brow; despite the joyous warbling of the birds, there was the
sign of sadness on her cheek.
She was alone. There was no one to take note of this melancholy mood,
nor inquire into its cause.
The cause was declared in a few low murmured words, that fell, as if
involuntarily, from her lips.
"He may be dangerously wounded--perhaps even to death?"
Who was the object of this solicitude so hypothetically expressed?
The invalid that lay below, almost under her feet, in a chamber of the
hacienda--her cousin Cassius Calhoun?
It could scarce be he. The doctor had the day before pronounced him out
of danger, and on the way to quick recovery. Any one listening to her
soliloquy--after a time continued in the same sad tone--would have been
convinced it was not he.
"I may not send to inquire. I dare not even ask after him. I fear to
trust any of our people. He may be in some poor place--perhaps
uncourteously treated--perhaps neglected? Would that I could convey to
him a message--something more--without any one being the wiser! I
wonder what has become of Zeb Stump?"
As if some instinct whispered her, that there was a possibility of Zeb
making his appearance, she turned her eyes towards the plain on the
opposite side of the river--where a road led up and down. It was the
common highway between Fort Inge and the plantations on the lower Leona.
It traversed the prairie at some distance from the river bank;
approaching it only at one point, where the channel curved in to the
base of the bluffs. A reach of the road, of half a mile in length, was
visible in the direction of the Fort; as also a cross-path that led to a
ford; thence running on to the hacienda. In the opposite direction--
down the stream--the view was open for a like length, until the
chapparal on both sides closing in, terminated the savanna.
The young lady scanned the road leading towards Fort Inge. Zeb Stump
should come that way. He was not in sight; nor was any one else.
She could not feel disappointment. She had no reason to expect him.
She had but raised her eyes in obedience to an instinct.
Something more than instinct caused her, after a time, to turn round,
and scrutinise the plain in the opposite quarter.
If expecting some one to appear that way, she was not disappointed. A
horse was just stepping out from among the trees, where the road
debouched from the chapparal. He was ridden by one, who, at first
sight, appeared to be a man, clad in a sort of Arab costume; but who, on
closer scrutiny, and despite the style of equitation--_a la Duchesse de
Berri_--was unquestionably of the other sex--a lady. There was not much
of her face to be seen; but through the shadowy opening of the
_rebozo_--rather carelessly _tapado_--could be traced an oval facial
outline, somewhat brownly "complected," But with a carmine tinting upon
the cheeks, and above this a pair of eyes whose sparkle appeared to
challenge comparison with the brightest object either on the earth, or
in the sky.
Neither did the loosely falling folds of the lady's scarf, nor her
somewhat _outre_ attitude in the saddle, hinder the observer from coming
to the conclusion, that her figure was quite as attractive as her face.
The man following upon the mule, six lengths of his animal in the rear,
by his costume--as well as the respectful distance observed--was
evidently only an attendant.
"Who can that woman be?" was the muttered interrogatory of Louise
Poindexter, as with quick action she raised the lorgnette to her eyes,
and directed it upon the oddly apparelled figure. "Who _can_ she be?"
was repeated in a tone of greater deliberation, as the glass came down,
and the naked eye was entrusted to complete the scrutiny. "A Mexican,
of course; the man on the mule her servant. Some grand senora, I
suppose? I thought they had all gone to the other side of the Rio
Grande. A basket carried by the attendant. I wonder what it contains;
and what errand she can have to the Port--it may be the village. 'Tis
the third time I've seen her passing within this week? She must be from
some of the plantations below!"
What an outlandish style of riding! _Par Dieu_! I'm told it's not
uncommon among the daughters of Anahuac. What if I were to take to it
myself? No doubt it's much the easiest way; though if such a spectacle
were seen in the States it would be styled unfeminine. How our Puritan
mammas would scream out against it! I think I hear them. Ha, ha, ha!
The mirth thus begotten was but of momentary duration. There came a
change over the countenance of the Creole, quick as a drifting cloud
darkens the disc of the sun. It was not a return to that melancholy so
late shadowing it; though something equally serious--as might be told by
the sudden blanching of her cheeks.
The cause could only be looked for in the movements of the scarfed
equestrian on the other side of the river. An antelope had sprung up,
out of some low shrubbery growing by the roadside. The creature
appeared to have made its first bound from under the counter of the
horse--a splendid animal, that, in a moment after, was going at full
gallop in pursuit of the affrighted "pronghorn;" while his rider, with
her rebozo suddenly flung from her face, its fringed ends streaming
behind her back, was seen describing, with her right arm, a series of
circular sweeps in the air!
"What is the woman going to do?" was the muttered interrogatory of the
spectator upon the house-top. "Ha! As I live, 'tis a lazo!"
The senora was not long in giving proof of skill in the use of the
national implement:--by flinging its noose around the antelope's neck,
and throwing the creature in its tracks!
The attendant rode up to the place where it lay struggling; dismounted
from his mule; and, stooping over the prostrate pronghorn, appeared to
administer the _coup de grace_. Then, flinging the carcass over the
croup of his saddle, he climbed back upon his mule, and spurred after
his mistress--who had already recovered her lazo, readjusted her scarf,
and was riding onward, as if nothing had occurred worth waiting for!
It was at that moment--when the noose was seen circling in the air--that
the shadow had reappeared upon the countenance or the Creole. It was
not surprise that caused it, but an emotion of a different character--a
thought far more unpleasant.
Nor did it pass speedily away. It was still there--though a white hand
holding the lorgnette to her eye might have hindered it from being
seen--still there, as long as the mounted figures were visible upon the
open road; and even after they had passed out of sight behind the
screening of the acacias.
"I wonder--oh, I wonder if it be she! My own age, he said--not quite so
tall. The description suits--so far as one may judge at this distance.
Has her home on the Rio Grande. Comes occasionally to the Leona, to
visit some relatives. Who are they? Why did I not ask him the name?
_I wonder--oh, I wonder if it be she_!"