"The chicken-hearted fool! Fool myself, to have trusted to such a hope!
I might have known she'd cajole the young calf, and let the scoundrel
escape. I could have shot him from behind the tree--dead as a drowned
rat! And without risking anything--even disgrace! Not a particle of
risk. Uncle Woodley would have thanked me--the whole settlement would
have said I had done right. My cousin, a young lady, betrayed by a
common scamp--a horse, trader--who would have said a word against it?
Such a chance! Why have I missed it? Death and the devil--it may not
trump up again!"
Such were the reflections of the ex-captain of cavalry, while at some
paces distance following his two cousins on their return to the
hacienda.
"I wonder," muttered he, on re-entering the _patio_, "whether the
blubbering baby be in earnest? Going after to apologise to the man who
has made a fool of his sister! Ha--ha! It would be a good joke were it
not too serious to be laughed at. He _is_ in earnest, else why that row
in the stable? 'Tis he bringing but his horse! It is, by the
Almighty!"
The door of the stable, as is customary in Mexican haciendas opened upon
the paved _patio_.
It was standing ajar; but just as Calhoun turned his eye upon it, a man
coming from the inside pushed it wide open; and then stepped over the
threshold, with a saddled horse following close after him.
The man had a Panama hat upon his head, and a cloak thrown loosely
around his shoulders. This did not hinder Calhoun from recognising his
cousin Henry, as also the dark brown horse that belonged to him.
"Fool! So--you've let him off?" spitefully muttered the ex-captain, as
the other came within whispering distance. "Give me back my bowie and
pistol. They're not toys suited to such delicate fingers as yours!
Bah! Why did you not use them as I told you? You've made a mess of
it!"
"I have," tranquilly responded the young planter. "I know it. I've
insulted--and grossly too--a noble fellow."
"Insulted a noble fellow! Ha--ha--ha! You're mad--by heavens, you're
mad!"
"I should have been had I followed your counsel, cousin Cash.
Fortunately I did not go so far. I have done enough to deserve being
called worse than fool; though perhaps, under the circumstances, I may
obtain forgiveness for my fault. At all events, I intend to try for it,
and without losing time."
"Where are you going?"
"After Maurice the mustanger--to apologise to him for my misconduct."
"Misconduct! Ha--ha--ha! Surely you are joking?"
"No. I'm in earnest. If you come along with me, you shall see!"
"Then I say again you are mad! Not only mad, but a damned natural-born
idiot! you are, by Jesus Christ and General Jackson!"
"You're not very polite, cousin Cash; though, after the language I've
been lately using myself, I might excuse you. Perhaps you will, one day
imitate me, and make amends for your rudeness."
Without adding another word, the young gentleman--one of the somewhat
rare types of Southern chivalry--sprang to his saddle; gave the word, to
his horse; and rode hurriedly through the _saguan_.
Calhoun stood upon the stones, till the footfall of the horse became but
faintly distinguishable in the distance.
Then, as if acting under some sudden impulse, he hurried along the
verandah to his own room; entered it; reappeared in a rough overcoat;
crossed back to the stable; went in; came out again with his own horse
saddled and bridled; led the animal along the pavement, as gently as if
he was stealing him; and once outside upon the turf, sprang upon his
back, and rode rapidly away.
For a mile or more he followed the same road, that had been taken by
Henry Poindexter. It could not have been with any idea of overtaking
the latter: since, long before, the hoofstrokes of Henry's horse had
ceased to be heard; and proceeding at a slower pace, Calhoun did not
ride as if he cared about catching up with his cousin.
He had taken the up-river road. When about midway between Casa del
Corvo and the Fort, he reined up; and, after scrutinising the chapparal
around him, struck off by a bridle-path leading back toward the bank of
the river. As he turned into it he might have been heard muttering to
himself--
"A chance still left; a good one, though not so cheap as the other. It
will cost me a thousand dollars. What of that, so long as I get rid of
this Irish curse, who has poisoned every hour of my existence! If true
to his promise, he takes the route to his home by an early hour in the
morning. What time, I wonder. These men of the prairies call it late
rising, if they be abed till daybreak! Never mind. There's yet time
for the Coyote to get before him on the road! I know that. It must be
the same as we followed to the wild horse prairies. He spoke of his hut
upon the Alamo. That's the name of the creek where we had our pic-nic.
The hovel cannot be far from there! The Mexican must know the place, or
the trail leading to it; which last will be sufficient for his purpose
and mine. A fig for the shanty itself! The owner may never reach it.
There may be Indians upon the road! There _must_ be, before daybreak in
the morning!"
As Calhoun concluded this string of strange reflections, he had arrived
at the door of another "shanty"--that of the Mexican mustanger. The
_jacale_ was the goal of his journey.
Having slipped out of his saddle, and knotted his bridle to a branch, he
set foot upon the threshold.
The door was standing wide open. From the inside proceeded a sound,
easily identified as the snore of a slumberer.
It was not as of one who sleeps either tranquilly, or continuously. At
short intervals it was interrupted--now by silent pauses--anon by
hog-like gruntings, interspersed with profane words, not perfectly
pronounced, but slurred from a thick tongue, over which, but a short
while before, must have passed a stupendous quantity of alcohol.
"_Carrambo! carrai! carajo--chingara! mil diablos_!" mingled with more--
perhaps less--reverential exclamations of "_Sangre de Cristo! Jesus!
Santissima Virgen! Santa Maria! Dios! Madre de Dios_!" and the like,
were uttered inside the _jacale_, as if the speaker was engaged in an
apostrophic conversation with all the principal characters of the Popish
Pantheon.
Calhoun paused upon the threshold, and listened.
"_Mal--dit--dit--o_!" muttered the sleeper, concluding the exclamation
with a hiccup. "_Buen--buenos nove-dad-es_! Good news, _por sangre
Chrees--Chreest--o! Si S'nor Merican--cano! Nove--dad--es s'perbos!
Los Indyos Co--co--manchees_ on the war-trail--_el rastro de guerra_.
God bless the Co--co--manchees!"
"The brute's drunk!" said his visitor, mechanically speaking aloud.
"_H'la S'nor_!" exclaimed the owner of the _jacale_, aroused to a state
of semi-consciousness by the sound of a human voice. "_Quien llama_!
Who has the honour--that is, have I the happiness--I, Miguel Diaz--el
Co--coyote, as the _leperos_ call me. Ha, ha! coyo--coyot. Bah! what's
in a name? Yours, S'nor? _Mil demonios_! who are you?"
Partially raising himself from his reed couch, the inebriate remained
for a short time in a sitting attitude--glaring, half interrogatively,
half unconsciously, at the individual whose voice had intruded itself
into his drunken dreams.
The unsteady examination lasted only for a score of seconds. Then the
owner of the _jacale_, with an unintelligible speech, subsided into a
recumbent position; when a savage grunt, succeeded by a prolonged snore,
proved him to have become oblivious to the fact that his domicile
contained a guest.
"Another chance lost!" said the latter, hissing the words through his
teeth, as he turned disappointedly from the door.
"A sober fool and a drunken knave--two precious tools wherewith, to
accomplish a purpose like mine! Curse the luck! All this night it's
been against me! It maybe three long hours before this pig sleeps off
the swill that has stupefied him. Three long hours, and then what would
be the use of him? 'Twould be too late--too late!"
As he said this, he caught the rein of his bridle, and stood by the head
of his horse, as if uncertain what course to pursue.
"No use my staying here! It might be daybreak before the damned liquor
gets out of his skull. I may as well go back to the hacienda and wait
there; or else--or else--"
The alternative, that at this crisis presented itself, was nor, spoken
aloud. Whatever it may have been, it had the effect of terminating the
hesitancy that living over him, and stirring him to immediate action.
Roughly tearing his rein from the branch, and passing it over his
horse's head, he sprang into the saddle, and rode off from the _jacale_
in a direction the very opposite to that in which he had approached it.