Urged by the most abject fear, had El Coyote and his three comrades
rushed back to their horses, and scrambled confusedly into the saddle.
They had no idea of returning to the jacale of Maurice Gerald. On the
contrary, their only thought was to put space between themselves and
that solitary dwelling--whose owner they had encountered riding towards
it in such strange guise.
That it was "Don Mauricio" not one of them doubted. All four knew him
by sight--Diaz better than any--but all well enough to be sure it was
the _Irlandes_. There was his horse, known to them; his _armas de agua_
of jaguar-skin; his _Navajo_ blanket, in shape differing from the
ordinary serape of Saltillo;--and his _head_!
They had not stayed to scrutinise the features; but the hat was still in
its place--the sombrero of black glaze which Maurice was accustomed to
wear. It had glanced in their eyes, as it came under the light of the
moon.
Besides, they had seen the great dog, which Diaz remembered to be his.
The staghound had sprung forward in the midst of the struggle, and with
a fierce growl attacked the assailant--though it had not needed this to
accelerate their retreat.
Fast as their horses could carry them, they rode through the bottom
timber; and, ascending the bluff by one of its ravines--not that where
they had meant to commit murder--they reached the level of the upper
plateau.
Nor did they halt there for a single second; but, galloping across the
plain, re-entered the chapparal, and spurred on to the place where they
had so skilfully transformed themselves into Comanches.
The reverse metamorphosis, if not so carefully, was more quickly
accomplished. In haste they washed the war-paint from their skins--
availing themselves of some water carried in their canteens;--in haste
they dragged their civilised habiliments from the hollow tree, in which
they had hidden them; and, putting them on in like haste, they once more
mounted their horses, and rode towards the Leona.
On their homeward way they conversed only of the headless horseman: but,
with their thoughts under the influence of a supernatural terror, they
could not satisfactorily account for an appearance so unprecedented; and
they were still undecided as they parted company on the outskirts of the
village--each going to his own jacale.
"_Carrai_!" exclaimed the Coyote, as he stepped across the threshold of
his, and dropped down upon his cane couch. "Not much chance of sleeping
after that. _Santos Dios_! such a sight! It has chilled the blood to
the very bottom of my veins. And nothing here to warm me. The canteen
empty; the posada shut up; everybody in bed!
"_Madre de Dios_! what can it have been? Ghost it could not be; flesh
and bones I grasped myself; so did Vicente on the other side? I felt
that, or something very like it, under the tiger-skin. _Santissima_! it
could not be a cheat!
"If a contrivance, why and to what end? Who cares to play carnival on
the prairies--except myself, and my camarados? _Mil demonios_! what a
grim masquerader!
"_Carajo_! am I forestalled? Has some other had the offer, and earned
the thousand dollars? Was it the Irlandes himself, dead, decapitated,
carrying his head in his hand?
"Bah! it could not be--ridiculous, unlikely, altogether improbable!
"But what then?
"Ha! I have it! A hundred to one I have it! He may have got warning
of our visit, or, at least, had suspicions of it. 'Twas a trick got up
to try us!--perhaps himself in sight, a witness of our disgraceful
flight? _Maldito_!
"But who could have betrayed us? No one. Of course no one could tell
of _that_ intent. How then should he have prepared such an infernal
surprise?
"Ah! I forget. It was broad daylight as we made the crossing of the
long prairie. We may have been seen, and our purpose suspected? Just
so--just so. And then, while we were making our toilet in the
chapparal, the other could have been contrived and effected. That, and
that only, can be the explanation!
"Fools! to have been frightened at a scarecrow!
"_Carrambo_! It shan't long delay the event. To-morrow I go back to
the Alamo. I'll touch that thousand yet, if I should have to spend
twelve months in earning it; and, whether or not, the _deed_ shall be
done all the same. Enough to have lost Isidora. It may not be true;
but the very suspicion of it puts me beside myself. If I but find out
that she loves him--that they have met since--since--Mother of God! I
shall go mad; and in my madness destroy not only the man I hate, but the
woman I love! O Dona Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos! Angel of beauty,
and demon of mischief! I could kill you with my caresses--I can kill
you with my steel! One or other shall be your fate. It is for you to
choose between them!"
His spirit becoming a little tranquillised, partly through being
relieved by this conditional threat--and partly from the explanation he
had been able to arrive at concerning the other thought that had been
troubling it--he soon after fell asleep.
Nor did he awake until daylight looked in at his door, and along with it
a visitor.
"Jose!" he cried out in a tone of surprise in which pleasure was
perceptible--"you here?"
"_Si, Senor; yo estoy_."
"Glad to see you, good Jose. The Dona Isidora here?--on the Leona, I
mean?"
"_Si, Senor_."
"So soon again! She was here scarce two weeks ago, was she not? I was
away from the settlement, but had word of it. I was expecting to hear
from you, good Jose. Why did you not write?"
"Only, Senor Don Miguel, for want of a messenger that could be relied
upon. I had something to communicate, that could not with safety be
entrusted to a stranger. Something, I am sorry to say, you won't thank
me for telling you; but my life is yours, and I promised you should know
all."
The "prairie wolf" sprang to his feet, as if pricked with a
sharp-pointed thorn.
"Of her, and him? I know it by your looks. Your mistress has met him?"
"No, Senor, she hasn't--not that I know of--not since the first time."
"What, then?" inquired Diaz, evidently a little relieved, "She was here
while he was at the posada. Something passed between them?"
"True, Don Miguel--something did pass, as I well know, being myself the
bearer of it. Three times I carried him a basket of _dulces_, sent by
the Dona Isidora--the last time also a letter."
"A letter! You know the contents? You read it?"
"Thanks to your kindness to the poor _peon_ boy, I was able to do that;
more still--to make a copy of it."
"You have one?"
"I have. You see, Don Miguel, you did not have me sent to school for
nothing. This is what the Dona Isidora wrote to him."
Diaz reached out eagerly, and, taking hold of the piece of paper,
proceeded to devour its contents.
It was a copy of the note that had been sent among the sweetmeats.
Instead of further exciting, it seemed rather to tranquillise him.
"_Carrambo_!" he carelessly exclaimed, as he folded up the epistle.
"There's not much in this, good Jose. It only proves that your mistress
is grateful to one who has done her a service. If that's all--"
"But it is not all, Senor Don Miguel; and that's why I've come to see
you now. I'm on an errand to the _pueblita_. This will explain it."
"Ha! Another letter?"
"_Si, Senor_! This time the original itself, and not a poor copy
scribbled by me."
With a shaking hand Diaz took hold of the paper, spread it out, and
read:--
Al Senor Don Mauricio Gerald.
_Querido amigo_!
_Otra vez aqui estoy--con tio Silvio quedando! Sin novedades de V. no
puedo mas tiempo existir. La incertitud me malaba. Digame que es V.
convalescente! Ojala, que estuviera asi! Suspiro en vuestros ojos
mirar, estos ojos tan lindos y tan espresivos--a ver, si es restablecido
vuestra salud. Sea graciosa darme este favor. Hay--opportunidad. En
una cortita media de hora, estuviera quedando en la cima de loma, sobre
la cosa del tio. Ven, cavallero, ven_!
Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos.
With a curse El Coyote concluded the reading of the letter. Its sense
could scarce be mistaken. Literally translated it read thus:--
"Dear Friend,--I am once more here, staying with uncle Silvio. Without
hearing of you I could not longer exist. The uncertainty was killing
me. Tell me if you are convalescent. Oh! that it may be so. I long to
look into your eyes--those eyes so beautiful, so expressive--to make
sure that your health is perfectly restored. Be good enough to grant me
this favour. There is an opportunity. In a short half hour from this
time, I shall be on the top of the hill, above my uncle's house. Come,
sir, come!
"Isidora Covarubio De Los Llanos."
"_Carajo_! an assignation!" half shrieked the indignant Diaz. "That and
nothing else! She, too, the proposer. Ha! Her invitation shall be
answered; though not by him for whom it is so cunningly intended. Kept
to the hour--to the very minute; and by the Divinity of Vengeance--
"Here, Jose! this note's of no use. The man to whom it is addressed
isn't any longer in the pueblita, nor anywhere about here. God knows
where he is! There's some mystery about it. No matter. You go on to
the posada, and make your inquiries all the same. You must do that to
fulfil your errand. Never mind the _papelcito_; leave it with me. You
can have it to take to your mistress, as you come back this way. Here's
a dollar to get you a drink at the inn. Senor Doffer keeps the best
kind of aguardiente. _Hasta luejo_!"
Without staying to question the motive for these directions given to
him, Jose, after accepting the _douceur_, yielded tacit obedience to
them, and took his departure from the jacale.
He was scarce out of sight before Diaz also stepped over its threshold.
Hastily setting the saddle upon his horse, he sprang into it, and rode
off in the opposite direction.