With an oath, a sullen look, and a brow black as disappointment could
make it, Calhoun turned away from the edge of the chalk prairie, where
he had lost the traces of the Headless Horseman.
"No use following further! No knowing where he's gone now! No hope of
finding him except by a _fluke_! If I go back to the creek I might see
him again; but unless I get within range, it'll end as it's done before.
The mustang stallion won't let me come near him--as if the brute knows
what I'm wanting!
"He's even cunninger than the wild sort--trained to it, I suppose, by
the mustanger himself. One fair shot--if I could only get that, I'd
settle his courses.
"There appears no chance of stealing upon him; and as to riding him
down, it can't be done with a slow mule like this.
"The sorrel's not much better as to speed, though he beats this brute in
bottom. I'll try him to-morrow, with the new shoe.
"If I could only get hold of something that's fast enough to overtake
the mustang! I'd put down handsomely for a horse that could do it.
"There must be one of the sort in the settlement. I'll see when I get
back. If there be, a couple of hundred, ay or three, won't hinder me
from having him."
After he had made these mutterings Calhoun rode away from the chalk
prairie, his dark countenance strangely contrasting with its snowy
sheen. He went at a rapid rate; not sparing his horse, already jaded
with a protracted journey--as could be told by his sweating coat, and
the clots of half-coagulated blood, where the spur had been freely plied
upon his flanks. Fresh drops soon appeared as he cantered somewhat
heavily on--his head set for the hacienda of Casa del Corvo.
In less than an hour after, his rider was guiding him among the
mezquites that skirted the plantation.
It was a path known to Calhoun. He had ridden over it before, though
not upon the same horse. On crossing the bed of an arroyo--dry from a
long continuance of drought--he was startled at beholding in the mud the
tracks of another horse. One of them showed a broken shoe, an old
hoof-print, nearly eight days old. He made no examination to ascertain
the time. He knew it to an hour.
He bent over it, with a different thought--a feeling of surprise
commingled with a touch of superstition. The track looked recent, as if
made on the day before. There had been wind, rain, thunder, and
lightning. Not one of these had wasted it. Even the angry elements
appeared to have passed over without destroying it--as if to spare it
for a testimony against the outraged laws of Nature--their God.
Calhoun dismounted, with the design to obliterate the track of the
three-quarter shoe. Better for him to have spared himself the pains.
The crease of his boot-heel crushing in the stiff mud was only an
additional evidence as to who had ridden the broken-shoed horse. There
was one coming close behind capable of collecting it.
Once more in his saddle, the ex-officer rode on--reflecting on his own
astuteness.
His reflections had scarce reached the point of reverie, when the
hoof-stroke of a horse--not his own--came suddenly within hearing. Not
within sight: for the animal making them was still screened by the
chapparal.
Plainly was it approaching; and, although at a slow pace, the measured
tread told of its being guided, and not straying. It was a horse with a
rider upon his back.
In another instant both were in view; and Calhoun saw before him Isidora
Covarubio de los Llanos; she at the same instant catching sight of him!
It was a strange circumstance that these two should thus encounter one
another--apparently by chance, though perhaps controlled by destiny.
Stranger still the thought summoned up in the bosoms of both.
In Calhoun, Isidora saw the man who loved the woman she herself hated.
In Isidora, Calhoun saw the woman who loved him he both hated and had
determined to destroy.
This mutual knowledge they had derived partly from report, partly from
observation, and partly from the suspicious circumstances under which
more than once they had met. They were equally convinced of its truth.
Each felt certain of the sinister entanglement of the other; while both
believed their own to be unsuspected.
The situation was not calculated to create a friendly feeling between
them. It is not natural that man, or woman, should like the admirer of
a rival. They can only be friends at that point where jealousy prompts
to the deadliest vengeance; and then it is but a sinister sympathy.
As yet no such had arisen between Cassius Calhoun and Isidora Covarubio
de los Llanos.
If it had been possible, both might have been willing to avoid the
encounter. Isidora certainly was.
She had no predilection for the ex-officer of dragoons; and besides the
knowledge that he was the lover of her rival, there was another thought
that now rendered his presence, if not disagreeable, at least not
desirable.
She remembered the chase of the sham Indians, and its ending. She knew
that among the Texans there had been much conjecture as to her abrupt
disappearance, after appealing to them for protection.
She had her own motive for that, which she did not intend to declare;
and the man about meeting her might be inclined to ask questions on the
subject.
She would have passed with a simple salutation--she could not give less
than that. And perhaps he might have done the same; but for a thought
which at that moment came into his mind, entirely unconnected with the
reflections already there engendered.
It was not the lady herself who suggested the thought. Despite her
splendid beauty, he had no admiration for her. In his breast, ruthless
as it might have been, there was no space left for a second passion--not
even a sensual one--for her thus encountered in the solitude of the
chapparal, with Nature whispering wild, wicked suggestions.
It was no idea of this that caused him to rein up in the middle of the
path; remove the cap from his crown; and, by a courtly salutation,
invite a dialogue with Isidora.
So challenged, she could not avoid the conversation; that commenced upon
the instant--Calhoun taking the initiative.
"Excuse me, senorita," said he, his glance directed more upon her steed
than herself; "I know it's very rude thus to interrupt your ride;
especially on the part of a stranger, as with sorrow I am compelled to
call myself."
"It needs no apology, senor. If I'm not mistaken, we have met before--
upon the prairie, out near the Nueces."
"True--true!" stammered Calhoun, not caring to dwell upon the
remembrance. "It was not of that encounter I wished to speak; but what
I saw afterwards, as you came galloping along the cliff. We all
wondered what became of you."
"There was not much cause for wonder, cavallero. The shot which some of
your people fired from below, disembarrassed me of my pursuers. I saw
that they had turned back, and simply continued my journey."
Calhoun exhibited no chagrin at being thus baffled. The theme upon
which he designed to direct his discourse had not yet turned up; and in
it he might be more successful.
What it was might have been divined from his glance--half _connoisseur_,
half horse-jockey--still directed toward the steed of Isidora.
"I do not say, senorita, that I was one of those who wondered at your
sudden disappearance. I presumed you had your own reasons for not
coming on to us; and, seeing you ride as you did, I felt no fear for
your safety. It was your riding that astonished me, as it did all of my
companions. Such a horse you had! He appeared to glide, rather than
gallop! If I mistake not, it's the same you are now _astride of_. Am I
right, senora? Pardon me for asking such an insignificant question."
"The same? Let me see? I make use of so many. I think I was riding
this horse upon that day. Yes, yes; I am sure of it. I remember how
the brute betrayed me."
"Betrayed you! How?"
"Twice he did it. Once as you and your people were approaching. The
second time, when the Indians--_ay Dios_! not Indians, as I've since
heard--were coming through the chapparal."
"But how?"
"By neighing. He should not have done it. He's had training enough to
know better than that. No matter. Once I get him back to the Rio
Grande he shall stay there. I shan't ride _him_ again. He shall return
to his Pastures."
"Pardon me, senorita, for speaking to you on such a subject; but I can't
help thinking that it's a pity."
"What's a pity?"
"That a steed so splendid as that should be so lightly discarded. I
would give much to possess him."
"You are jesting, cavallero. He is nothing beyond the common; perhaps a
little pretty, and quick in his paces. My father has five thousand of
his sort--many of them prettier, and, no doubt, some faster than he.
He's a good roadster; and that's why I'm riding him now. If it weren't
that I'm on my way home to the Rio Grande, and the journey is still
before me, you'd be welcome to have him, or anybody else who cared for
him, as you seem to do. Be still, _musteno mio_! You see there's
somebody likes you better than I do."
The last speech was addressed to the mustang, who, like its rider,
appeared impatient for the conversation to come to a close.
Calhoun, however, seemed equally desirous of prolonging, or, at all
events, bringing it to a different termination.
"Excuse me, senorita," said he, assuming an air of businesslike
earnestness, at the same time speaking apologetically; "if that be all
the value you set upon the grey mustang, I should be only too glad to
make an exchange with you. My horse, if not handsome, is estimated by
our Texan dealers as a valuable animal. Though somewhat slow in his
paces, I can promise that he will carry you safely to your home, and
will serve you well afterwards."
"What, senor!" exclaimed the lady, in evident astonishment, "exchange
your grand American _frison_ for a Mexican mustang! The offer is too
generous to appear other than a jest. You know that on the Rio Grande
one of your horses equals in value at least three, sometimes six, of
ours?"
Calhoun knew this well enough; but he knew also that the mustang ridden
by Isidora would be to him worth a whole stableful of such brutes as
that he was bestriding. He had been an eye-witness to its speed,
besides having heard of it from others. It was the thing he stood in
need of--the very thing. He would have given, not only his "grand
_frison_" in exchange, but the full price of the mustang by way of
"boot."
Fortunately for him, there was no attempt at extortion. In the
composition of the Mexican maiden, however much she might be given to
equestrian tastes, there was not much of the "coper." With five
thousand horses in the paternal stables, or rather straying over the
patrimonial plains, there was but slight motive for sharp practice; and
why should she deny such trifling gratification, even though the man
seeking it was a stranger--perhaps an enemy?
She did not.
"If you are in earnest, senor," was her response, "you are welcome to
what you want."
"I am in earnest, senorita."
"Take him, then!" said she, leaping out of her saddle, and commencing to
undo the girths, "We cannot exchange saddles: yours would be a mile too
big for me!"
Calhoun was too happy to find words for a rejoinder. He hastened to
assist her in removing the saddle; after which he took off his own.
In less than five minutes the horses were exchanged--the saddles and
bridles being retained by their respective owners.
To Isidora there was something ludicrous in the transference. She
almost laughed while it was being carried on.
Calhoun looked upon it in a different light. There was a purpose
present before his mind--one of the utmost importance.
They parted without much further speech--only the usual greetings of
adieu--Isidora going off on the _frison_; while the ex-officer, mounted
on the grey mustang, continued his course in the direction of Casa del
Corvo.