"You speak Spanish too well, mio capitan," continued she. "Had you
cried `Halt!' in your native tongue, I should at once have pulled up,
and perhaps saved my pet. Ah, me!--_pobre yegua! pobre Zola_!"
As she uttered the last exclamation, her feelings once more overcame
her; and sinking down upon her knees, she passed her arms around the
neck of the mustang, now stiff and cold. Her face was buried in the
long thick mane, and I could perceive the tears sparkling like dew-drops
over the tossed hair.
"_Pobre Lolita_!" she continued, "I have good cause to grieve; I had
reason to love you well. More than once you saved me from the fierce
Lipan and the brutal Comanche. What am I to do now? I dread the Indian
foray; I shall tremble at every sign of the savage. I dare no more
venture upon the prairie; I dare not go abroad; I must tamely stay at
home. _Mia querida_! you were my wings: they are clipped--I fly no
more."
All this was uttered in a tone of extreme bitterness; and I--I who so
loved my own brave steed--could appreciate her feelings. With the hope
of imparting even a little consolation, I repeated my offer.
"Senorita," I said, "I have swift horses in my troop--some of noble
race--"
"You have no horse in your troop I value."
"You have not seen them all?"
"All--every one of them--to-day, as you filed out of the city."
"Indeed?"
"Indeed, yes, noble capitan. I saw you as you carried yourself so
cavalierly at the head of your troop of _filibusteros_--Ha, ha, ha!"
"Senorita, I saw not you."
"_Carrambo_! it was not for the want of using your eyes. There was not
a _balcon_ or _reja_ into which you did not glance--not a smile in the
whole street you did not seem anxious to reciprocate--Ha, ha, ha! I
fear, Senor Capitan, you are the Don Juan de Tenorio of the north."
"Lady, it is not my character."
"Nonsense! you are proud of it. I never saw man who was not. But come!
a truce to badinage. About the horse--you have none in your troop I
value, save _one_."