Breakfast I hardly tasted. A _taso_ of chocolate and a small sugared
cake--the _desayuna_ of every Mexican--were brought, and these served me
for breakfast. A glass of cognac and a Havanna were more to the
purpose, and helped to stay the wild trembling of my nerves.
Fortunately, there was no duty to perform, else I could ill have
attended to it.
I remained on the azotea till near mid-day. The storm raging within
prevented me from taking note of what was passing around. The scenes in
the piazza, the rangers and their steeds, the "greasers" in their
striped blankets, the _Indias_ squatted on their _petates_, the pretty
poblanas, were all unnoticed by me.
At intervals my eyes rested upon the walls of the distant dwelling; it
was not so distant but that a human form could have been distinguished
upon its roof, had one been there. There was none, and twenty, ay,
fifty times, did I turn away my disappointed gaze.
About noon the Serjeant of the guard reported that a Mexican wished to
speak with me. Mechanically, I gave orders for the man to be sent up;
but it was not until he appeared before me that I thought of what I was
doing.
The presence of the Mexican at once aroused me from my unpleasant
reverie. I recognised him as one of the vaqueros of Don Ramon de
Vargas--the same I had seen on the plain during my first interview with
Isolina.
There was something in his manner that betokened him a messenger. A
folded note, which he drew from under his jerkin--after having glanced
around to see whether he was noticed--confirmed my observation.
I took the note. There was no superscription, nor did I stay to look
for one. My fingers trembled as I tore open the seal. As my eye rested
on the writing and recognised it, my heart throbbed so as almost to
choke my utterance. I muttered some directions to the messenger; and to
conceal my emotion from him, I turned away and proceeded to the farthest
corner of the azotea before reading the note. I called back to the man
to go below, and wait for an answer; and, then relieved of his presence,
I read as follows:--
"_July_ 18--.
"_Gallant_ capitan! allow me to bid you a _buenas dias_, for I presume
that, after the fatigues of last night, it is but morning with you yet.
Do you dream of your sable belle? `Poor devil!' Ha, ha, ha! _Gallant_
capitan!"
I was provoked at this mode of address, for the "gallant" was rendered
emphatic by underlining. It was a letter to taunt me for my ill
behaviour. I felt inclined to fling it down, but my eye wandering over
the paper, caught some words that induced me to read on.
"_Gallant_ capitan! I had a favourite mare. How fond I was of that
creature you may understand, who are afflicted by a similar affection
for the noble Moro. In an evil hour, your aim, too true, alas! robbed
me of my favourite, but you offered to repay me by _robbing_ yourself,
for well know I that the black is to you _the dearest object upon
earth_. Indeed, were I the lady of your love, I should ill brook such a
divided affection! Well, mio capitan, I understood the generous
sacrifice you would have made, and forbade it; but I know you are
desirous of cancelling your debt. It is in your power to do so.
Listen!"
Some _hard_ conditions I anticipated would follow; I recked not of that.
There was no sacrifice I was not ready to make. I would have dared any
deed, however wild, to have won that proud heart--to have inoculated it
with the pain that was wringing my own. I read on:
"There is a horse, famed in these parts as the `white steed of the
prairies' (_el cavallo bianco de los llanos_). He is a wild-horse, of
course; snow-white in colour, beautiful in form, swift as the swallow--
But why need I describe to you the `white steed of the prairies?' You
are a Tejano, and must have heard of him ere this? Well, mio capitan, I
have long had a desire--a frantic one, let me add--to possess this
horse. I have offered rewards to hunters--to our own vaqueros, for he
sometimes appears upon our plains--but to no purpose. Not one of them
can capture, though they have often seen and chased him. Some say that
he _cannot be taken_, that he is so fleet as to gallop, or rather
_glide_ out of sight in a glance, and that, too, on the open prairie!
There are those who assert that he is a phantom, _un demonio_! Surely
so beautiful a creature cannot be the devil? Besides, I have always
heard--and, if I recollect aright, some one said so last night--that the
devil was _black_. `Poor devil!' Ha, ha, ha!"
I rather welcomed this allusion to my misconduct of the preceding night,
for I began to feel easier under the perception that the whole affair
was thus treated in jest, instead of the anger and scorn I had
anticipated. With pleasanter presentiments I read on:--
"To the point, mio capitan. There are some incredulous people who
believe the white steed of the prairies to be a myth, and deny his
existence altogether. _Carrambo_! I know that he _does_ exist, and
what is more to my present purpose, he is--or _was_, but two hours ago--
within ten miles of where I am writing this note! One of our vaqueros
saw him near the banks of a beautiful arroyo, which I know to be his
favourite ground. For reasons known to me, the vaquero did not either
chase or molest him; but in breathless haste brought me the news.
"Now, capitan, gallant and grand! there is but one who can capture this
famed horse, and that is your puissant self. Ah! _you have made captive
what was once at wild and free_. Yes! _you_ can do it--you and Moro!
"Bring me the white steed of the prairies! I shall cease to grieve for
poor Lola. I shall forgive you that _contratiempo_. I shall forgive
all--even your rudeness to my double mask. Ha, ha, ha! Bring me the
white steed! the white steed!
"Isolina."
As I finished reading this singular epistle, a thrill of pleasure ran
through my veins. I dwelt not on the oddness of its contents,
thoroughly characteristic of the writer. Its meaning was clear enough.
I _had_ heard of the white horse of the prairies--what hunter or
trapper, trader or traveller, throughout all the wide borders of
prairie-land, has not? Many a romantic story of him had I listened to
around the blazing campfire--many a tale of German-like _diablerie_, in
which the white horse played hero. For nearly a century has he figured
in the legends of the prairie "mariner"--a counterpart of the Flying
Dutchman--the "phantom-ship" of the forecastle. Like this, too,
ubiquitous--seen today scouring the sandy plains of the Platte,
to-morrow bounding over the broad llanos of Texas, a thousand miles to
the southward!
That there existed a white stallion of great speed and splendid
proportions--that there were twenty, perhaps a hundred such--among the
countless herds of wild-horses that roam over the great plains, I did
not for a moment doubt. I myself had seen and chased more than one that
might have been termed "a magnificent animal," and that no ordinary
horse could overtake; but the one known as the "white steed of the
prairies" had a peculiar marking, that distinguished him from all the
rest--_his ears were black_!--only his ears, and these were of the deep
colour of ebony. The rest of his body, mane, and tail, was white as
fresh-fallen snow.
It was to this singular and mysterious animal that the letter pointed;
it was the black-eared steed I was called upon to capture. The contents
of the note were specific and plain.