Success had crowned Juan Ramon's efforts. The pretty little _hacienda_
of which he had dreamed so long was no longer a vision of the future,
but a reality. It was actually in his possession, purchased with a part
of the money he had received from Don Felipe for his work. It now only
remained for the pretty Rosita to consent to become the mistress of the
place and he, Juan Ramon, would bid farewell to the old _Posada_ and the
gaming-tables forever. This Juan naïvely promised himself as his
thoughts dwelt upon the bright picture of domestic felicity which his
imagination conjured up before him.
The attractive presence of Rosita was undoubtedly the source of this
inspiration which actually led him to believe in the possibility of the
sudden and complete reformation of an inveterate gambler whose desire
for play was like the toper's insatiable thirst for liquor. And then,
there was Captain Forest's horse. Juan had an idea regarding that
animal. When everybody's attention was occupied with the festivities
during the night of the _fandango_, and he had succeeded in filling José
with the proper amount of _aguardiente_, he would slip quietly away with
the horse and conceal him at his _hacienda_. _Caramba!_ what a
horse--the like of which there was not in all Mexico! And Juan Ramon,
the champion _vaquero_ of Chihuahua, was the man to ride him! And he
rolled and smoked innumerable _cigarillos_ as he sauntered about the
garden and corrals, or lounged in the _patio_, musing on these and many
other things.
To say that Don Felipe was elated by what he had discovered but mildly
describes his state of exultation. At last the woman who had ruined his
life was in his power. Not for years had he experienced such delicious
transports of rapture. How sweet a thing is revenge! He was like one
born anew. The expression of melancholy faded from his countenance, his
eyes shone with renewed luster and he smiled upon all the world. There
was no more escape for her than there had been for him when she so
treacherously thrust the knife into his heart. What he had discovered
was different from anything his imagination had pictured in connection
with her. Nothing could be more compromising, and the marvel of it was
that she had been able to keep the facts concealed from the world so
long. Only a woman could have done it, and only the cleverest of women
at that. No wonder she had danced in public. She had reason to!
Never had he dreamed that he would live to enjoy this hour. When he
first imparted his information to Blanch, she refused to believe it; but
the proofs were too convincing to leave so much as the shadow of a doubt
in her mind. How fortunate that he had discovered her secret at this
time; just before the _fandango_. What an opportunity to confront her
with the truth; force her to make a public confession of her guilt.
Nothing could be more propitious for the execution of his plans; the
annihilation of the woman who had wrecked his life. It was not enough
that she should be exposed. She must be humiliated publicly as he had
been.
He did not entirely reveal his plans to Blanch, knowing that the woman
in her and her consideration for the Captain would cause her to shrink
from inflicting so cruel a revenge even upon a rival. He was far too
clever for that. So, without going into details concerning his plans, he
led her to believe that, at a prearranged signal from her, he would
confront Chiquita personally and compel her to acknowledge the truth
before himself and the Captain. Her nature revolted at that which Don
Felipe told her, cried out for justice, for the exposure of the
impostor; nevertheless, she disliked a scene, and for the Captain's
sake, made Don Felipe promise to do nothing unless she gave the signal.
One week hence and their scores would be even. The thought thrilled him
as he paced the length of his room, his hands clasping and unclasping
nervously behind his back; his mind actively engaged in rehearsing the
events of the last few days which led to the discovery, and the details
of the plan he had formulated, the carrying out of which was to be
deferred until that eventful evening when the principal families of the
town and neighborhood, her friends and acquaintances, would be gathered
together to witness her shame--the same as they had witnessed his. Her
disgrace would be far worse than his had been. She would be an outcast;
for let a man transgress and the world may forgive him, but let a woman
fall and she is damned forever so far as the world is concerned. He
would make no mistake this time. He carefully weighed every detail of
his plan, considered every eventuality that might arise. Subtle and
resourceful though he knew her to be, there would be no loophole of
escape for her.
It was almost too good to be true. He was beside himself. He talked and
laughed aloud repeatedly when alone, scarcely able to retain himself, so
rapturously sweet was the thought of her humiliation. Suddenly a new
thought flashed through his mind. He had sworn that he would kill
Captain Forest--lay him dead at her feet; but that, thanks to
circumstances, would not now be necessary. The thought of killing a man
in cold blood was not pleasant even to one of Don Felipe's temperament
in his present state of mind. But should circumstances compel him to do
so to complete his revenge, he would stop at nothing, let the
consequences be what they might.
That he had received his just deserts for his betrayal of a woman, did
not enter his thoughts. Had he not atoned for that misdeed through years
of suffering? Had ever mortal been humiliated as he had been? That fact
alone decided him. The memory of his transgression had been effaced long
since by his intense longing for revenge. Nothing short of revenge could
satisfy him now.
A grim smile lit up his countenance as he pondered upon what he knew.
And yet, he reflected, who could tell? Infatuation might blind the
Captain to the truth. It was best to be prepared for all emergencies.
Stepping to his dresser, he opened the top drawer from which he took a
knife which lay concealed beneath the numerous articles it contained.
Drawing the blade from its leathern sheath, he ran his thumb lightly
over its double edge to assure himself that it had lost none of its
keenness. He always carried a pistol, but considering the circumstances
a knife would be better. It would make no noise, create less
disturbance. It would be so easy, in some secluded part of the garden,
to thrust it home and get away quietly before the deed was discovered.
One quick thrust, a stifled cry, that would be all. As a youth he could
have placed that blade at ten paces in the center of a mark no larger
than a silver dollar at every cast. But he had no thought of employing
such a method now even if he were able to. Striking the Captain would be
like sinking the blade in Chiquita's heart; for did he not hate the
Captain, because she loved him, almost as much as he hated her? No, he
would not forego that exquisite sense of pleasure and satisfaction, born
of jealousy and his insatiable thirst for revenge.
For some time he toyed absently with the knife. Then, from sheer
exuberance of spirits, he began tossing it aloft; watching with
sparkling eyes the glittering blade as it turned over and over in the
air and catching it deftly by the hilt in his right hand as it
descended. His hand and wrist were firm and supple as of old; they had
lost none of their vigor during the long years he had wandered aimlessly
about the world. Again that cold smile, cruel and cutting as the edge
of his knife, lit up his face as he at length sheathed the blade in its
leathern case and returned it to its resting place in the drawer of his
dresser.