And while hastening to effect her rescue, I felt as if I could have
gloated over her ruin--so steeped was my soul in chagrin--so brimful of
black vengeance!
It was no chivalrous thought that was carrying me up the slopes of
Ixticihuatl--only the hope of humiliating her, who had humiliated me!
I was aroused from my unworthy imaginings by the voice of Sam Brown,
whispering close to my ear. His words were:--
"Don't ye hear it, cap'n?"
"Hear what?"
"The music."
"If you call the hooting of that horrid owl--"
I stopped at a gesture from my guide. In the obscurity I could see his
hand uplifted, his finger pointing upwards.
"Don't ye hear somethin' up that way?" he continued, "Thar's the twang
o' a guitar, or one o' them thar Mexikin bandoleens--as they call 'em.
Hear that? Somebody laughin'! Hear that, too? If my ears haven't lost
thar hearin', that ere's the voice o' a sheemale!"
The last remark secured my attention. I listened--as if expecting to
hear a summons of life or death!
There _was_ the twang of a stringed instrument--harp or guitar, bandolon
or _jarana_. There _was_ a voice--a man's voice--and the instant after
a series soft tones, with that metallic ring that can only proceed from
the feminine throat.
"Yes," I assented, mechanically, "there's music there!"
"Moren' that, cap'n! Thar's dancin'."
Again I listened.
Certainly there was the pattering of feet over a floor--with motion
timed to the music--now and then a pause--a laugh or an exclamation--all
betokening a scene of enjoyment!
"It's the exact direckshin o' the shanty," whispered Sam. "They must be
_in_ it. Thar's somethin' goin' on, hear that? There's a bust! Darn
me, if they hain't got a _fandango_!"
It was an increased swelling in the sound that had called forth this
exclamatory language. A violin had joined its continuous strain to the
throbbing of the _jarana_; and several voices appeared to take part in
the conversation, which was carried on during the intervals of the
music.
There appeared to be nothing boisterous--no riot or roystering--only
such sounds as might be made by a party of pleasure-seekers engaged in a
picnic, or _dia de campo_--the chief difference being that it was _in
the night_!
Certainly the sounds were not such, as I should have expected to proceed
from a band of brigands engaged in an interlude of festivity.
"It's _them_!" whispered the driver of the diligencia--a better judge of
brigand music than myself. "The very chaps we're in search o'. They're
doin' a little bit o' divartin; an', cuss me, cap'n, ef I don't b'lieve
that them two gurls is joinin' willinly in the spree!"
I answered his speech only in thought. And a fell, fearful thought it
was.
"Dolores Villa-Senor not forced by cruel circumstances, but voluntarily
assisting at a carnival of _salteadores_!"
All thoughts of strategy were chased out of my mind. Even prudence for
the time forsook me. The remembrance of the past--the morbid imaginings
of the present--alike maddened me.
She upon whom I had fixed my affections--high and holy--the toy of a
robber-chief! Worse still; herself wanton and willing!
"Go on!" I said, grasping my guide by the arm; "on to the house! Let
us see what it means. On, on! There's no danger. In ten minutes I can
call my men around me; and if need be, we can run back to them. On! on!
I must see with my own eyes, if she can be so degraded!"
Without altogether comprehending why, Sam Brown saw that I was
determined on advancing; and, yielding to my impulsive command, once
more led the way.