I fancied I now understood the _situation_, as well as he--perhaps
better.
With the thought of Dolores in the keeping of common brigands, I should
have been, if not content, certainly less tortured. It was a different
thing to think of her in the keeping of _Torreano Carrasco_!
Vividly flashed before me the taunting in the Cathedral--the scenes in
the "Street of the Sparrows."
"Make ready, men! Look to your rifles and revolvers! Sergeant! form in
single file, for a march up the mountain-path!"
As he of the triple chevron hastened to execute the order, I turned
towards Francisco Moreno.
With an indescribable emotion, I bent down over the wounded man.
At a glance I could see that he had been badly abused.
In addition to several stabs from sword or poignard, the bullet of an
_escopette_ had traversed his left thigh--the purple spot appearing
right over the femoral artery!
I had myself received just such a shot at the storming of Chapultepec--
creasing, but, fortunately, without cutting the vein; and I knew, that
if this had been opened in the thigh of Francisco Moreno it was his
life-blood I saw upon the floor.
Its quantity, and the deathlike paleness of his face, were points for a
sad prognosis.
In a double sense the spectacle gave me pain. In the finely-chiselled
features--more perfect in their pallor--I saw that which had deprived me
of Dolores Villa-Senor. No wonder she loved him!
But he was going from this world, and my jealousy should go with him.
It went at once, hastened by thoughts of Carrasco; and my first
friendship for Francisco Moreno was restored in all its strength.
I looked around the room. There was no furniture, except such as
appeared to have been transported thither for the occasion. I stepped
into a small chamber adjoining. In this I discovered a _catre_, or
camp-bedstead of leather, stretched upon trestles. Some shawls, scarfs,
and other articles of female apparel thrown over it, told of its
intended occupancy. It was to have been the _bridal bed_!
I had the bridegroom placed upon it; to receive the embrace, not of
Dolores, but Death!
After a cursory examination of his wounds, I conceived a more hopeful
opinion of them. The haemorrhage had been profuse. Still the main
artery did not appear to be touched.
He was feeble as a child; and stood in need of some restorative.
I could think only of that which, under circumstances strangely
analogous, had given support to myself--a draught of _Catalan_. My
flask was full of _refino_--the best that could be obtained in the
Capital.