On reaching the gate she was surprised to see that the officer had
dismounted, and was fastening his horse to a stake.
As she offered him the brazero, he remarked, "I am wearied with my ride;
may I beg, Senorita, you will allow me a few minutes' shelter from the
hot sun?"
Though annoyed at this request, the girl could only reply in the
affirmative; and the next moment, with clattering spur and clanking
sabre, the Comandante walked into the rancho.
Rosita followed him in without a word, and without a word he was
received by her mother, who, seated in the corner, took no notice of his
entrance, not even by looking up at him. The dog made a circuit around
him, growling angrily, but his young mistress chided him off; and the
brute once more couched himself upon a petate, and lay with eyes
gleaming fiercely at the intruder.
Once in the house, Vizcarra did not feel easy. He saw he was not
welcome. Not a word of welcome had been uttered by Rosita, and not a
sign of it offered either by the old woman or the dog. The contrary
symptoms were unmistakeable, and the grand officer felt he was an
intruder.
But Vizcarra was not accustomed to care much for the feelings of people
like these. He paid but little regard to their likes or dislikes,
especially where these interfered with his pleasures; and, after
lighting his cigar, he sat down on a "banqueta," with as much
nonchalance as if he were in his own quarters. He smoked some time
without breaking silence.
Meanwhile Rosita had drawn out her loom, and, kneeling down in front of
it, went on with her work as if no stranger were present.
"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed the officer, feigning interest in the process,
"how very ingenious! I have often wished to see this! a reboso it is?
Upon my _word_! and that is how they are woven? Can you finish one in a
day, Senorita?"
"_Si, Senor_," was the curt reply.
"And this thread, it is cotton; is it not?"
"Si, Senor."
"It is very prettily arranged indeed. Did you place it so yourself?"
"Si, Senor."
"Really it requires skill! I should like much to learn how the threads
are passed."
And as he said this he left his seat upon the banqueta, and, approaching
the loom, knelt down beside it.
"Indeed, very singular and ingenious. Ah, now, do you think, pretty
Rosita, you could teach me?"
The old woman, who was seated with her eyes bent upon the ground,
started at hearing the stranger pronounce her daughter's name, and
glanced around at him.
"I am really serious," continued he; "do you think you could teach me
this useful art?"
"No, Senor!" was the laconic reply.
"Oh! surely I am not so stupid! I think I could learn it--it seems only
to hold this thing so,"--here he bent forward, and placed his hand upon
the shuttle, so as to touch the fingers of the girl,--"and then put it
between the threads in this manner; is it not--?"
At this moment, as if carried away by his wild passions, he seemed to
forget himself; and, turning his eyes upon the blushing girl, he
continued in an under tone, "Sweetest Rosita! I love you,--one kiss,
fairest,--one kiss!" and before she could escape from his arms, which
had already encircled her, he had imprinted a kiss upon her lips!
A scream escaped from the girl, but another, louder and wilder, answered
it from the corner. The old woman sprang up from her crouching
position, and running across the floor launched herself like a tigress
upon the officer! Her long bony fingers flew out, and in an instant
were clutching his throat!
"Off! beldame! off!" cried he, struggling to escape: "off I say; or my
sword shall cut short your wretched life, off!--off!--I say!"
Still the old woman clutched and screamed, tearing wildly at his throat,
his epaulettes, or whatever she could lay hold of.
But sharper than her nails were the teeth of the great wolf-dog that
sprang almost simultaneously from his lair, and, seizing the soldier by
the limbs, caused him to bellow out at the top of his voice--
"Without there! Sergeant Gomez! Ho! treason! to the rescue! to the
rescue!"
"Ay! dog of a Gachupino!" screamed the old woman,--"dog of Spanish
blood! you may call your cowardly myrmidons! Oh! that my brave son were
here, or my husband alive! If they were, you would not carry a drop of
your villain blood beyond the threshold you have insulted!--Go!--go to
your poblanas--your _margaritas_! Go--begone!"
"Hell and furies! This dog--take him off! Ho, there! Gomez! your
pistols. Here! send a bullet through him! Haste! haste!"
And battling with his sabre, the valiant Comandante at length effected a
retreat to his horse.
He was already well torn about the legs, but, covered by the sergeant,
he succeeded in getting into the saddle.
The latter fired off both his pistols at the dog, but the bullets did
not take effect; and the animal, perceiving that his enemies outnumbered
him, turned and ran back into the house.
The dog was now silent, but the Comandante, as he sat in his saddle,
heard a derisive laugh within the rancho. In the clear soft tones of
that jeering laughter he distinguished the voice of the beautiful guera!
Chagrined beyond measure, he would have besieged the rancho with his
troop, and insisted on killing the dog, had he not feared that the cause
of his ungraceful retreat might become known to his followers. That
would be a mortification he did not desire to experience.
He returned, therefore, to the troop, gave the word to march, and the
cavalcade moved off, taking the backward road to the town.
After riding at the head of his men for a short while, Vizcarra--whose
heart was filled with anger and mortification--gave some orders to the
sergeant, and then rode off in advance, and in full gallop.
The sight of a horseman in blue manga, passing in the direction of the
rancho--and whom he recognised as the young ranchero, Don Juan--did not
do much towards soothing his angry spirit. He neither halted nor spoke,
but, casting on the latter a malignant glance, kept on.
He did not slacken his pace until he drew bridle in the saguan of the
Presidio.
His panting horse had to pay for the bitter reflections that tortured
the soul of his master.