CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

The first thing which Rosita did, after the noise without had ceased,

was to glide forth and peep through the cactus-fence. She had heard the

bugle again, and she wished to be sure that the intruders were gone.

To her joy, she beheld the troop some distance off, defiling up the

valley.

She ran back into the house and communicated the intelligence to her

mother, who had again seated herself, and was quietly smoking her pipe

of _punche_.

"Dastardly ruffians!" exclaimed the latter. "I knew they would be gone.

Even an old woman and a dog are enough. Oh, that my brave Carlos had

been here! He would have taught that proud Gachupino we were not so

helpless! Ha! that would Carlos!"

"Do not think of it any more, dear mother; I don't think they will

return. You have frightened them away,--you and our brave Cibolo. How

well he behaved! But I must see," she added, hastily casting her eyes

round the room; "he may be hurt. Cibolo! Cibolo! here, good fellow!

Come, I've got something for you. Ho, brave dog!"

At the call of her well-known voice the dog came forth from his

hiding-place, and bounded up, wagging his tail, and glancing kindly in

her face.

The girl stooped down, and, passing her hands through his shaggy coat,

examined every part of his body and limbs, in fear all the while of

meeting with the red stain of a bullet. Fortunately the sergeant's aim

had not been true. Neither wound nor scratch had Cibolo received; and

as he sprang around his young mistress, he appeared in perfect health

and spirits.

A splendid animal he was,--one of those magnificent sheep-dogs of New

Mexico, who, though half-wolf themselves, will successfully defend a

flock of sheep from the attack of wolves, or even of the more savage

bear. The finest sheep-dogs in the world are they, and one of the

finest of his race was Cibolo.

His mistress, having ascertained that he was uninjured, stepped upon the

banqueta, and reached up towards a singular-looking object that hung

over a peg in the wall. The object bore some resemblance to a string of

ill-formed sausages. But it was not that, though it was something quite

as good for Cibolo, who, by his sparkling eyes and short pleased

whimpers, showed that he knew what it was. Yes, Cibolo had not to be

initiated into the mysteries of a string of tasajo. Dried buffalo-meat

was an old and tried favourite; and the moment it reached his jaws,

which it did immediately after, he gave proof of this by the earnest

manner in which he set to work upon it.

The pretty Rosita, still a little apprehensive, once more peeped through

the cactus-fence to assure herself that no one was near.

But this time some one _was_ near, and the sight did not cause her any

fear,--quite the contrary. The approach of a young man in a blue manga,

mounted upon a richly-caparisoned horse, had a contrary effect

altogether, and Rosita's little heart now beat with confidence.

This young horseman was Don Juan the ranchero. He rode straight up to

the opening, and seeing the guera cried out in a frank friendly voice,

"_Buenos dias, Rosita_!"

The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico · 第 25 / 79 题