The Headless Horseman Part 65

"Now, he can breathe more freely. Pardieu! what can have caused it?

Lazoed in his saddle and dragged to the earth? That is most probable.

But who could have done it? It was a woman's voice. Surely it was? I could not be mistaken about that.

"And yet there is a man's hat, and a _serape_, not this man's! Was there another, who has gone away with the woman? Only one horse went off.

"Ah! he is coming to himself! thank Heaven for that! He will be able to explain all. You are recovering, sir?"

"S'norita! who are you?" asked Don Miguel Diaz, raising his head, and looking apprehensively around.

"Where is she?" he continued.

"Of whom do you speak? I have seen no one but yourself."

"_Carrambo_! that's queer. Haven't you met a woman astride a grey horse?"

"I heard a woman's voice, as I rode up."

"Say rather a she-devil's voice: for that, sure, is Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos."

"Was it she who has done this?"

"Maldito, yes! Where is she now? Tell me that, s'norita."

"I cannot. By the sound of the hoofs I fancy she has gone down the hill. She must have done so, as I came the other way myself."

"Ah--gone down the hill--home, then, to --. You've been very kind, s'norita, in loosening this lazo--as I make no doubt you've done.

Perhaps you will still further a.s.sist me by helping me into the saddle?

Once in it, I think I can stay there. At all events, I must not stay here. I have enemies, not far off. Come, Carlito!" he cried to his horse, at the same time summoning the animal by a peculiar whistle.

"Come near! Don't be frightened at the presence of this fair lady.

She's not the same that parted you and me so rudely--_en verdad_, almost for ever! Come on, _cavallo_! come on!"

The horse, on hearing the whistle, came trotting up, and permitted his master--now upon his feet--to lay hold of the bridle-rein.

"A little help from you, kind s'norita, and I think I can climb into my saddle. Once there, I shall be safe from their pursuit."

"You expect to be pursued?"

"_Quien sale_? I have enemies, as I told you. Never mind that. I feel very feeble. You will not refuse to help me?"

"Why should I? You are welcome, sir, to any a.s.sistance I can give you."

"_Mil gracias, s'norita! Mil, mil gracias_!"

The Creole, exerting all her strength, succeeded in helping the disabled horseman into his saddle; where, after some balancing, he appeared to obtain a tolerably firm seat.

Gathering up his reins, he prepared to depart.

"Adios, s'norita!" said he, "I know not who you are. I see you are not one of our people. Americano, I take it. Never mind that. You are good as you are fair; and if ever it should chance to be in his power, Miguel Diaz will not be unmindful of the service you have this day done him."

Saying this El Coyote rode off, not rapidly, but in a slow walk, as if he felt some difficulty in preserving his equilibrium.

Notwithstanding the slowness of the pace--he was soon out of sight,--the trees screening him as he pa.s.sed the glade. He went not by any of the three roads, but by a narrow track, scarce discernible where it entered the underwood.

To the young Creole the whole thing appeared like a dream--strange, rather than disagreeable.

It was changed to a frightful reality, when, after picking up a sheet of paper left by Diaz where he had been lying, she read what was written upon it. The address was "Don Mauricio Gerald;" the signature, "Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos."

To regain her saddle, Louise Poindexter was almost as much in need of a helping hand as the man who had ridden away.

As she forded the Leona, in returning to Casa del Corvo, she halted her horse in the middle of the stream; and for some time sate gazing into the flood that foamed up to her stirrup. There was a wild expression upon her features that betokened deep despair. One degree deeper, and the waters would have covered as fair a form as was ever sacrificed to their Spirit!

CHAPTER FIFTY.

A CONFLICT WITH COYOTES.

The purple shadows of a Texan twilight were descending upon the earth, when the wounded man, whose toilsome journey through the chapparal has been recorded, arrived upon the banks of the streamlet.

After quenching his thirst to a surfeit, he stretched himself along the gra.s.s, his thoughts relieved from the terrible strain so long and continuously acting upon them.

His limb for the time pained him but little; and his spirit was too much worn to be keenly apprehensive as to the future.

He only desired repose; and the cool evening breeze, sighing through the feathery fronds of the acacias, favoured his chances of obtaining it.

The vultures had dispersed to their roosts in the thicket; and, no longer disturbed by their boding presence, he soon after fell asleep.

His slumber was of short continuance. The pain of his wounds, once more returning, awoke him.

It was this--and not the cry of the coyote--that kept him from sleeping throughout the remainder of the night.

Little did he regard the sneaking wolf of the prairies--a true jackal-- that attacks but the dead; the living, only when dying.

He did not believe that he was dying.

It was a long dismal night to the sufferer; it seemed as if day would never dawn.

The light came at length, but revealed nothing to cheer him. Along with it came the birds, and the beasts went not away.

Over him, in the shine of another sun the vultures once more extended their shadowy wings. Around him he heard the howl-bark of the coyote, in a hundred hideous repet.i.tions.

Crawling down to the stream, he once more quenched his thirst.

He now hungered; and looked round for something to eat.

A pecan tree stood, near. There were nuts upon its branches, within six feet of the ground.

He was able to reach the pecan upon his hands and knees; though the effort caused agony.