The Headless Horseman Part 73

Maurice may have spoken the truth; but we could better believe him, had he seen Louise Poindexter before becoming acquainted with Isidora.

The episode of the burnt prairie was several weeks subsequent to the adventure with the intoxicated Indians.

Certainly something appears to have occurred between him and the Mexican maiden, that leads her to believe she has a hope--if not a claim--upon his affections.

It has come to that crisis, that she can no longer rest satisfied. Her impulsive spirit cannot brook ambiguity. She knows that she loves _him_. She has determined to make frank confession of it; and to ask with like frankness whether her pa.s.sion be reciprocated. Hence her having made an appointment that could not be kept.

For that day Don Miguel Diaz had interfered between her and her purpose.

So thought she, as she galloped out of the glade, and hastened back to the hacienda of her uncle.

Astride her grey steed she goes at a gallop.

Her head is bare; her coiffure disarranged; her rich black tresses streaming back beyond her shoulders, no longer covered by scarf or serape. The last she has left behind her, and along with it her _vicuna_ hat.

Her eyes are flashing with excitement; her cheeks flushed to the colour of carmine.

The cause is known.

And also why she is riding in such hot haste. She has herself declared it.

On nearing the house, she is seen to tighten her rein. The horse is pulled in to a slower pace--a trot; slower still--a walk; and, soon after, he is halted in the middle of the road.

His rider has changed her intention; or stops to reflect whether she should.

She sits reflecting.

"On second thoughts--perhaps--better not have him taken? It would create a terrible scandal, everywhere. So far, no one knows of --.

Besides, what can I say myself--the only witness? Ah! were I to tell these gallant Texans the story, my own testimony would be enough to have him punished with a harsh hand. No! let him live. _Ladron_ as he is, I do not fear him. After what's happened he will not care to come near me. _Santa Virgen_! to think that I could have felt a fancy for this man--short-lived as it was!

"I must send some one back to release him. One who can keep my secret-- who? Benito, the mayor-domo--faithful and brave. _Gracias a Dios_!

Yonder's my man--as usual busied in counting his cattle. Benito!

Benito!"

"At your orders, s'norita?"

"Good Benito, I want you to do me a kindness. You consent?"

"At your orders, s'norita?" repeats the mayor-domo, bowing low.

"Not _orders_, good Benito. I wish you to do me a _favour_."

"Command me, s'norita!"

"You know the spot of open ground at the top of the hill--where the three roads meet?"

"As well as the corral of your uncle's hacienda."

"Good! Go there. You will find a man lying upon the ground, his arms entangled in a lazo. Release, and let him go free. If he be hurt--by a harsh fall he has had--do what you can to restore him; but don't tell him who sent you. You may know the man--I think you do. No matter for that. Ask him no questions, nor answer his, if he should put any. Once you have seen him on his legs, let him make use of them after his own fashion. You understand?"

"_Perfectamente, s'norita_. Your orders shall be obeyed to the letter."

"Thanks, good Benito. Uncle Silvio will like you all the better for it; though _you_ mustn't tell him of it. Leave that to me. If he shouldn't--if he shouldn't--well! one of these days there may be an estate on the Rio Grande that will stand in need of a brave, faithful steward--such an one as I know you to be."

"Every one knows that the Dona Isidora is gracious as she is fair."

"Thanks--thanks! One more request. The service I ask you to do for me must be known to only three individuals. The third is he whom you are sent to succour. You know the other two?"

"S'norita, I comprehend. It shall be as you wish it."

The mayor-domo is moving off on horseback, it need scarce be said. Men of his calling rarely set foot to the earth--never upon a journey of half a league in length.

"Stay! I had forgotten!" calls out the lady, arresting him. "You will find a hat and serape. They are mine. Bring them, and I shall wait for you here, or meet you somewhere along the way."

Bowing, he again rides away. Again is he summoned to stop.

"On second thoughts, Senor Benito, I've made up my mind to go along with you. _Vamos_!"

The steward of Don Silvio is not surprised at caprice, when exhibited by the niece of his employer. Without questioning, he obeys her command, and once more heads his horse for the hill.

The lady follows. She has told him to ride in the advance. She has her reason for departing from the aristocratic custom.

Benito is astray in his conjecture. It is not to caprice that he is indebted for the companionship of the senorita. A serious motive takes her back along the road.

She has forgotten something more than her wrapper and hat--that little letter that has caused her so much annoyance.

The "good Benito" has not had _all_ her confidence; nor can he be entrusted with this. _It_ might prove a scandal, graver than the quarrel with Don Miguel Diaz.

She rides back in hopes of repossessing herself of the epistle. How stupid not to have thought of it before!

How had El Coyote got hold of it? He must have had it from Jose!

Was her servant a traitor? Or had Diaz met him on the way, and forced the letter from him?

To either of these questions an affirmative answer might be surmised.

On the part of Diaz such an act would have been natural enough; and as for Jose, it is not the first time she has had reason for suspecting his fidelity.

So run her thoughts as she re-ascends the slope, leading up from the river bottom.

The summit is gained, and the opening entered; Isidora now riding side by side with the mayor-domo.

No Miguel Diaz there--no man of any kind; and what gives her far greater chagrin, not a sc.r.a.p of paper!

There is her hat of vicuna wool--her seraph of Saltillo, and the loop end of her lazo--nothing more.

"You may go home again, Senor Benito! The man thrown from his horse must have recovered his senses--and, I suppose, his saddle too. Blessed be the virgin! But remember, good Benito _Secrecy all the same.

Entiende, V_?"