The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico Page 23

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

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

  She ran back into the house and communicated the intelligence to hermother, who had again seated herself, and was quietly smoking her pipeof _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 hadbeen here! He would have taught that proud Gachupino we were not sohelpless! Ha! that would Carlos!"

  "Do not think of it any more, dear mother; I don't think they willreturn. You have frightened them away,--you and our brave Cibolo. Howwell he behaved! But I must see," she added, hastily casting her eyesround 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 hishiding-place, and bounded up, wagging his tail, and glancing kindly inher 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 ofmeeting with the red stain of a bullet. Fortunately the sergeant's aimhad not been true. Neither wound nor scratch had Cibolo received; andas he sprang around his young mistress, he appeared in perfect healthand spirits.

  A splendid animal he was,--one of those magnificent sheep-dogs of NewMexico, who, though half-wolf themselves, will successfully defend aflock of sheep from the attack of wolves, or even of the more savagebear. The finest sheep-dogs in the world are they, and one of thefinest of his race was Cibolo.

  His mistress, having ascertained that he was uninjured, stepped upon thebanqueta, and reached up towards a singular-looking object that hungover a peg in the wall. The object bore some resemblance to a string ofill-formed sausages. But it was not that, though it was something quiteas good for Cibolo, who, by his sparkling eyes and short pleasedwhimpers, showed that he knew what it was. Yes, Cibolo had not to beinitiated into the mysteries of a string of tasajo. Dried buffalo-meatwas an old and tried favourite; and the moment it reached his jaws,which it did immediately after, he gave proof of this by the earnestmanner in which he set to work upon it.

  The pretty Rosita, still a little apprehensive, once more peeped throughthe cactus-fence to assure herself that no one was near.

  But this time some one _was_ near, and the sight did not cause her anyfear,--quite the contrary. The approach of a young man in a blue manga,mounted upon a richly-caparisoned horse, had a contrary effectaltogether, and Rosita's little heart now beat with confidence.

  This young horseman was Don Juan the ranchero. He rode straight up tothe opening, and seeing the guera cried out in a frank friendly voice,"_Buenos dias, Rosita_!"

  The reply was as frank and friendly--a simple return of the salutation--

  "_Buenos dias, Don Juan_!"

  "How is the Senora your mother to-day?"

  "_Muchas gracias_, Don Juan! as usual she is. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

  "_Hola_!" exclaimed Don Juan. "What are you laughing at, Rosita?"

  "Ha! ha! ha! Saw you nothing of the fine soldiers?"

  "True, I did. I met the troop as I came down, going up the valley in agallop, and the Comandante riding far ahead, as if the Apaches wereafter him. In truth, I thought they had met the Indios bravos--for Iknow that to be their usual style of riding after an interview withthese gentry."

  "Ha! ha! ha!" still laughed the little blonde, "but did you noticenothing odd about the officer?"

  "I think I did. He looked as though he had ridden through thechapparal; but I had scarce a glance at him, he passed so quickly. Hegave _me_ one that was anything but friendly. No doubt he remembers theloss of his gold onzas at San Juan. Ha! ha! But, dear Rosita, what mayyou be laughing at? Have the soldiers been here? Anything happened?"

  Rosita now gave an account of the Comandante's visit; how he had calledto light his cigar and get a drink of water; how he had entered thehouse and been attacked by Cibolo, which caused the precipitate retreatto his horse, and his hasty departure from the place. She was silent,however, about the most important particulars. She said nothing of theinsulting speeches which Vizcarra had made--nothing of the kiss. Shefeared the effect of such a communication on Don Juan. She knew herlover was of a hot rash disposition. He would not hear these thingsquietly; he would involve himself in some trouble on her account; andthese considerations prompted her to conceal the cause that had led tothe "scene." She, therefore, disclosed only the more ludicrous effects,at which she laughed heartily.

  Don Juan, even knowing only so much, was inclined to regard the affairmore seriously. A visit from Vizcarra--a drink of water--light hiscigar--enter the rancho--all very strange circumstances, but not at alllaughable, thought Don Juan. And then to be attacked and torn by thedog--to be driven from the house in such a humiliating manner--inpresence of his own troop, too!--Vizcarra--the vainglorious Vizcarra--the great militario of the place--the hero of a hundred Indian battlesthat never were fought--he to be conquered by a cur! Seriously, thoughtDon Juan, it was not an affair to laugh at. Vizcarra would haverevenge, or try hard to obtain it.

  The young ranchero had other unpleasant thoughts in connexion with thisaffair. What could have brought the Comandante to the rancho? How hadhe found out that interesting abode,--that spot, sequestered as it was,that seemed to him (Don Juan) to be the centre of the world? Who haddirected him that way? What brought the troop out of the main road,their usual route of march?

  These were questions which Don Juan put to himself. To have asked themof Rosita would have been to disclose the existence of a feeling hewould rather keep concealed--jealousy.

  And jealous he was at the moment. The drink, she had served him ofcourse,--the cigar, she had lit it for him--perhaps invited him in!Even now she appeared in the highest spirits, and not at all angry atthe visit that had been paid her!

  Don Juan's reflections had suddenly grown bitter, and he did not join inthe laugh which his sweetheart was indulging in.

  When after a short while she invited him in, his feelings took a turn,and he became himself again. He dismounted from his horse, and followedRosita through the garden into the house.

  The girl sat down by the loom and continued her work, while the youngranchero was allowed to kneel upon the petate beside her, and converseat will. There was no objection to his occasionally assisting her tostraighten out the woof or untwist a fouled thread; and, on theseoccasions, their fingers frequently met, and seemed to remain longer incontact than was necessary for the unravelling of the knot.

  But no one noticed all this. Rosita's mother was indulging in a siesta;and Cibolo, if he saw anything amiss, said nothing about it to any one,but wagged his tail, and looked good-humouredly at Don Juan, as if heentirely approved of the latter's conduct.