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After the duel Maurice was compelled to stay within doors. The injuries he had received, though not so severe as those of his antagonist, nevertheless made it necessary for him to keep to his chamber – a small, and scantily furnished bedroom in the hotel.
How the ex-captain carried his discomfiture no one could tell. He was no longer to be seen swaggering in the saloon of the “Rough and Ready;” though the cause of his absence was well understood. He was confined to his couch by wounds, that, if not skilfully treated, might lead to death.
He could no longer claim this credit in Texas; and the thought harrowed his heart to its very core. To figure as a defeated man before all the women of the settlement – above all in the eyes of her he adored, defeated by one whom he suspected of being his rival in her affections was too much to be endured with equanimity.
He had no idea of enduring it. If he could not escape from the disgrace, he was determined to revenge himself upon its author; and as soon as he had recovered from the apprehensions entertained about the safety of his life, he commenced reflecting upon this very subject.
In the solitude of his chamber he set about maturing his plans. Maurice, the mustanger, must die! He did not purpose doing the deed himself. His late defeat had rendered him fearful of chancing a second encounter with the same adversary. He wanted an accomplice – an arm to strike for him. Where was he to find it?
Unluckily he knew the very man. There was a Mexican at the time living in the village – like Maurice himself – a mustanger; but one of those with whom the young Irishman had shown a disinclination to associate. It was Miguel Diaz – known by the nickname “El Coyote.”
Calhoun remembered having met him in the bar-room of the hotel. He remembered that he had been one of those who had carried him home on the stretcher; and from some expressions he had made use of, when speaking of his antagonist, Calhoun had drawn the deduction, that the Mexican was no friend to Maurice the mustanger.
The Mexican made no secret of his heartfelt hostility to the young mustanger. He did not declare the exact cause of it; but Calhoun could guess, by certain innuendos introduced during the conversation, that it was the same as that by which he was himself actuated – the same to which may be traced almost every quarrel that has occurred among men, from Troy to Texas – a woman!
The Mexican did not give the name; and Calhoun, as he listened to his explanations, only hoped in his heart that the woman who had slighted him might have won the heart of his rival.
Louise was standing upon the edge of the azotea that fronted towards the east. Her glance was wandering, as if her thoughts went not with it, but were dwelling upon some theme, neither present nor near.
In contrast with the cheerful brightness of the sky, there was a shadow upon her brow.
“He may be dangerously wounded – perhaps even to death? I may not send to inquire. I dare not even ask after him. He may be in some poor place – perhaps neglected? Would that I could convey to him a message without any one knowing it! I wonder what has become of Zeb Stump?”
The young lady scanned the road leading towards Fort Inge. Zeb Stump should come that way. He was not in sight; nor was any one else. She looked at the plain in the opposite quarter and saw a horse stepping out from among the trees. He was ridden by one, who, at first sight, appeared to be a man, dressed in a sort of Arab costume; but who, on closer scrutiny, was unquestionably of the other sex – a lady.
The loosely falling folds of the lady’s scarf didn’t hinder the observer from coming to the conclusion, that her figure was quite as attractive as her face.
The man following upon the mule by his costume – as well as the respectful distance observed – was evidently an attendant.
“Who can that woman be?” was the muttered interrogatory of Louise Poindexter, as with quick action she raised the lorgnette to her eyes. “A Mexican, of course; the man on the mule her servant. Some grand senora, I suppose? A basket carried by the attendant. I wonder what it contains; and what errand she can have to the Port – it may be the village. It is the third time I’ve seen her passing within this week? She must be from some of the plantations below!”
There came a change over the countenance of the Creole, quick as a drifting cloud darkens the disc of the sun.
The cause could only be looked for in the movements of the scarfed equestrian on the other side of the river. An antelope had sprung up, out of some low shrubbery growing by the roadside. The woman with her scarf suddenly flung from her face, was seen describing, with her right arm, a series of circular sweeps in the air!
“What is the woman going to do?” was the muttered interrogatory of the spectator upon the house-top. “Ha! As I live, it is a lazo!”
The senora was not long in giving proof of skill in the use of the lazo – by flinging its noose around the antelope’s neck, and throwing the creature in its tracks!
It was at that moment – when the lazo was seen circling in the air – that the shadow had reappeared upon the countenance or the Creole. It was not surprise that caused it, but a thought far more unpleasant.
“I wonder – oh, I wonder if it is she! My own age, he said – not quite so tall. The description suits – so far as one may judge at this distance. Has her home on the Rio Grande. Comes occasionally to the Leona, to visit some relatives. Why did I not ask him the name? I wonder – oh, I wonder if it is she!”
It was a relief to Louise Poindexter, when a horseman appeared coming out of the chapparal; a still greater relief, when he was recognised, through the lorgnette, as Zeb Stump the hunter.
“The man I was wanting to see!” she exclaimed in joyous accents. “He can bear me a message; and perhaps tell who she is. He must have met her on the road.”
“Dear Mr Stump!” called a voice, to which the old hunter delighted to listen. “I’m so glad to see you. Dismount, and come up here!”
Zeb was soon upon the housetop; where he was once more welcomed by the young mistress of the mansion.
She asked him about Maurice, and Zeb told her that the mustanger didn’t have any dangerous wounds and would be all right in a couple of days. When Louise learned that after the duel Maurice was staying at the hotel she said she wished to send something to him.
“Stay here, Mr Stump, till I come up to you again.”
The young lady lightly descended the stone stairway. Presently she reappeared – bringing with her a good-sized hamper; which was evidently filled with eatables.
“Now dear old Zeb, you will take this to Mr Gerald? It’s only some little things that Florinda has put up, such as sick people at times have a craving for. They are not likely to be kept in the hotel. Don’t tell him where they come from – neither him, nor any one else.”
“You may depend on Zeb Stump for that, Miss Louise. Though, for the matter of cakes and kickshaws, and all that sort of thing, the mustanger hasn’t had much reason to complain. He has been supplied with enough of them.”
“Supplied already! By whom?”
“Well, I can’t inform you, Miss Louise; Maurice doesn’t know it himself. I only heard they were fetched to the tavern in baskets, by some sort of a serving-man, a Mexican. I’ve seen the man myself. Fact, I’ve just this minute met him, riding after a woman. He had a basket just like one Maurice had got already.”
There was no need to trouble Zeb Stump with further cross-questioning. A whole history was supplied by that single speech. The case was painfully clear. In the regard of Maurice Gerald, Louise Poindexter had a rival – perhaps something more. The lady of the lazo was either his fiancée, or his mistress!
For the first time in her life Louise Poindexter felt the pangs of jealousy. It was her first real love: for she was in love with Maurice Gerald.
The mistress of Casa del Corvo could not rest, till she had satisfied herself on this score. As soon as Zeb Stump had taken his departure, she ordered the spotted mare to be saddled; and, riding out alone, she sought the crossing of the river; and thence proceeded to the highway on the opposite side.
Advancing in the direction of the Fort, as she expected, she soon encountered the Mexican senora on her return; no senora according to the exact signification of the term, but a senorita – a young lady, not older than herself.
Good breeding permitted only a glance at her in passing; which was returned by a like courtesy on the part of the stranger.
“Beautiful!” said Louise, after passing her supposed rival upon the road. “Yes; too beautiful to be his friend! I cannot have any doubt,” continued she, “of the relationship that exists between them – He loves her! – he loves her! It accounts for his cold indifference to me?
1) How did Calhoun feel after his defeat? What plan was he maturing?
2) Who is Miguel Diaz? Why did he dislike Maurice Gerald?
3) Where did Maurice stay after the duel? Who supplied him with delicacies?
4) How did Louise feel after she’d learned who it was? Why?
During the three days that followed that unpleasant discovery, once again had she seen – from the housetop as before – the lady of the lazo, as before accompanied by her attendant with the basket.
She knew more now about her rival, though not much. The Dona Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos – daughter of a wealthy landowner, who lived upon the Rio Grande, and niece to another whose estate lay upon the Leona, a mile beyond the boundaries of her father’s new purchase. An eccentric young lady, as some thought, who could throw a lazo, tame a wild steed, or anything else excepting her own caprices.
One day Louise was upon the azotea, looking towards the quarter whence the senorita might have been expected to come.
On turning her eyes in the opposite direction, she beheld – that which caused her something more than surprise. She saw Maurice Gerald, mounted on horseback, and riding down the road!
On recognising him, she shrank behind the parapet.
The invalid was convalescent. He no longer needed to be visited by his nurse.
Cowering behind the parapet Louise Poindexter watched the passing horseman. She felt some slight gratification on observing that he turned his face at intervals and fixed his regard upon Casa del Corvo. It was increased, when on reaching a copse, that stood by the side of the road, and nearly opposite the house, he reined up behind the trees, and for a long time remained in the same spot, as if reconnoitring the mansion.
Then he rode on and became lost to view with the road upon which he was riding.
Where was he going? To visit Dona Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos?
As on the day before, Louise stood by the parapet scanning the road on the opposite side of the river; as before, she saw the mustanger ride past.
He was going downwards, as on the day preceding. Her heart fluttered between hope and fear. There was an instant when she felt half inclined to show herself. Fear prevailed; and in the next instant he was gone.
The jealous heart of the Creole could hold out no longer. In less than twenty minutes after, a steed was seen upon the same road – and in the same direction – with a lady upon its back.
She entered the chapparal where the mustanger had ridden in scarce twenty minutes before. She reached the crest of a hill which commanded a view beyond. There was a mansion in sight surrounded by tall trees. It was the residence of Don Silvio Martinez, the uncle of Dona Isidora. So much had she learnt already.
No one appeared either at the house, or near it.
Could the lady have ridden out to meet him, or Maurice gone in?
With such questions was the Creole afflicting herself, when the neigh of a horse broke abruptly on her ear. She looked below: for she had halted upon the crest, a steep acclivity. The mustanger was ascending it – riding directly towards her.
It was too late for Louise to shun him. The spotted mustang had replied to the salutation of an old acquaintance. Its rider was constrained to keep her ground, till the mustanger came up.
“Good day, Miss Poindexter?” said he. “Alone?”
“Alone, sir. And why not?”
“True: I think I’ve heard you say you prefer solitary rides?”
“You appear to like it yourself, Mr Gerald. To you, however, it is not so solitary, I presume?”
“In faith I do like it. I have the misfortune to live at a tavern, or `hotel,’ as my host is pleased to call it; and one gets very tired of the noises – especially an invalid, as I have the bad luck to be. A ride along this quiet road would invigorate anyone. Don’t you think so, Miss Poindexter?”
“You should know best, sir,” was the reply vouchsafed, after some seconds of embarrassment. “You, who have so often tried it.”
“Often! I have been only twice down this road since I have been able to sit in my saddle. But, Miss Poindexter, may I ask how you knew that I have been this way at all?”
“Oh!” rejoined Louise, “how could I help knowing it? I am in the habit of spending much time on the housetop. Our roof commands a view of this road. Being up there, I could not avoid seeing you as you passed. The distance is scarce six hundred yards. Even a lady, mounted upon a steed much smaller than yours, was sufficiently conspicuous to be identified. When I saw her display her wonderful skill, by strangling a poor little antelope with her lazo, I knew it could be no other than she whose accomplishments you were so good as to give me an account of.”
“Isidora? Ah; true! She has been here for some time.”
“And has been very kind to Mr Maurice Gerald?”
“Indeed, it is true. She has been very kind; though I have had no chance of thanking her. I have not met her for many months; and may not for months to come – now that she has gone back to her home on the Rio Grande.”
“Are you speaking the truth, sir? You have not seen her since – she is gone away from the house of her uncle?”
“She has,” replied Maurice, exhibiting surprise. “Of course, I have not seen her. I only knew she was here by her sending me some delicacies while I was ill. In truth, I stood in need of them. The Dona Isidora has been but too grateful for the slight service I once did her.”
“A service! May I ask what it was, Mr Gerald?”
“Oh, certainly. It was merely a chance. I had the opportunity of being useful to the young lady, in once rescuing her from some rude Indians, into whose hands she had fallen, while making a journey from the Rio Grande to visit her uncle on the Leona – Don Silvio Martinez, whose house you can see from here.”
“A slight service, you call it? You are modest in your estimate, Mr Gerald. A man who should do that much for me!”
“What would you do for him?” asked the mustanger, placing a significant emphasis on the final word.
“I should love him,” was the prompt reply.
“Then,” said Maurice, spurring his horse close up to the side of the spotted mustang, and whispering into the ear of its rider, with an earnestness strangely contrasting to his late reticence, “I would give half my life to see you in the hands of Wild Cat and his drunken comrades – the other half to deliver you from the danger.”
“Do you mean this, Maurice Gerald? Do not trifle with me: I am not a child. Speak the truth! Do you mean it?”
“I do! As heaven is above me, I do!”
The fondest embrace ever received by Maurice Gerald, was that given by Louise Poindexter; when, standing up in her stirrup, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, she cried in an agony of earnest passion—
“I love you, I love you!”
1) Who was the lady of the lazo? Why was Louise jealous?
2) Where did Louise decide to ride after seeing the mustanger and why?
3) Why did Isidora send delicacies to Maurice?
4) How did the encounter end?
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