The reader will remember that we left Sanchez at the house of Signor Castro, whither he had ridden with speed, upon hearing the directions given to convey Monteagle to the solitary hut, with the whereabouts of which he was well acquainted.
Leaping from his horse, Sanchez merely cast the reins upon his neck, and the well trained animal stood almost motionless awaiting the return of his rider.
Upon entering the house the first inquire of Sanchez was for his young mistress, Donna Inez. She had gone to the Mission Church, to attend the vesper services, and had not yet returned.
Again Sanchez was in the saddle, and in a few moments reached the square fronting the rude antique edifice in which many generations of Californians have been christened, wedded and buried. Here he again dismounted, entered the church, and catching the eye of his mistress, motioned her to follow him, and then withdrew from the church. No sooner had they passed from beneath the sacred roof, than Sanchez related to her all that he had witnessed on the beach, when Monteagle was seized.
The youthful maiden’s lovely cheek now paled till it was white as alabaster, then crimsoned till its flush rivalled the ruddiest rose, as she listened to the rude but graphic description given by Sanchez of the violent seizure of the gallant youth who had bravely rushed into the flames and saved her from a dreadful death.
Donna Inez directed Sanchez to go to a small hotel, on a road that leads into the Mission Plaza, and inquire for one Joaquin. If he saw him, he was to say the lady desired to meet him instantly, at her father’s residence.
Sanchez did the bidding of his young mistress with due diligence. He found Joaquin busy at a game of billiards; but no sooner did he receive the message than throwing down his cue he rushed to the door, and leaped into the saddle of a splendid looking horse, which was quietly standing untied at the door. Bidding Sanchez to follow, Joaquin struck the spurs deep into the flanks of his fiery steed, and proceeded at a gallop towards the dwelling of Signor Castro.
When Joaquin arrived in front of the mansion, he found the young and lovely lady standing in the portico. She was attired in the rich garb of a Mexican cavalier. But neither the large topped boots, nor the ample poncho could disguise the matchless symmetry of that perfect form: rich in every grace that renders woman resistless. Her rounded bosom heaved wildly beneath the folds of her poncho as Joaquin lifted his hat before her, at the same moment reining in his foaming steed with such a sudden and powerful effort, that the spirited animal was forced down almost on his haunches.
‘Buenos noches, Donna Inez,’ said the robber, for such he was, respectfully.
‘Thank you—thank you, Joaquin, for your promptness. You are indeed grateful,’ said Donna Inez.