“Listen to me, then, attentively, for I have but a short time to stay, and have much to tell you. And, first of all, do you wish to escape from hence?”
“Do I wish it!” cried I; and in the sudden burst, long dried-up sources of emotion opened out afresh, and the heavy tears rolled down my cheeks.
“Are you willing to incur the danger of attempting it?”
“Ay, this instant!”
“If so, the means await you. I want a letter conveyed to a certain person in the town of Guajuaqualla, which is about two hundred miles distant.”
“In which direction?” asked I.
“You shall see the map for yourself; here it is,” said she, giving me a small package which contained a map and a mariner's compass. “I only know that the path lies over the prairie and by the banks of a branch of the Red River. There are villages and farmhouses when you have reached that region.”
“And how am I to do so, unmolested, Señhora? A foot-traveller on the prairie must be overtaken at once.”
“You shall be well mounted on a mustang worth a thousand dollars; but ride him without spurring. If he bring you safe to Guajuaqualla he has paid his price.” She then proceeded to a detail which showed how well and maturely every minute circumstance had been weighed and considered. The greatest difficulty lay in the fact that no water was to be met with nearer than eighty miles, which distance I should be compelled to compass on the first day. If this were a serious obstacle on one side, on the other it relieved me of all apprehension of being captured after the first forty or fifty miles were accomplished, since my pursuers would scarcely venture farther.
The Señhora had provided for everything. My dress, which would have proclaimed me as a runaway “settler,” was to be exchanged for the gay attire of a Mexican horse-dealer,—a green velvet jacket and hose, all slashed and decorated with jingling silver buttons, pistols, sabre, and rifle to suit.