“Yes,” said Rodrigo again, moving slowly away.
“By the river, remember. You’ll find your horse there.”
“Captain Maurel’s, the fine black one?”
“Yes, I slipped it out of the stables for you.”
“The fine black one?”
“Yes, yes, hombre!”
“And–and she never–she never saw–how magnifico I look on–on that fine black horse.”
He was still muttering as he reeled and staggered down the hill.
When he was gone, and no alarm of sentinels rang out, Tiburcio took off his serape and laid it over the dark blot on the stones. Then he too stole away, to tell her father.