When the vaquero ceased, a long silence ensued, caused by the strangeness of this revelation. Stoneheart racked his brains in vain endeavours to discover a motive for the Tigercat's conduct. He recalled the words the chief had once uttered in his presence,—words which agreed with what he had just heard; for even at that time the old man seemed to take delight in the project. But Stoneheart vainly tried to find a solution to the question, why he should act thus.
In the meanwhile the sun had gone down, and night set in with the rapidity peculiar to intertropical climates, in which there is no twilight. It was one of those delicious nights of Southern America which are replete with sweet odours and airy melody. The dark blue sky was enamelled with a countless number of golden stars. The moon, now at the full, showered down a flood of soft and glorious light; and the transparent atmosphere made distant objects seem close at hand. The night wind tempered the oppressive heat of the day; and the men seated in front of the jacal inhaled with delight the refreshing breeze that whispered among the foliage, surrendering themselves to the influence of the night, which stole upon them with all its seductive languor.
When Don Pedro and his two confidential agents first set out on their search for Doña Hermosa, under the auspices of Stoneheart, Ña Manuela, that devoted pure-hearted woman, refused to leave her master and her son. She had loudly claimed her share in the risks and perils they were about to encounter, asserting her right to accompany them in her quality of Doña Hermosa's nurse. The good woman had persisted so obstinately, that Don Pedro and Don Estevan, touched by her self-abnegation, could no longer resist her entreaties, and she had come with them. Ña Manuela had charge of the commissariat of the camp. As soon as night had completely closed in, she issued from the jacal, bearing refreshments, which she distributed with strict impartiality to all present, master and man. Unseen, the worthy woman had listened to the queries put to the vaquero. Her heart failed her at El Zapote's story; but she dissembled her grief, for fear of augmenting Don Pedro's anguish; and she appeared amongst the travellers with dry eyes and a smiling countenance.
However, time passed on; the hour for rest had come; one after another the peones rolled themselves in their zarapés, and slumbered peacefully, with the exception of the sentries posted to watch over the safety of the camp. Stoneheart, plunged in deep meditation, was reclining, with his head supported by his right arm; his companions now and then exchanged a few words, uttered in a low tone, that they might not disturb him. The vaquero, with characteristic carelessness, stretched himself out on the ground, indifferent to what was passing around him. His eyelids grew heavy; he was already in a state of semi—somnolence, when he was thoroughly roused to consciousness by Don Fernando, who shook him rudely.
"Holloa, señor! What is the matter?" said he, sitting up, and rubbing his eyes.
"Is it possible to trust you?"
"A question you asked once before, señor. I replied, 'Yes, if you pay me well.' Now, you have paid me royally. There was but one man in the world to whom I could attach myself sooner than to you—Don Torribio Quiroga. He is dead; you take his place. No dog would obey your slightest sign more faithfully than I."
"I am not now going to put your new fledged fidelity to any rude proof; I shall content myself with leaving you here. But remember to deal frankly with me, and without reservation; for as surely as I have not hesitated to pay you in advance in the bargain I have concluded with you, so surely will I not hesitate to kill you on the spot if you betray me. And take this to your soul: if you deceive me, no hiding place, however secret or remote, shall save you from my vengeance."
The vaquero bent his head, and answered unhesitatingly: "Señor Don Fernando, I swear, by the Cross of our Lord, who died for the remission of our sins, that I will be faithful to you unto the death."
"Good," said Stoneheart; "I believe you, Zapote. Sleep now, if you are able."