Don Fernando complied. They entered the corral, and saddled their horses.
"Now mount and be off," said Don Estevan, as he vaulted into the saddle; "there is plenty of room for talk in the desert."
The plan proposed was very acceptable to the Mexican, as it gave him freedom of action, and the means of hurling consummate vengeance at the head of the major-domo, if the latter wished, as he fancied, to betray him.
It was a splendid morning: a dazzling sun showered down his hot rays in profusion over the country, making the stones glitter like diamonds; the birds warbled gaily among the leaves; vaqueros and peones began to disperse themselves in all directions, urging on to the pasturage the horses and cattle of the hacienda; the landscape increased in beauty every moment, and bore a smiling aspect, very different to the one it wore under the terrors of darkness.
The two men rode on for an hour, when they came to a half-ruined and uninhabited rancho, which, covered with climbing plants, and almost hidden under their leaves and flowers, offered an excellent refuge from the heat; for, though the day was still young, the sultriness of the air was overpowering.
"Let us stop here," said Don Estevan, breaking silence for the first time since they left his home; "we shall scarcely find a fitter place."
"Stop, if it suits you," said Don Fernando, carelessly; "to me all places are alike, provided you give me the explanation I demand; only, let it be short and frank."
"Frank it shall be, I give you my honour; short I cannot say, for I have a long and sad tale to relate."
"To me? And for what purpose, pray? Must I hear it? Tell me only—"
"Most surely," said Don Estevan, as he dismounted, "what I have to say will touch you very nearly. You will shortly see the proof."