And without saying anything further, he placed himself at the head of the band, which followed him along a hollow way that ran between two hills.
While the incidents we have just described were taking place on the beach, two persons, male and female, seated in a room, modestly, though comfortably, furnished, were holding a conversation, which, judging from the angry expression of their faces, seemed to be most stormy. These two persons were Carmela and the White Scalper.
Carmela was half reclining in a hammock; she was pale and suffering, her features were worn, and her red eyes showed that she had been weeping. The White Scalper, dressed in the magnificent costume of a Mexican Campesino, was walking up and down the room, champing his grey moustaches, and angrily clanking his heavy silver spurs on the floor.
"Take care, Carmela!" he said, as he suddenly halted in front of the young woman, "you know that I crush all who resist me. For the last time I ask you: Will you tell me the reason of your constant refusals?"
"What good to tell you?" she answered, sadly, "for you would not understand me."
"Oh! This woman will drive me mad," he exclaimed, clenching his fists.
"What have I done, now?" Carmela asked with ironical surprise.
"Nothing, nothing," he answered, as he resumed his hurried walk. Then at the end of a moment, he returned to the maid and said, "You hate me then?"
Carmela replied by shrugging her shoulders, and turning away from him.
"Speak!" he said, seizing her arm, and squeezing it fiercely in his powerful hand.