"It's precisely because those men are cowards that I fear them. Canarios! I know as well as you that they will not dare openly to attack you."
"What have I to fear, then?" Don Pacheco interrupted him.
"Treachery, brother."
"Why, have I not five hundred devoted peons on the hacienda? Go without fear, I tell you."
"You wish it?"
"I insist on it."
"Good-bye, then," Don Stefano said, stifling a sigh. "Good-bye, brother, till we meet again."
Don Stefano dug his spurs into his horse's flanks and started at full speed. For a long time his brother followed the rider's outline on the sandy road, till he turned a corner, and Don Pacheco re-entered the hacienda with an anxious heart.
Don Stefano, stimulated by the vague alarm that oppressed him, only stopped the absolutely necessary period at Nacogdoches to finish his business, and hurried back scarce two days after his departure. Strangely enough, the nearer he drew to the farm, the greater his anxiety grew, though it was impossible for him to explain the causes of the feeling.
Around home all was tranquil—the sky, studded with an infinite number of glistening stars, spread over his head its dome of azure; at intervals, the howling of the coyote was mingled with the hoarse lowing of the buffaloes, or the roars of the jaguars in quest of prey.