She spoke softly, pityingly, when he stopped. “Ramon, I’m sorry. It was wicked of me to draw you on. But to marry you would be far worse. What can I do to make up?”
He told, with anger and offense. She had promised to be his wife! It was a betrothal! as binding in Mexican eyes as marriage! He had announced it to his father, mother, sister, friends! His conceit cropped out again as he pictured himself, jilted, in their eyes. Angered by his own imaginings, he was growing abusive when she cut him quietly off.
“I was on my way when we met, to own and ask pardon for my fault. I had counted on our old friendship and your generosity to make it less difficult. But I see, now, my error. There is nothing left but to bid you good-by.”
Now came the ultimate revelation, that passion of furious jealousy which drives the Mexican peon to cut off the hands, slash the face and breast, of his love. His eyes narrowed to shifting, insane sparks. Hand raised, as though to strike, he spurred his beast forward.
“You—you—”
He got no further, for one hard dig of the spur shot Gordon’s horse in between. From English to Spanish the argument had run, but from Lee’s answers Gordon had gathered enough. Though slower, his beast was heavier than Ramon’s, and while forcing horse and rider sideways with a steady pressure he issued his orders:
“That’s about enough for you! Get!”
Ramon’s hand flew to his saddle machete, but he did not draw, for Gordon’s had gone to his gun. Leg pressed against leg, they manœuvered their plunging beasts; without drawing a weapon fought the old fight of the brown man and the white; the struggle which began when Cortés imposed his will on the Aztec emperors; was continued by the Puritan forefathers against the American Indian; which has been fought to the same conclusion all over the world. And from the two faces—Gordon’s cold, hard-eyed, Ramon’s distorted with black fury—the cause of that inevitable ending might have been read.
So close they were Gordon could see the palpitation of light from the insane waverings of the other’s eyeballs steady under a doubt. He felt rather than saw the Mexican’s sudden swift reach for his knife. Even more swiftly he snatched, and with a sudden wrench of the other’s wrist sent the knife flying and bore him back flat in the saddle. For a moment he held him, then with a powerful shove his horse sent Ramon’s beast stumbling sideways and broke the grip. Wheeling in a circle, Ramon faced them again.
So far Lee had looked on distressed. Now she spurred forward and caught Gordon’s arm. “Let him go!—please!” Her anger gone now, sorrow quivering in her voice, she added, “You will, won’t you, Ramon?”