"Narvaez Cifuentes,—a fellow I never much liked, although I have emptied some thousand horns at his casa. But what is the matter, noble senor; surely I have not offended you?"
Ronald's eyes sparkled with stern delight, and true Highland fury swelled within his breast at the intelligence that Cifuentes was so near; and his wild reckless spirit and love of adventure made him instantly resolve to search the wood and confront his hated enemy, at all risks and hazards.
"Evan—Evan! the daring wretch who attempted to assassinate me is lurking among the dingles of the wood yonder. I will seek him out and take vengeance on him, or perish. He has but three armed villains with him: you will, of course, follow me?"
"Sir! I wadna be my faither's son, if I didna follow whare'er ye led the way," replied Evan testily. "The venture's no' what I would just like; folk shouldna tempt danger or Providence, but follow ye I will as long as I can draw breath; and, troth, I would amaist gie up my hope o' salvation, to hae but a chance at the infernal riever wi' my firelock!"
To Pedro and the muleteer, who were surprised at his sudden excitement, Ronald related all he knew of Cifuentes; and during the narrative he was interrupted by many an indignant "carajo" and malediction on the wine-seller. When he had finished, the muleteers declared, with one voice, that if they had not their mules to attend to they would have followed into the wood and assisted him to attack the haunt of the robbers among the ruins, and to kill or capture his enemy; but Pedro, animated by the natural daring of a Spaniard, and as a soldier of Spain considering it his duty to follow Ronald as an officer of the allies, he at once volunteered frankly to attend him in his rash undertaking.
The evening had begun to deepen into the darker shadows of night, and the pale evening star, twinkling amidst the blushing blaze of the western sky, had risen above the wood of La Nava, when the sturdy muleteers, collecting their beasts of burden, moved off with much noise, jollity, and cracking of whips in the direction of the place where they meant to pass the night,—an inn on the road to Majorga. Ronald Stuart bade them farewell, and receiving many honest wishes for success, parted from them; and, followed by his two soldiers, left the fountain, making straight for the cork forest, the dark foliage of which lay involved in "a brown horror" before them.
It was a clear and beautiful moonlight night when they reached the skirts of the wood, whence, on looking back, they beheld a red light, which spread over the sky, rising in the direction of Merida, telling that the French were at their old work,—pillage and ruthless devastation. Stuart trembled for the safety of the fair friends he had left behind, and earnestly trusted that the Count d'Erlon's letter would protect them from insult or outrage.
"Braw wark at Merida this bonnie nicht, sir," observed Evan, giving a last look to the rear ere they plunged into the recesses of the forest. "My certie! the very lift seems a' in a low, the clouds are red wi' streaks o' fire,—and here's Pedro, puir gomeril! he is like to gang clean daft at the sicht o't."
"You would not be in a very pleasant humour yourself, Evan, were you to see the clachan of Strathfillan, or the 'fair city' of Perth, blazing by the hands of invaders; and Jessie Cavers, perhaps—ay, even your Jessie, carried off like a stricken deer across the saddle-bow of a French dragoon."
"Sic waefu' things will never happen at hame in auld Scotland, God be praised for't! never, sir, while oor men are made o' the stuff they are; the broad-sword has bent, but it has not yet broken! But it's unco droll to hear how Pedro, puir chield, havers to himsel."