"'You have my word of honor,' replied Mendoza.
"Peralta continued: 'And—and—yes. My senses are leaving me. I must speak quickly. Let our lifetime of friendship live after us, in the union of our children when they are grown.'
"There, in the shade of nature, the greater shadow of death hovering near, was the betrothal agreement made. The Indian riflemen stood around, sombreros in hand, their weapons lying on the turf, to do homage to death, the final conqueror. Señor Mendoza still held in his arms the clay of his friend, still his tears were falling. 'The Peralta and Mendoza friendship shall live on in our children,' he said in broken voice. 'The living and the dead make this consecration.'"
Morando's horse reared to perpendicular line. Unconsciously the Captain had gripped him with the spurs. The animal sprang from the beaten road through dense masses of underbrush, to the grassy field beyond. It required several minutes before Morando could bring the creature back to the señora's side. It still champed the bit, while its eyes flashed from the sting of the insult.
"Your horse is restive, señor soldier. Perhaps we have loitered along the way. Come, we can reach the Calderon home before the sun is warm."
They cantered in silence for a while.
"Let us go slowly for a few minutes," she said. "I find I am not so strong as I thought."
Paleness was again creeping into her face.
Morando quickly led her horse by the bridle to the door of a peon's cot near the wayside, and assisted her to dismount. The Indian wife came curtsying out, full of welcome.
"My house is yours," she insisted, bowing again and again. "Your visit will be long remembered. I am sorry my man is away and cannot help to receive you."