“Casting a stain upon my name is not enough cause to have you kill a man, then?”
“The man has done enough to merit death, no doubt.”
“If that is not enough, there is more—a personal insult.”
“Personal insult, señorita?” he asked.
“He—he told me that after the attack had succeeded he would make me his wife. When I told him I would sooner die than wed such an infamous traitor he said—said that I would come to him, marriage or no marriage——”
“By the saints! He said that?” the caballero cried. “Is there no drop of gentle blood in his veins?”
“My blood, señor,” she reminded him.
“No more your blood than the water of that creek, señorita. Do not protest! I know not what strain flows in his arteries, but it is none like flows in yours. The man dies, señorita. I regret but one thing—that I cannot slay him twice, once for you and once for myself. He has a heavy score to be settled, this man!
“But here we must stop. It is but two hundred yards to the mission, and I dare not approach nearer. Moreover, I have things to do before dawn. May God and the saints guard you, señorita, and you, señora, during the trials that are to come. I regret that you’ll have to dismount, else ride with the señora——”
“Gladly will I walk the remainder of the way,” Señora Vallejo said, “if you will aid me to the ground. I doubt, however, whether I can use my legs for several minutes.”