“Just this. I can’t stir a step from the wagons, but what he is at my side, with his disagreeable smile and worse compliments. At first I did not appear to mind them, but of late he has grown still more impudent, and the worse I rebuff him, the more he persists, until now, unless it is put a stop to, I will feel obliged to keep within the wagon all the time.”
“You never spoke of this before, Clara,” uttered Calhoun, slowly. “If he has troubled you so much, why not have told me?”
“Because I thought he would desist, and then there would be no trouble. But to-day he grossly insulted me.”
“Stay, Buenos,” commanded the major, placing a hand upon the young man’s arm, as he made a motion of anger—“let me settle this. He insulted you, Clara?”
“Yes. He told me that the time was not far distant when I would crouch at his feet, and be glad to call him master!” exclaimed the maiden, her eyes flashing.
“But what led to this?”
“I hardly remember, but I told him he had other duties to perform, that would become him better than forcing his company upon those to whom it was unwelcome. I had tried to leave him by riding faster, to one side, or by falling back; but he kept close beside me.”
Major Calhoun arose and glanced around upon the animated scene. The two guides had returned, and were awaiting supper, meanwhile smoking their pipes.
“Tom Maxwell, come here for a moment,” called the leader, and the tall guide sprung nimbly to his feet and approached the group, doffing the dirty felt hat, with an almost reverential bow to Clara.
“Maxwell, my man, I wish to ask your advice, and I trust you will be plain and candid, in your reply,” began Calhoun.