“No, it is only a scratch—nothing; a little cut from a machete, that is all. Thank the Virgin you are safe! I thought it was all over with us, when this cavallero came up,” and he turned to where the young miner sat upon his horse, wrapping his scarf around a severe gash in his left arm.
“Pardon me, senor, if I neglected you for a moment. But this is my mother and sister, and they might have been injured.”
“You were perfectly right, ’nor cavallero, and no apologies are needed. But if you will be so kind as to knot this troublesome scarf, I will remain your debtor,” returned Marcos.
“No, brother; it was for us that he received it, let me fasten it,” interrupted a musical voice from the carriage, and as the speaker looked forth, Sayosa gave a start of mingled admiration and wonder that called up a deeper blush to the cheek of Luisa Canelo, that made her still more charming.
“A thousand pardons, senorita, but I am a rough, unpolished miner, and the sight of such loveliness confused me. I really thought that an angel—there, see, I have sinned again!” he added, with a slight laugh of confusion, as he saw the effect of his words.
“It is a sin then that my sister has often provoked,” said Felipe, feeling slightly annoyed. “But pardon, again. This is my mother and sister. I am Felipe Canelo.”
“And I am called Marcos Sayosa,” added the young partisan, as the other paused, “a poor miner at your service,” bowing first to the man and then the ladies, who politely acknowledged the salute.
“But see, your arm still bleeds. Allow me to bind it up,” said Luisa, and as the miner rode up to the carriage, her fairy fingers deftly fastened the bandage, while her face flushed hotly beneath the admiring but respectful gaze of Sayosa.
On the opposite side Felipe was undergoing the same process at the hands of his mother. The latter seemed puzzled at some thought, and glanced curiously at the young miner, who never looked handsomer than at that moment, although his attire was somewhat stained and disordered by the adventures he had so recently passed through. The tumults within his breast had not yet died away, but the fierce ardor of battle that glowed in every feature and flashed in his eye, was tempered by the sight of the beautiful maiden who was so tenderly ministering to his wound.
He had never before met with so much beauty and grace centered in one woman, and there was a strange sensation about his heart that should have warned him such company would be far more dangerous to his peace of mind than the weapons that had so lately been playing around him were to his body. But not then did he think of this. He would have been either more or less than man, had he done so.