In perhaps an hour after sunset the party halted for supper, there fortunately being enough stowed behind the coach in a hamper for a tolerable meal. Then for the first time Marcos Sayosa heard the cause of the journey and residence of the party he had been so fortunate in rescuing.
They had been on a visit to some friends at the city of Mexico for a couple of weeks, and had got thus far upon their return home, intending to pause for the night at Guanajuato, when they were attacked by the Melladios, who had ambushed themselves in a shallow ditch, being part of the band repulsed by Marcos on the edge of the town, as already detailed.
Marcos seemed wonderfully attracted by Dona Luisa, while she, in return, appeared to feel the same influence, although much less plainly shown. Still, it did not escape the notice of her mother and Felipe. The latter especially seemed ill at ease, and hovered close to his sister, acting more like a lover than the relation he held toward her. But he heard nothing at which he could take offense; every word spoken by Marcos was respectful, almost reverential; but his tones evinced his sincerity, telling that if not in love, he was not very far from that most delightful state.
After an hour’s rest the company again started, intending to travel the greater part of the night. The wind had died away, and as the night was warm and pleasant, the carriage windows were let down, and a desultory conversation was kept up by the four persons. During it Sayosa received a cordial invitation to pay the Canelos’ hacienda a visit, so warmly pressed that when Luisa added her soft voice, he accepted it, though not without some inward misgivings as to the wiseness of throwing himself in the way of temptation, when presented in such a bewitching form as Luisa Canelo. He knew too well that it would be presumptuous in him to think of her for his bride, and would not that be the result?
Toward morning they again halted, and at daybreak Sayosa and his followers took their leave, as now there could be no further danger, and that day would see them safe at the hacienda. The men were not allowed to depart without a liberal reward from Felipe, and probably not one regretted the duty that had been forced upon them.
The party separated, Marcos riding off by himself on a course that would carry him considerably to the left of Guanajuato. He rode slowly along, little heeding what course he took, with his mind in utter confusion. The sentences that he muttered from time to time told the subjects of his thoughts. They were of Luisa Canelo and love. He pshawed and pished at the idea of being in love with her, but this very fact showed that there was some foundation for the surmise.
“Bah! what a fool I am getting to be,” he exclaimed, impatiently, “thinking of her in this way! As if she would look at me in my station, except as one who had done her a slight service! I half expected they would offer me gold, to pay me for my trouble. But, they did not; perhaps they understood me too well. And then—am I not pledged? Yes, and to one who can compare favorably with even the proud Senorita Canelo—my Carlita! I love her; surely I do, and yet—bah, I am a fool, and worse!” he muttered, as tightening the reins, he applied his spurs, and galloped swiftly over the prairie.
With but a short pause at noon to allow his horse necessary rest, he rode rapidly until late in the afternoon, passing Guanajuato, and finally reached a small stream that ran through a group of trees. Dismounting, he led the animal along a narrow path, with the relieved air of a man who was at his journey’s end. Suddenly he paused.
A shrill, piercing shriek rung out upon the still air, closely followed by another; then came the hoarse tones of a man.
Relinquishing the bridle and drawing a pistol, Marcos sprung forward toward the point from whence the alarm sounded. He knew full well the owner of the first voice, and a cold, chilling hand seemed grasping his heart, as he thought of her danger—she to whom he had given his first love and pledged his hand—Carlita.