Indeed, the thought of Doña Feliz was the dominant one in Chata’s mind, and prevented any serious grief or alarm as to her own situation. The question of her own safety or future position troubled her little. It was the fact of her separation from the beloved and stricken friend, who was so dependent upon her care, and her absolute horror of the murderer of the American,—for as such Ramirez ever figured in her thoughts,—which rendered it so difficult a task for her to retain her self-possession and answer with calmness the few questions or remarks that were from time to time addressed to her.
Chata soon perceived that as the day wore on, and she began to exhibit signs of fatigue from the hurried march and the heat, her presence caused far more anxiety than triumph to her captor. “The old folly!” he muttered from time to time,—“to act without counting the cost. I doubt whether there is a decent woman among this drove of camp-followers. If I had but thought to bring one from the hacienda! In fact, it was a fool’s act to bring the child at all, with such work before me as I have!”
Chata caught these broken sentences with a wild hope that he might decree her return to Tres Hermanos. Willingly would she have risked going alone on foot if necessary. But the sun set, the shades of evening closed in, and the hurried march was still pursued, until, when she was ready to faint with fatigue, the General ordered a halt, and lifting her from the saddle, placed her upon a pile of blankets; while a half-dozen men set to work with practised hands to build a little hut or tent of mesquite and manzanita boughs to shelter her from the night air.
As the weary girl sat near the tent fire, endeavoring to eat the food of which she stood in much need, but for which she could not force an appetite, she found herself the centre of a wild horde of perhaps nearly five hundred persons, of whom a fifth were women and children, who were busy at the fires preparing the evening meal while the men were staking horses, or patrolling the circle of the camp, keeping within bounds the hard-driven and panting cattle and sheep, whose distressing lowing and bleating at intervals filled the air. Apparently there was an entire lack of discipline, the unreasoning enthusiasm of the moment and the personal magnetism of the renowned leader serving to hold the unruly elements subservient to the necessities of the occasion, and obedient to his slightest mandate. The majority of the troops were of the most wild and even savage appearance; for, as their leader had said, they were the riff-raff, the scourings of the mountain villages and remote farms. Chata was not unaccustomed to the sight of such individuals, but in mass the impression they made upon her was of concentrated evil. The trace of gentler feeling that each face or person might have revealed on scrutiny was lost in the prevailing ferocity of expression and accoutrement. The clash of arms, the jingle of spurs, the hoarse voices made her shudder no less than the sullen faces, the gleaming eyes, and the sinewy and powerful frames.
Strangely enough, as her eyes followed Ramirez, a sense of his complete harmony with his surroundings seemed in the girl’s mind to condone the wild deeds of which he had figured as the hero. She realized for the first time the fascination that unlimited power over such elements must exercise over a mind given to daring, and uncontrolled by any moral principle. She thought of Chinita, and how her adventurous spirit would have exulted in such an adventure as this. As she gazed into the fire the very face of that fearless, enigmatic young nature seemed to rise before her, beautiful, passionate, yet with that capacity of endurance, which in a man might become cruelty, that capricious changeableness, which one moment dissolved in tears, and the next shone in a smile. So real was the vision that Chata started, and found herself gazing affrightedly into the face of Ramirez, who was regarding her with the expression of mingled affection, triumph, and vexation which had not left his countenance since he had set her upon Doña Rita’s favorite horse at the door of the hacienda.
“I have a notable project in my mind for you,” he said abruptly. “You know that I am the Governor of Guanapila.”
“Yes,” she said timidly; “but I thought—” she hesitated, fearing to offend.
“Ah, you thought I was beaten and barred out. They will find I am neither one nor the other. The gate is shut but not bolted, and it will be hard if I find not a way to creep in. It is impossible for me to keep you with me on the march. You must be with some woman.”
“Oh, I would rather be with you. Indeed I will give no trouble! I will be brave!” she exclaimed, instinctively shrinking from the thought of contact with such women as she saw around her.
He smiled with gratification, his egotistic nature flattered by the thought that he was gaining her confidence; but his face darkened as she added with hesitation, “I had hoped—I thought perhaps you were taking me to my mother.”