“What is it, dear Lola?” cried her brother, almost word for word repeating my own interrogatory.
“He! Don Ramon! He is there—outside the tent!”
“If he will only stay till I come out, I promise you, fair Lola, you shall never more be troubled by his presence.”
I drew my sword from its sheath, and was rushing for the opening in the canvas.
”Ñor, ñor! por amor Dios! Go not alone! Don Ramon is wicked; but he is brave—he is dangerous!”
It was Dolores who interrupted me with these strange speeches.
“Brave!” I said, turning to her with angry astonishment. “Brave! a villain such as he, brave!”
I spoke with a bitter emphasis. The thought had shot across my brain, that the scorn of which Calros spoke, might have been only a fraternal fancy!
“I hope he will have courage enough to wait my coming. We shall see!” and with this valorous declaration, I emerged from the marquee, and ran over the ground in search of Don Ramon.
Half a score of my comrades, who had started from their couches on hearing the scream, were soon around me; but although we quartered the chapparal for a good stretch on every side of the encampment, we could find no trace of the robber.