Was she aware of the capture which they had made—an officer of the American army? Or could she be acquainted with the more particular fact, as to who was the individual made prisoner?
I could not think that she was cognisant of either circumstance; and yet she had not looked back. If no other feeling, that of natural curiosity, proverbially strong in her sex, would have prompted her to turn her head.
She had not done so. Surely, after what had passed between us on the preceding night, she could not be indifferent to my forlorn condition—scarcely even to the uniform that distinguished me from my captors?
Such conduct was not compatible with the character of woman, whether Mexican or American. Lola Vergara could not have known of the capture which the robbers had accomplished; she could not be aware of my presence in the rear of the cuadrilla.
There was consolation in my thinking so, slight as it may be deemed. It would have been a grievous reflection to have believed her to be a sharer in the fortunes of my captors;—to have known that she was a participator of all that had transpired;—to imagine that she had even a suspicion of who it was who was riding, fast bound to a horse, behind her.
I did not wrong her by the belief I felt convinced she was unconscious of all—at least of the last circumstance.
I was confirmed in this conviction by something that had occurred, as we parted from the spot where I had been captured. A short halt had been made by the robbers, during which they had been joined by a party that had not been present at their ambuscade. In all likelihood, the Jarocha had been one of this party, and might have been ignorant of what had passed.
This was probable enough; though for myself I had been at the time too much engrossed with my misfortune to take heed to what was transpiring around me.
The explanation satisfied, at the same time that it pleased me. I could give credence to no other. After what had passed on the preceding night—my protection extended to her brother—my sympathy for herself—my profession of something more—her own apparent reciprocation of that something—surely Lola Vergara could not be my enemy?
In all I saw there was a mystery that needed elucidation.