“What is the woman going to do?” was the muttered interrogatory of the spectator upon the house-top. “Ha! As I live, ’tis a lazo!”
The señora was not long in giving proof of skill in the use of the national implement:—by flinging its noose around the antelope’s neck, and throwing the creature in its tracks!
The attendant rode up to the place where it lay struggling; dismounted from his mule; and, stooping over the prostrate pronghorn, appeared to administer the coup de grace. Then, flinging the carcass over the croup of his saddle, he climbed back upon his mule, and spurred after his mistress—who had already recovered her lazo, readjusted her scarf, and was riding onward, as if nothing had occurred worth waiting for!
It was at that moment—when the noose was seen circling in the air—that the shadow had reappeared upon the countenance or the Creole. It was not surprise that caused it, but an emotion of a different character—a thought far more unpleasant.
Nor did it pass speedily away. It was still there—though a white hand holding the lorgnette to her eye might have hindered it from being seen—still there, as long as the mounted figures were visible upon the open road; and even after they had passed out of sight behind the screening of the acacias.
“I wonder—oh, I wonder if it be she! My own age, he said—not quite so tall. The description suits—so far as one may judge at this distance. Has her home on the Rio Grande. Comes occasionally to the Leona, to visit some relatives. Who are they? Why did I not ask him the name? I wonder—oh, I wonder if it be she!”