“Say rather a she-devil’s voice: for that, sure, is Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos.”
“Was it she who has done this?”
“Maldito, yes! Where is she now? Tell me that, s’ñorita.”
“I cannot. By the sound of the hoofs I fancy she has gone down the hill. She must have done so, as I came the other way myself.”
“Ah—gone down the hill—home, then, to —. You’ve been very kind, s’ñorita, in loosening this lazo—as I make no doubt you’ve done. Perhaps you will still further assist me by helping me into the saddle? Once in it, I think I can stay there. At all events, I must not stay here. I have enemies, not far off. Come, Carlito!” he cried to his horse, at the same time summoning the animal by a peculiar whistle. “Come near! Don’t be frightened at the presence of this fair lady. She’s not the same that parted you and me so rudely—en verdad, almost for ever! Come on, cavallo! come on!”
The horse, on hearing the whistle, came trotting up, and permitted his master—now upon his feet—to lay hold of the bridle-rein.
“A little help from you, kind s’ñorita, and I think I can climb into my saddle. Once there, I shall be safe from their pursuit.”
“You expect to be pursued?”
“Quien sale? I have enemies, as I told you. Never mind that. I feel very feeble. You will not refuse to help me?”
“Why should I? You are welcome, sir, to any assistance I can give you.”