“Shurely now yez cyant.”
“But I must, señor!”
“Divil a must about it. I’ve been lift on guard, wid sthrict ordhers to lit no wan go inside.”
“They couldn’t have been meant for me. I am his friend—the friend of Don Mauricio.”
“How is Phaylum Onale to know that? For all yer purty face, yez moight be his didliest innemy. Be Japers! its loike enough, now that I take a second luk at ye.”
“I must see him—I must—I will—I shall!”
As Isidora pronounced these words, she flung herself out of the saddle, and advanced in the direction of the door.
Her air of earnest determination combined with the fierce—scarce feminine—expression upon her countenance, convinced the Galwegian, that the contingency had arrived for carrying out the instructions left by Zeb Stump, and that he had been too long neglecting his cue.
Turning hurriedly into the hut, he came out again, armed with a tomahawk; and was about to rush past, when he was brought to a sudden stand, by seeing a pistol in the hands of his lady visitor, pointed straight at his head!
“Abajo la hacha!” (Down with the hatchet), cried she. “Lepero! lift your arm to strike me, and it will be for the last time!”