Notwithstanding the epithet “tame,” which their Spanish conquerors have applied to them, they are still more than half wild; and, upon occasions, the savage instinct shows itself in deeds of cruelty and blood.
This very instinct has been kindled in the heart of Manuel. It was not devotion to Don Valerian Miranda that moved him to follow the fortunes of his master into exile; his love for Conchita accounts for his presence there. And he loves her with an ardour and singleness of passion such as often burns in the breasts of his people.
The girl has given him no encouragement, rather the reverse. For all that, he has pursued her with zealous solicitation, regardless of rebuffs and apparently unconscious of her scorn.
Hitherto he has had no rival, which has hindered him from despairing. Conchita is still young, in her earliest teens, having just turned twelve. But even at this age a New Mexican maiden is deemed old enough for matrimony; and Manuel, to do justice to him, has eyes upon her with this honest intent. For months he had made up his mind to have her for his wife—long before their forced flight into the Llano Estacado. And now that they are in the desert, with no competitor near—for Chico does not count as one—he has fancied the time come for the consummation of his hopes.
But just when the fair fruit seems ripe for plucking, like the fox in the fable, he discovers it is beyond his reach. What is worse still, another, taller than he, and who can reach higher, is likely to gather it.
Ever since the arrival of Walt Wilder in the valley he has been watching the movements of the latter.
Not without observing that between the great Texan hunter and the little Mexican muchacha there has sprung up an attachment of a suspicious nature.
He has not heard them express it in speech, for in this way they cannot communicate with one another; but certain looks and gestures exchanged, unintelligible to others, have been easily interpreted by the Indian as the signs of a secret and mutual understanding between them.
They have driven the poor peon well nigh distracted with jealousy—felt all the keener from its being his first experience of it, all the angrier from consciousness of his own honest love—while he believes that of the intruder to have a different intent.
As the days and hours pass he observes new incidents to sharpen his suspicions and strengthen his jealous ire.