A web of mystery was torn to shreds in a single moment. The truth did not yield gratification. No—but the contrary. I was chagrined at the indifference exhibited in another quarter.
“She must know that I am here, since her brother is master of the fact—here, bleeding and bound. Yet where is her sympathy? She sleeps! She journeys within a few paces of me, where I am tied painfully; yet not a word of consolation. No! She is riding upon her soft cushion, or carried upon a litera, escorted, perhaps, by this accomplished villain, who plays the gallant cavalier upon my own barb! They converse together, perhaps of the poor captives in their train, and with jest and ridicule—he at least; and she can hear it, and then fling herself into her soft hammock and sleep—sleep sweetly—calmly?”
These bitter reflections were interrupted. The door creaked once more upon its hinges. Half a dozen of our captors entered. Our blinds were put on, and we were carried out and mounted as before.
In a few minutes a bugle rang out, and the route was resumed.
We were carried up the stream bottom—a kind of glen, or Cañada. We could feel by the cool shade and the echoes that we were travelling under heavy timber. The torrent roared in our ears, and the sound was not unpleasant. Twice or thrice we forded the stream, and sometimes left it, returning after having travelled a mile or so. This was to avoid the cañons, where there is no path by the water. We then ascended a long hill, and after reaching its summit commenced going downwards.
“I know this road well,” said Raoul. “We are going down to the hacienda of Cenobio.”
“Pardieu!” he continued. “I ought to know this hill!”
“For what reason?”
“First, Captain, because I have carried many a bulto of cochineal and many a bale of smuggled tobacco over it; ay, and upon nights when my eyes were of as little service to me as they are at present.”
“I thought that you contrabandistas hardly needed the precaution of dark nights?”