The clattering of hoofs, heard shortly after, told that he was galloping away from the hacienda.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
Duty versus Love.
The last beams of the sun were gilding the summit of the ridge that bounded the plain of Las Palmas, when Don Rafael Tres-Villas crossed it on his way to the hacienda Del Valle. To recover the time he had lost, he pressed his horse to his utmost speed, and descended the slope on the opposite side at a gallop. As the brave steed dashed onward, a hoarse snorting sound was heard to issue from his nostrils, caused by the singular operation which the arriero had performed upon him.
On reaching the level of the valley in which stood the hacienda Del Valle, the horseman drew bridle and listened, he was sufficiently near the house to have heard any unusual commotion that might be there going on. He fully expected to have distinguished the shouts of men engaged in fight, or the tumultuous murmur of a siege.
No sound, however, reached his ear—not a murmur. Silence ominous and profound reigned throughout the valley.
With clouded brow, and heart anxiously beating, the officer continued on his course. He had unbuckled his carbine from the saddle, and carried the piece in his hand ready for use.
The silence continued. Not a cry awoke the solitude—not the flash of a fusil lit up the darkness of the twilight. The sleep of death seemed to be upon everything.