As we continued to gaze, neither moving his eyes from the other, this sneer became too oppressive to be silently borne. I could no longer stand such a satirical reading of my thoughts. The insult was as marked as words could have made it; and I was about to have recourse to words to reply, when the clatter of a horse’s hoofs caused me to turn my eyes in an opposite direction. A horseman was coming up the hill, in a direct line from the pastures. I saw it was one of the lieutenants—Holingsworth.
A few more stretches of his horse brought the lieutenant upon the ground, where he pulled up directly in front of me.
“Captain Warfield!” said he, speaking in an official tone, “the cattle are collected; shall we proceed—”
He proceeded no further with that sentence; his eye, chance directed, was carried up to the azotea, and rested upon the face of Ijurra. He started in his saddle, as if a serpent had stung him; his hollow eyes shot prominently out, glaring wildly from their sockets, while the muscles of his throat and jaws twitched in convulsive action!
For a moment, the desperate passion seemed to stifle his breathing, and while thus silent, the expression of his eyes puzzled me. It was of frantic joy, and ill became that face where I had never observed a smile. But the strange look was soon explained—it was not of friendship, but the joy of anticipated vengeance!
Breaking into a wild laugh, he shrieked out—
“Rafael Ijurra, by the eternal God!”
This awful and emphatic recognition produced its effect. I saw that Ijurra knew the man who addressed him. His dark countenance turned suddenly pale, and then became mottled with livid spots, while his eyes scintillated, and rolled about in the unsteady glances of terror. He made no reply beyond the ejaculation “Demonio!” which seemed involuntarily to escape him. He appeared unable to reply; surprise and fright held him spell-bound and speechless!
“Traitor! villain! murderer!” shrieked Holingsworth, “we’ve met at last; now for a squaring of our accounts!” and in the next instant the muzzle of his rifle was pointing to the notch in the parapet—pointing to the face of Ijurra!
“Hold, Holingsworth!—hold!” cried I, pressing my heel deeply into my horse’s flanks, and dashing forward.