“July 18—.
“Gallant capitan! allow me to bid you a buenas dias, for I presume that, after the fatigues of last night, it is but morning with you yet. Do you dream of your sable belle? ‘Poor devil!’ Ha, ha, ha! Gallant capitan!”
I was provoked at this mode of address, for the “gallant” was rendered emphatic by underlining. It was a letter to taunt me for my ill behaviour. I felt inclined to fling it down, but my eye wandering over the paper, caught some words that induced me to read on.
“Gallant capitan! I had a favourite mare. How fond I was of that creature you may understand, who are afflicted by a similar affection for the noble Moro. In an evil hour, your aim, too true, alas! robbed me of my favourite, but you offered to repay me by robbing yourself, for well know I that the black is to you the dearest object upon earth. Indeed, were I the lady of your love, I should ill brook such a divided affection! Well, mio capitan, I understood the generous sacrifice you would have made, and forbade it; but I know you are desirous of cancelling your debt. It is in your power to do so. Listen!”
Some hard conditions I anticipated would follow; I recked not of that. There was no sacrifice I was not ready to make. I would have dared any deed, however wild, to have won that proud heart—to have inoculated it with the pain that was wringing my own. I read on:
“There is a horse, famed in these parts as the ‘white steed of the prairies’ (el cavallo bianco de los llanos). He is a wild-horse, of course; snow-white in colour, beautiful in form, swift as the swallow— But why need I describe to you the ‘white steed of the prairies?’ You are a Tejano, and must have heard of him ere this? Well, mio capitan, I have long had a desire—a frantic one, let me add—to possess this horse. I have offered rewards to hunters—to our own vaqueros, for he sometimes appears upon our plains—but to no purpose. Not one of them can capture, though they have often seen and chased him. Some say that he cannot be taken, that he is so fleet as to gallop, or rather glide out of sight in a glance, and that, too, on the open prairie! There are those who assert that he is a phantom, un demonio! Surely so beautiful a creature cannot be the devil? Besides, I have always heard—and, if I recollect aright, some one said so last night—that the devil was black. ‘Poor devil!’ Ha, ha, ha!”
I rather welcomed this allusion to my misconduct of the preceding night, for I began to feel easier under the perception that the whole affair was thus treated in jest, instead of the anger and scorn I had anticipated. With pleasanter presentiments I read on:—
“To the point, mio capitan. There are some incredulous people who believe the white steed of the prairies to be a myth, and deny his existence altogether. Carrambo! I know that he does exist, and what is more to my present purpose, he is—or was, but two hours ago—within ten miles of where I am writing this note! One of our vaqueros saw him near the banks of a beautiful arroyo, which I know to be his favourite ground. For reasons known to me, the vaquero did not either chase or molest him; but in breathless haste brought me the news.
“Now, capitan, gallant and grand! there is but one who can capture this famed horse, and that is your puissant self. Ah! you have made captive what was once at wild and free. Yes! you can do it—you and Moro!
“Bring me the white steed of the prairies! I shall cease to grieve for poor Lola. I shall forgive you that contratiempo. I shall forgive all—even your rudeness to my double mask. Ha, ha, ha! Bring me the white steed! the white steed!