“Ha! go on!”
“Why, you know when you left her with the alcalde she was offered to whoever would take her. Well, a young girl came up and claimed to be an acquaintance, and a woman who was the girl’s mother. She was given up to them without more ado, and they took her away to a house in the chapparal below the town.”
“She did not stay there. I know she’s gone down, but I have not yet heard the particulars. How did she go?”
“Well, captain; only very shortly after she arrived at the house of the woman, a carreta came up to the door, driven by a Tagno, and the girl—that is, the daughter, who is called Josefa—mounted into the carreta, taking the güera along with her; and off they went down below.
“Now, neither this girl nor her mother ever saw the güera before, and who does captain think sent them, and the carreta too?”
“Who says Vicenza?”
“The señorita, captain.”
“Ha!” sharply exclaimed Roblado. “Vicenza is sure of that.”
“More than that, captain. About the time the carreta drove away, or a little after, the señorita left the house on her horse, and with a common serapé over her, and a sombrero on her head, like any ranchera; and in this—which I take to be a disguise for a lady of quality like her—she rode off by the back road. Vicenza, however, thinks that she turned into the camino abajo after she got past the houses, and overtook the carreta. She was gone long enough to have done so.”
This communication seemed to make a deep impression upon the listener. Shadows flitted over his dark brow, and gleams of some new intelligence or design appeared in his eyes. He was silent for a moment, engaged in communicating with his thoughts. At length he inquired—