“So I—so I, capitan. Don’t fear I have the slightest intention of dropping our system of vigilance. No—no—look in this face. Carajo!”
And as the speaker reflected upon his spoiled features, the bitterest scowl passed over them, making them still more hideous.
“And yet,” continued Vizcarra, following out the original theme, “it does not seem natural that he should leave them behind him, even for a short period, after what has occurred, and after the risk he ran to recover her; does it?”
“No,” replied the other, thoughtfully, “no. What I most wonder at is his not setting off with them the night she got back,—that very night,—for by the letter he was there upon the spot! But, true, it takes some time to prepare for a journey across the prairies. He would never have gone to one of our own settlements—not likely—and to have travelled elsewhere would have required some preparation for the women at least; for himself, I believe he is as much at home in the desert as either the antelope or the prairie wolf. Still with an effort he might have gone away at that time and taken them along with him. It was bad management on our part not to send our men down that night.”
“I had no fear of his going off, else I should have done so.”
“How?—no fear? was it not highly probable?”
“Not in the least,” replied Roblado.
“I cannot understand you, my dear capitan. Why not?”
“Because there is a magnet in this valley that held him tighter than either mother or sister could, and I knew that.”
“Oh! now I understand you.”