“That you—”
She could utter no more, but turned her eyes, and pointed to the cliff.
“Certainly, Rosita, and why not? For shame, girl! Don’t be alarmed—there’s nought to fear, I assure you—I’ve done the like before.”
“Dear, dear Carlos, I know you are a brave horseman—none braver—but oh! think of the danger—Dios de mi alma! think of—”
“Pshaw, sister! don’t shame me before the people—come to mother!—hear what she will say. I warrant she won’t regard it.” And, so saying, the cibolero rode up to the carreta, followed by his sister.
Poor Rosita! Eyes gleamed upon you at that moment that saw you for the first time—eyes in whose dark orbs lay an expression that boded you no good. Your fair form, the angelic beauty of your face—perhaps your very grief—awakened interest in a heart whose love never meant else than ruin to its object. It was the heart of Colonel Vizcarra.
“Mira! Roblado!” muttered he to his subordinate and fellow-villain. “See yonder! Santisima Virgen! Saint Guadalupe! Look, man! Venus, as I’m a Christian and a soldier! In the name of all the saints, what sky has she fallen from?”
“For Dios! I never saw her before,” replied the captain; “she must be the sister of this fellow: yes—hear them! they address each other as brother and sister! She is pretty!”
“Ay de mi!” sighed the Comandante. “What a godsend! I was growing dull—very dull of this monotonous frontier life. With this new excitement, perhaps, I may kill another month. Will she last me that long, think you?”
“Scarcely—if she come and go as easily as the rest. What! already tired of Inez?”