Antonio, in collecting the news of the settlement, found in the young girl Josefa an able adjutant. Through her he learnt that Catalina de Cruces was kept under lock and key—that Roblado had only been wounded, and would recover—that new officers went out with the scouting-parties—and that his master’s head had risen in price. The shallow artifice of the spies around the rancho had long been known to Carlos. Shallow as it was, it greatly annoyed him, as by these he was prevented from visiting his mother and sister. Through Antonio, however, he kept up almost daily communication with them. He might have been apprehensive in regard to his sister after what had occurred, but the villain Vizcarra was an invalid, and Carlos rightly judged why Rosita was permitted to go unmolested. He had little fear for her—at least for a time—and ere that time expired he should bear her away, far out of the reach of such danger.
It was for that opportunity he was now waiting. With, all the vigilance of his foes, he had no fear but that he could steal his own mother and sister almost at any time. But another was to be the companion of their flight—another dear as they, and far more closely guarded!
For her only did he risk life daily—for her only did he sit hour after hour in that lone cave brooding over plans, and forming schemes of desperate peril.
Kept under lock and key—closely watched from morn to night, and night till morning—how was she to be rescued from such a situation? This was the problem upon which his mind now dwelt.
She had given him the assurance of her willingness to go. Oh! why had he not proposed instant flight? Why did he neglect that golden moment? Why should either have thought of delay? That delay had been fatal—might retard their purpose for months, for years—perhaps for ever!
But little cared Carlos for the anger of his enemies—little for the contempt in which he was held throughout the settlement—she alone was his care—his constant solicitude. His waking hours were all given to that one thought—how he would rescue, not himself, but his mistress.
No wonder he looked anxiously for the night—no wonder he rode with impatient eagerness towards that lone rendezvous on the Pecos.
Night had come again; and, leading his horse down the slope in front of the cave, he mounted and rode off toward the mouth of the cañon. The dog Cibolo trotted in advance of him.