“But Rosita?”
“No one saw her; but certainly she was taken away by the Indians.”
“You are sure they were Indians, Don Juan?”
“Sure of it. They attacked my house almost at the same time. They had previously driven off my cattle, and for that, one of my people was on the look-out. He saw them approach; and, before they got near, we were shut up and ready to defend ourselves. Finding this, they soon went off. Fearing for your people, I stole out as soon as they were gone, and came here. When I arrived the roof was blazing, and your mother lying senseless in the doorway. Rosita was gone! Madre de Dios! she was gone!”
And the young ranchero wept afresh.
“Don Juan!” said Carlos, in a firm voice; “you have been a friend—a brother—to me and mine. I know you suffer as much as I do. Let there be no tears! See! mine are dried up! I weep no more—perhaps sleep not—till Rosita is rescued or revenged. Let us to business, then! Tell me all that is known about these Indians—and quick, Don Juan! I have a keen appetite for your news!”
The ranchero detailed the various rumours that had been afloat for the three or four days preceding—as well as the actual occurrences,—how the Indians had been first seen upon the upper plain; their encounter with the shepherds and the driving off of the sheep; their appearance in the valley, and their raid upon his own cattle—for it was his ganaderia that had suffered—and then the after circumstances already known to Carlos.
He also informed the latter of the activity shown by the troops; how they had followed that morning upon the trail of the robbers; how he had desired to accompany them with some of his people; and how the request was refused by the Comandante.
“Refused?” exclaimed Carlos, interrogatively.
“Yes,” replied Don Juan; “he said we would only hinder the troops! I fancy his motive was his chagrin with me. He does not like me ever since the fiesta.”