“Have the Jicarillas beards on their faces and jewels on their fingers?”
“No mother; why do you ask such a question?—you know they have no beards! My poor mother!” added he, turning to Don Juan; “this terrible stroke has taken her senses!”
“Follow the trail, then!” she continued, without noticing the last remark uttered by Carlos in a whisper; “follow the trail—perhaps it will guide thee to—” and she whispered the rest into his ear.
“What, mother?” said he, starting, as if at some strange information. “Dost thou think so?”
“I have some suspicion—only suspicion—but follow the trail—it will guide thee—follow it, and be satisfied!”
“Do not doubt me, mother; I shall be satisfied of that.”
“One promise before you go. Be not rash—be prudent.”
“Fear not, mother! I will.”
“If it be so—”
“If it be so, mother, you’ll soon see me back. God bless you!—My blood’s on fire—I cannot stay!—God bless you, mother!—Farewell!”