“We have heard,” said he, “of an expedition being got up at Arispe to proceed to Apacheria; and this gentleman and I are on our way to take part in it. Your hacienda, Señor Don Augustin, chanced to lie in our way, and we have entered to ask your permission to lodge here for the night. By daybreak we shall continue our route for Arispe.”
“You will not have to go so far,” replied Don Augustin, with a smile. “The expedition is already on foot, and I expect the leader of it here this very night. He will be glad of your services, I guarantee you, and it will save you several days’ journey.”
“A miracle in our favour!” exclaimed Diaz; “and I thank God for the lucky coincidence.”
“The thirst of gold has caught you also, Pedro Diaz?” asked Don Augustin, smiling significantly.
“No, thank God!” replied Diaz, “nothing of the sort. Heave the searching for gold to experienced gambusinos, such as the Señor Oroche here. No—you know well that I have no other passion than hatred for the ferocious savages who have done so much ill towards me and mine. It is only because I hope through this expedition once more to carry steel and fire into their midst, that I take any part in it.”
“It is right,” said the haciendado, who like all dwellers upon the frontiers exposed to Indian incursions, nourished in his heart a hatred for the savages almost equal to that of Diaz himself. “I approve of your sentiments, Don Pedro Diaz; and if you will permit me to offer you a gage of mine, I beg you will accept from me the present of a horse I have—one that will carry you to your satisfaction. I promise you that the Indian you pursue, while on his back, will require to go as fast as the wind itself, if you do not overtake him.”
“He shall be my war-horse,” exclaimed Diaz, his eyes sparkling with pleasure at the gift. “I shall ornament his crest with Indian scalps, in honour of him who gave him to me.”
“I cannot divine what has delayed Don Estevan,” said the haciendado, changing the subject of conversation. “He should have been here three hours before this, that is, if he passed the night at La Poza.”
Don Augustin had scarce finished his speech when a sudden and graceful apparition glided into the saloon. It was his daughter, the beautiful Rosarita.
As if the expected cavalcade only awaited her presence, the clattering of hoofs at the same instant was heard outside; and by the light of the torches which the domestics had carried out, Don Estevan and his suite could be seen riding up to the entrance of the hacienda.