Two hours had flown by in happy mood, in which the stomach proved the principal organ of friendship. The hungry epicures in the woods felt the divine flow more free and warm in obeying this ordinance of the gods. Their willing hearts would have staid in such a frame, and whiled away the sunny hours in that grove of bliss, but the voice of duty called from refreshment to the labor of the way. The mulos were satisfied, hitched up, and on the move to the west, accomplishing twenty miles more by nightfall, where they find the advance again, in beautiful camps, with two bright camp-fires a few rods apart—one for themselves and one for the exile with her attendants. The provisions are brought out for supper, and on this occasion Lieutenant H. proves himself an adept at coffee making.
The ladies offer to take charge of the cooking department, but he objects, claiming that he can make the best coffee. "Ladies, 'let him that would be great among you, be your servant.' I am the character referred to in the quotation, and I insist that you shall not be my competitors for distinction in the coffee-making line."
When the evening repast was over, the Lieutenant takes the ladies, one on each arm, and kindly gives them a bit of walking exercise by moonlight, through the grove, thus relieving the tedium of riding all day. The balm, stilly breezes creep through the open spaces with voluptuous effect, inspiring the arm-in-arm trio with soft sentiment, and their happier thoughts are mostly on themselves. "Stop," says Emma. "What dreadful noise is that?" as the distant screeching howl of the Coyotas fell on the ear. "It is the Coyotas," replied Lieutenant H.
"Let us return to camp at once," said both the ladies, and back they went quicker than they came.
It is ten o'clock at night, the guards are on duty, and all retire, the ladies behind the ambulance curtains, and the officer and Lew on a blanket before the camp-fire. The wolves come in and howl an hour or two within a few rods of the fires, in search of camp offals. The eyelids of the fair ones refuse sleep. At last a charge is made on the lank, hungry creatures, and a volley fired into their ranks by the guards, and they are routed and return not for the night, and then Somnus commands all in quiet rest for the next six hours. At seven in the morning breakfast is over, and the advance leads out again, followed an hour later by the traveling partie carree.
The next six days of travel furnish no great variety of scenery or excitement, except in the social department, which seemed never to cloy. Otherwise, the trip, for the most part, was but a daily experience of repeated routine. All eyes and ears became familiar with sights and sounds by night and by day. Immense droves of cattle and horses were seen grazing right and left over the wide-spread prairies, and occasionally lank hunger was seen sitting at the mouth of his hole, in some sand bank or mound, or at the roots of some lone veteran tree, looking wistfully at the travelers, seeming to say to them, "How I would like to feast on your starved carcasses!" A bullet from the Lieutenant's rifle keeled one back into his hole, and scared another, tearing a rabbit for his breakfast so bad that he made lightning speed northward, and never slacked for the mile he was in sight, and at the brow of the hill, where his narrative became invisible, its last motion seemed to speak back and say, "I never heard a rifle before." And probably it was the fact—and on he went, as if resolved on never stopping till he got to the north pole, for fear he might hear another.
On the seventh day the weary travelers stood on the banks of the far famed "Rio Grande," at Brownsville, opposite the city of Matamoras, in the State of Tamaulipas, Mexico. The Lieutenant here ordered the advance into camp to wait his return. And then he crossed the "Rio" with the exiles, and remained with them till they were located in a pleasant suite of three rooms fronting on the "Grand Plaza," near the magnificent Cathedral. He made the excuse to himself that it was necessary for him to act as special protector to the ladies, till they were sufficiently familiarized with the ways of that strange people, to be able to make their own way, till he could see them again, and perhaps in nearer and dearer relations.
Lieutenant H. had now had ample time to analyze and determine the character of his feelings, which he more than once had displayed in manner toward Mrs. E., but had not spoken with his lips. In his self-examination he found his heart vibrating between two attractions—Mrs. E. and Emma. The question of preference, as tried by a purely chronological standard, stood against Mrs. E. She was considerably his senior in years, that was plain, but how much, and how many years, he could only guess. He could not tell if she were older or younger than she appeared, but probably older; that is, she was young appearing for one of her years; or, vice versa, she was old appearing for one of her years; that is, younger than she appeared; or, making a third alternative, she was just the age she appeared to be. "But how old would that be?" he asked himself. And here again he was puzzled. Sometimes, during their travels, he thought she looked younger, and then again older, than when he first saw her, and served the summons. At one time he thought he saw the signs of wrinkling age, and then again he didn't see them. "But," he said again, "one thing is certain, the general proposition is true, that she is either older or younger than she looks, or just as old as she looks. So far I am safe; and furthermore, it is safe to affirm that, judging from mere appearances, she is about forty years old. She may be older, or she may be younger. Yes, she may be, but I think I am not far out of the way. She certainly is, without any possible mistake, somewhere between thirty-eight and fifty. If I were sure she were only forty, I could stand that. Let me see: I am thirty-five. Suppose she were but forty; how would that do? A wife five years older than her husband! It would sound better the other way. I don't like it very well, but, with love, I think I could endure the disparity. Endure (?), is that the word for a man seeking a companion?
"There is Miss Emma; how old is she? From twenty to twenty-five. That certainly sounds better. But do I love her well enough to make a wife of her? Well, I think I could, or do(?), if Mrs. E. was out of the question; I feel her drawing me the hardest, and the orthodox people say there can be but one true love, and I suppose it must be so, either because they say so, or because it is true in fact, in nature, that is, one's experience will accord with the sentiment. But is it true in my experience? I am afraid not; therefore I am a miserable sinner. It is true, I am more or less involved in feelings toward Miss Emma, warmer than common friendship between a single lady and gentleman, and it is more than less. Now what is a man to do with an experience so in violation of the orthodox teaching and steady habits of the olden times of our ancestors?
"But hold; here I am talking quite foolishly, for how do I know that either of those ladies would accept? I have not proposed, and they certainly won't. What shall I do? I can not propose to both, for I am not a Mormon, and don't want to be. Still I like them both, that's true, but the laws of the land are against bigamy. I wonder if nature is? Certainly human selfishness is not. But hold again, there is no end to love's mystery. The only way is to be brave. 'A faint heart never won a fair lady.' The more I think, the more am I confused, in a quandary. O thou winged god, tell me what to do! I am resolved what to do. I will first ask one and then the other. But which one first? And will this be honorable to the last? Stop, ye gods! confusion confused! What am I about? Crazy! ho, for the insane asylum! But I must find relief. I am desperate!"