“And is there really no danger?” said the Señora to Ménou. The Creole assured her there was none. She whispered a few words to her husband, who kissed her hand, and repeated his request to be of our party—this time without any opposition on his wife’s part.
Supper over, we put on our shooting coats, took our guns, and mounted the horses that had been prepared for us. Six negroes with pitch-pans, and a couple of dogs, had gone on before. The clock struck ten as we set out. It was a dark sultry night; towards the south distant thunder was heard, betokening the approach of one of those storms that occur almost daily at that season and in that country. During the first twenty minutes of our ride, the atmosphere became stiflingly oppressive; then suddenly a strong wind rushed amongst the trees and bushes, the thunder drew nearer, and from time to time a flash of forked lightning momentarily illumined the forest. Again a flash, more vivid than the preceding ones, and a clap, compared to which our northern thunder would sound like the mere roll of a drum; the dogs began to whine, and kept as near to the horses as they could. We pushed onward, and were close to a laurel thicket, when the leading hound suddenly came to a stand, and pricked up his ears. We dismounted, and walked forward—the negroes preceding us with the pitch-pans. Some twenty pace before us we perceived four small stars, that glittered like diminutive fire-balls—they were the eyes of two stags that awaited our approach, in astonishment at the unusual spectacle offered to them. We took aim—the Creole and myself at one, two Mexicans at the other. “Feu!” cried Ménou. There was the crack of the four rifles, then a crashing noise amongst the branches, and the clatter of hoofs, succeeded by cries of Sacre! and Damn ye! and Diabolo! and San Jago! The six pitch-pans lay smoking and flaring on the ground; the Creole and I had sprung on one side, the negroes had thrown themselves on their faces in great terror, and the two Dons lay beside them, overthrown by the rush of one of the stags.
“Santa Virgen!” shouted Don Pablo, mightily alarmed and angry; “Maldito bobo, Señor don Manuel!”
And scrambling to his feet, he proceeded in desperate haste to raise his companion from the ground, on which he lay motionless, and apparently much hurt.
“Maldito sea el dia! Nuestro Libertador! Santa Anna! Ay de mi!”
“Calla te—hold your tongue!” said Silveira to his alarmed adherent.
On the first appearance of danger, M. Ménou had jumped behind a tree, which had afforded a sufficient shelter against the mad rush of the terrified stag; but his cry of warning had come too late for the young Mexican, who had less experience in this kind of chase, and who, standing full in the path of the furious beast, was knocked down, and run over. I pushed Pablo, who was howling and wringing his hands, on one side, and with Ménou, proceeded to investigate the hurts which the other Mexican had received. His coat was torn, and both legs were bleeding, having been rent by the deer’s antlers. Fortunately the wounds were not deep, or he might have had serious reason to regret the bad aim he had taken. We placed him on his horse, and turned towards home.
It was midnight when we reached the house with the wounded man, and the carcass of the deer that Ménou and I had shot. The sight of a white figure at the window of the apartment occupied by the Mexican, warned us that his wife was watching for his arrival. At the sound of our horses’ feet, she came hurrying down stairs, and out of the house to meet us; and upon beholding her husband, pale, exhausted, and supported on his horse by couple of negroes, she uttered a shrill cry, and with the word “Perdido!” sank, almost fainting, on the door steps.
“Gracious God!” cried a second female voice at that moment. “A misfortune! Is it Howard?”
It was Louise, who at that moment made her appearance in her nightdress, breathless with terror.