Once more, before coming in sight of the solitary jacal, Uraga commands a halt. This time to reconnoitre, not to rest or stay. The troopers sit in their saddles, with reins ready to be drawn; like a flock of vultures about to unfold their wings for the last swoop upon their victims--to clutch, tear, kill, do with them as they may wish!

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

A BLOODLESS CAPTURE.

A house from which agreeable guests have just taken departure is rarely cheerful. The reverse, if these have been very agreeable--especially on the first evening after.

The rude sheiling which gives shelter to the refugees is no exception.

Everyone under its roof is afflicted with low spirits, some of them sad--two particularly so.

Thus has it been since the early hour of daybreak, when the guests regretted spoke the parting speech.

In the ears of Adela Miranda, all day long, has been ringing that painful word, "Adios!" while thoughts about him who uttered it have been agitating her bosom.

Not that she has any fear of his fealty, or that he will prove traitor to his troth now plighted. On the contrary, she can confide in him for that, and does--fully, trustingly.

Her fears are from a far different cause; the danger he is about to dare.

Conchita, in like manner, though in less degree, has her apprehensions.

The great Colossus who has captured her heart, and been promised her hand, may never return to claim it. But, unacquainted with the risk he is going to run, the little mestiza has less to alarm her, and only contemplates her lover's absence, with that sense of uncertainty common to all who live in a land where every day has its dangers.

Colonel Miranda is discomforted too. Never before since his arrival in the valley have his apprehensions been so keen. Hamersley's words, directing suspicion to the peon, Manuel, have excited them. All the more from his having entertained something of this before. And now still more, that his messenger is three days overdue from the errand on which he has sent him.

At noon he and Don Prospero again ascend to the summit of the pa.s.s, and scan the table plain above--to observe nothing upon it, either westwardly or in any other direction. And all the afternoon has one or the other been standing near the door of the jacal, with a lorgnette levelled up the ravine through which the valley is entered from above.

Only as the shades of night close over them do they desist from this vigil, proving fruitless.

Added to the idea of danger, they have another reason for desiring the speedy return of the messenger. Certain little luxuries he is expected to bring--among the rest a skin or two of wine and a few boxes of cigars. For neither the colonel himself nor the ex-army surgeon are anchorites, however much they have of late been compelled to the habit.

Above all, they need tobacco, their stock being out; the last ounce given to their late guests on leaving.

These are minor matters, but yet add to the cheerlessness of the time after the strangers have gone. Not less at night, when more than ever one feels a craving for the nicotian weed, to consume it in some way-- pipe, cigar, or cigaritto.

As the circle of three a.s.semble in their little sitting-room, after a frugal supper, tobacco is the Colonel's chief care, and becomes the first topic of conversation.

"Carramba!" he explains, as if some new idea had entered his head, "I couldn't have believed in a man suffering so much from such a trifling cause."

"What are you referring to?" interrogates the doctor.

"The thing you're thinking of at this moment, _amigo mio_. I'll make a wager it's the same."

"As you know, colonel, I never bet."

"Nor I upon a certainty, as in this case it would be. I know what your mind's bent upon--tobacco."

"I confess it, colonel. I want a smoke, bad as ever I did in my life."

"Sol."

"But why don't you both have it, then?"

It is Adela who thus innocently interrogates.

"For the best of all reasons," rejoins her brother. "We haven't the wherewith."

"What! no cigarittos? I saw some yesterday on one of the shelves."

"But not to day. At this moment there isn't a pinch of tobacco within twenty miles of where we sit, unless our late guests have made a very short day's march. I gave them the last I had to comfort them on the journey."

"Yes, senorita," adds the doctor, "and something quite as bad, if not worse. Our bottles are empty. The wine is out as well as the weed."

"In that," interrupts the Colonel, "I'm happy to say you're mistaken.

It's not so bad as you think, doctor. True, the pigskin has collapsed; for the throat of the huge Texan was as difficult to saturate as the most parched spot on the Staked Plain. Finding it so, I took occasion to abstract a good large gourd, and set it surrept.i.tiously aside. I did that to meet emergencies. As one seems to have arisen, I think the hidden treasure may now be produced."

Saying this, the colonel steps out of the room, soon returning with a large calabash bottle.

Conchita is summoned, and directed to bring drinking cups, which she does.

Miranda, pouring out the wine says,--

"This will cheer us; and, in truth, we all need cheering. I fancy there's enough to last us till Manuel makes his reappearance with a fresh supply. Strange his not having returned. He's had time to do all his bargainings and been back three days ago. I hoped to see him home before our friends took departure, so that I could better have provided them for their journey. They'll stand a fair chance of being famished."

"No fear of that," puts in Don Prospero.

"Why do you say so, doctor?"

"Because of the rifle I gave to Senor Gualtero. With it he will be able to keep both provisioned. 'Tis marvellous how he can manage it. He has killed bits of birds without spoiling their skins or even ruffling a feather. I'm indebted to him for some of my best specimens. So long as he carries a gun, with ammunition to load it, you need have no fear he or his companion will perish from hunger, even on the Llano Estacado."

"About that," rejoins Miranda, "I think we need have no uneasiness.

Beyond lies the thing to be apprehended--not on the desert, but amid cultivated fields, in the streets of towns, in the midst of so-called civilisation. There will be their real danger."

For some time the three are silent, their reflections a.s.suming a sombre hue, called forth by the colonel's words.

But the doctor, habitually light-hearted, soon recovers, and makes an effort to imbue the others with cheerfulness like his own.

"Senorita," he says, addressing himself to Adela, "your guitar, hanging there against the wall, seems straining its strings as if they longed for the touch of your fair fingers. You've been singing every night for the last month, delighting us all I hope you won't be silent now that your audience is reduced, but will think it all the more reason for bestowing your favours on the few that remain."

To the gallant speech of pure Castilian idiom, the young lady answers with a smile expressing a.s.sent, at the same time taking hold of her guitar. As she reseats herself, and commences tuning the instrument, a string snaps.

It seems an evil omen; and so all three regard it, though without knowing why. It is because, like the strings of the instrument, their hearts are out of tune, or rather attuned to a presentiment which oppresses them.

The broken string is soon remedied by a knot; this easily done. Not so easy to restore the tranquillity of thought disturbed by its breaking.

No more does the melancholy song which succeeds. Even to that far land has travelled the strain of the "Exile of Erin." Its appropriateness to their own circ.u.mstances suggesting itself to the Mexican maiden, she sings--

Sad is my fate, said the heart-broken stranger, The wild deer and wolf to the covert can flee, But I have no refuge from famine and danger, A home and a country remain not to me.

"Dear Adela!" interrupts Miranda. "That song is too sad. We're already afflicted with its spirit. Change it for one more cheerful. Give us a lay of the Alhambra--a battle-song of the Cid or the Campeador-- something patriotic and stirring."