The order is issued; and the soldiers soon stand by their stirrups ready to mount, wondering what duty they are so unexpectedly to be sent upon.

"To horse!" commands the Colonel, vicariously through his non-commissioned officer. "Ride up the creek, and find if there is a pa.s.s leading out above. Take all the men with you; only leave Galvez to keep guard over the prisoners."

The sergeant, having received these instructions, once more salutes.

Then, returning to the group of lancers, at some distance off, gives the word "Mount!" The troopers, vaulting into their saddles, ride away from the ground, Galvez alone staying behind, who, being a "familiar" with his colonel, and more than once his partic.i.p.ator in crimes of deepest dye, can be trusted to overhear anything.

The movement has not escaped the observation of the two men lying tied under the tree. They cannot divine its meaning, but neither do they augur well of it. Still worse, when Uraga, calling to Galvez to come to him, mutters some words in his ear.

Their apprehensions are increased when the sentry returns to them, and, unfastening the cord from the doctor's ankles, raises him upon his feet, as if to remove him from the spot.

On being asked what it is for, Galvez does not condescend to give an answer, except to say in a gruff voice that he has orders to separate them.

Taking hold of the doctor's arm, he conducts him to a distance of several hundred yards, and, once more laying him along the ground, stands over him as before in the att.i.tude of a sentry. The action is suspicious, awe-inspiring--not more to Don Prospero than Miranda himself.

The latter is not left long to meditate upon it. Almost instantly he sees the place of his friend occupied by his enemy. Gil Uraga stands beside him.

There is an interval of silence, with only an interchange of glances; Don Valerian's defiant, Uraga's triumphant. But the expression of triumph on the part of the latter appears held in check, as if to wait some development that may either heighten or curb its display.

Uraga breaks silence--the first speech vouchsafed to his former commanding officer since making him a prisoner.

"Senor Miranda," he says, "you will no doubt be wondering why I have ordered your fellow-captive to be taken apart from you. It will be explained by my saying that I have words for you I don't wish overheard by anyone--not even by your dear friend, Don Prospero."

"What words, Gil Uraga?"

"A proposal I have to make."

Miranda remains silent, awaiting it.

"Let me first make known," continues the ruffian, "though doubtless you know it already, that your life is in my power. If I put a pistol to your head and blow out your brains there will be no calling me to account. If there was any danger of that, I could avoid it by giving you the benefit of a court-martial. Your life is forfeit to the state; and our military laws, as you are aware, can be stretched just now sufficiently to meet your case."

"I am aware of it," rejoins Miranda, his patriotic spirit roused by the reflection; "I know the despotism that now rules my unfortunate country.

It can do anything, without respect for either laws or const.i.tution."

"Just so," a.s.sents Uraga; "and for this reason I approach you with my proposal."

"Speak it, then. Proceed, sir, and don't multiply words. You need not fear of their effect. I am your prisoner, and powerless."

"Since you command me to avoid circ.u.mlocution, I shall obey you to the letter. My proposal is that, in exchange for your life--which I have the power to take, as also to save--you will give me your sister."

Miranda writhes till the cords fastening his wrists almost cut through the skin. Withal, he is silent; his pa.s.sion too intense to permit of speech.

"Don't mistake me, Don Valerian Miranda," pursues his tormentor, in a tone intended to be soothing. "When I ask you to give me your sister I mean it in an honourable sense. I wish her for my wife; and to save your life she will consent to become so, if you only use your influence to that end. She will not be a faithful sister if she do not. I need not tell you that I love her; you know that already. Accept the conditions I offer, and all will be well. I can even promise you the clemency of the State; for my influence in high places is somewhat different from what it was when you knew me as your subordinate. It will enable me to obtain free pardon for you."

Miranda still remains silent--long enough to rouse the impatience of him who dictates, and tempt the alternative threat already shaping itself on his tongue.

"Refuse," he continues, his brow suddenly clouding, while a light of sinister significance flashes from his eyes, "Refuse me, and you see not another sun. By that now shining you may take your last look of the earth; for this night will certainly be your last on it alive. Observe those vultures on the cliff! They are whetting their beaks, as if they expected a banquet. They shall have one, on your body, if you reject the terms I've offered. Accept them, Don Valerian Miranda; or before to-morrow's sun reaches meridian the birds will be feeding upon your flesh, and the wild beasts quarrelling over your bones. Answer me, and without prevarication. I demand plain speech, yes or no."

"No!" is the monosyllable shouted, almost shrieked, by him so menaced.

"No!" he repeats; "never shall I consent to that. I am in your power, Gil Uraga. Put your pistol to my head, blow out my brains, as you say you can do with impunity. Kill me any way you wish, even torture. It could not be more painful than to see you the husband of my sister, either by my consent or her own. You cannot force mine upon such disgraceful conditions, nor yet gain her's. My n.o.ble Adela! She would rather see me die, and die along with me."

"Ha! ha!" responded Uraga, in a peal of mocking laughter, mingled with a whine of chagrin, "we shall see about that. Perhaps the senorita may not treat my offer quite so slightingly as yourself. Women are not so superbly stupid. They have a keener comprehension of their own interests. Your sister may better appreciate the honour I am intending her. If not, Heaven help her and you! She will soon be without a brother. Adios, Don Valerian! I go to pour speech into softer ears.

For your own sake, hope--pray--that my proposal may be more favourably received."

Saying this, Uraga turns upon his heel and abruptly walks away, leaving behind his captive with hands tied and heart in a tumult of anguished emotion.

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN.

A SISTER SORELY TRIED.

The marquee occupied by Adela Miranda and her maid is not visible from the spot where her brother lies bound. The other tent is between, with some shrubbery further concealing it.

But from the tenour of his last speech, Don Valerian knows that Uraga has gone thither, as also his object.

Chagrined by the denial he has received from the brother, roused to recklessness, he resolves on having an answer from the sister, point-blank, upon the instant.

With slight ceremony he enters her tent. Once inside, he mutters a request, more like a command, for Conchita to withdraw. He does this with as much grace as the excited state of his feelings permits, excusing himself on the plea that he wishes a word with the senorita-- one he is sure she would not wish to be heard by other ears than her own.

Aroused from a despondent att.i.tude, the young lady looks up, her large round eyes expressing surprise, anger, apprehension, awe. The mestiza glances towards her mistress for instructions. The latter hesitates to give them. Only for an instant. It can serve no purpose to gainsay the wishes of one who has full power to enforce them, and whose demeanour shows him determined on doing so.

"You can go, Conchita," says her mistress; "I will call you when you are wanted."

The girl moves off with evident reluctance, but stops not far from the tent.

"Now, Don Gil Uraga," demands the lady, on being left alone with the intruder, "what have you to say to me that should not be overheard?"

"Come, senorita! I pray you will not commence so brusquely. I approach you as a friend, though for some time I may have appeared in the character of an enemy. I hope, however, you'll give me credit for good intentions. I'm sure you will when you know how much I'm distressed by the position I'm placed in. It grieves me that my instructions compel such harsh measures towards my two prisoners: but, in truth, I can say no discretion has been left me. I act under an order from headquarters."

"Senor," she rejoins, casting upon him a look of scornful incredulity, "you have said all this before. I suppose you had something else to speak of."

"And so I have, senorita. Something of a nature so unpleasant I hesitate to tell it, fearing it may sadly shock you."

"You need not. After what has pa.s.sed I am not likely to be nervous."

Despite her natural courage, and an effort to appear calm, she trembles, as also her voice. There is an expression on the face of the man that bodes sinister risings--some terrible disclosure.

The suspense is too painful to be borne; and in a tone more firm and defiant she demands the promised communication.

"Dona Adela Miranda," he rejoins, speaking in a grave, measured voice, like a doctor delivering a prognosis of death, "it has been my duty to make your brother a prisoner--a painful one, as I have said. But, alas!

the part I've already performed is nothing compared with that now required of me. You say you are prepared for a shock. What I'm going to say will cause you one."

She no longer attempts to conceal alarm. It is now discernible in her large, wondering eyes.

"Say it!"

The words drop mechanically from her lips, drawn forth by the intensity of her apprehension.

"You are soon to be without a brother!"