“Si, Senor; yo estoy.”
“Glad to see you, good Jose.
The Dona Isidora here?—on the Leona, I mean?”
“Si, Senor.”
“So soon again!
She was here scarce two weeks ago, was she not?
I was away from the settlement, but had word of it.
I was expecting to hear from you, good Jose.
Why did you not write?”
“Only, Senor Don Miguel, for want of a messenger that could be relied upon.
I had something to communicate, that could not with safety be entrusted to a stranger.
Something, I am sorry to say, you won’t thank me for telling you; but my life is yours, and I promised you should know all.”
The “prairie wolf” sprang to his feet, as if pricked with a sharp-pointed thorn.
“Of her, and him?
I know it by your looks.
Your mistress has met him?”
“No, Senor, she hasn’t—not that I know of—not since the first time.”
“What, then?” inquired Diaz, evidently a little relieved, “She was here while he was at the posada.
Something passed between them?”
“True, Don Miguel—something did pass, as I well know, being myself the bearer of it.
Three times I carried him a basket of dulces, sent by the Dona Isidora—the last time also a letter.”
“A letter!
You know the contents? You read it?”
“Thanks to your kindness to the poor peon boy, I was able to do that; more still—to make a copy of it.”
“You have one?”
“I have.
You see, Don Miguel, you did not have me sent to school for nothing.
This is what the Dona Isidora wrote to him.”
Diaz reached out eagerly, and, taking hold of the piece of paper, proceeded to devour its contents. It was a copy of the note that had been sent among the sweetmeats.
Instead of further exciting, it seemed rather to tranquillise him.
“Carrambo!” he carelessly exclaimed, as he folded up the epistle. “There’s not much in this, good Jose.
It only proves that your mistress is grateful to one who has done her a service.
If that’s all—”
“But it is not all, Senor Don Miguel; and that’s why I’ve come to see you now.
I’m on an errand to the pueblita.
This will explain it.”
“Ha!
Another letter?”
“Si, Senor!
This time the original itself, and not a poor copy scribbled by me.”
With a shaking hand Diaz took hold of the paper, spread it out, and read:—
Al Senor Don Mauricio Gerald. Querido amigo! Otra vez aqui estoy—con tio Silvio quedando! Sin novedades de V. no puedo mas tiempo existir. La incertitud me malaba. Digame que es V. convalescente! Ojala, que estuviera asi! Suspiro en vuestros ojos mirar, estos ojos tan lindos y tan espresivos—a ver, si es restablecido vuestra salud. Sea graciosa darme este favor. Hay—opportunidad. En una cortita media de hora, estuviera quedando en la cima de loma, sobre la cosa del tio. Ven, cavallero, ven! Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos. With a curse El Coyote concluded the reading of the letter. Its sense could scarce be mistaken. Literally translated it read thus:—
“Dear Friend,—I am once more here, staying with uncle Silvio.
Without hearing of you I could not longer exist.
The uncertainty was killing me.
Tell me if you are convalescent.
Oh! that it may be so.
I long to look into your eyes—those eyes so beautiful, so expressive—to make sure that your health is perfectly restored.
Be good enough to grant me this favour. There is an opportunity.
In a short half hour from this time, I shall be on the top of the hill, above my uncle’s house.