If you speak truly, sister, I owe him that much.
I shall go this instant.
I liked him from the first—you know I did? I could not believe him capable of a cowardly act. I can’t now.
Sister! come back into the house with me.
And now, dearest Loo! you had better go to bed.
As for me, I shall be off instanter to the hotel, where I may still hope to overtake him.
I cannot rest till I have made reparation for my rudeness.”
So spoke the forgiving brother; and gently leading his sister by the hand, with thoughts of compassion, but not the slightest trace of anger, he hastily returned to the hacienda—intending to go after the young Irishman, and apologise for the use of words that, under the circumstances, might have been deemed excusable.
As the two disappeared within the doorway, a third figure, hitherto crouching among the shrubbery, was seen to rise erect, and follow them up the stone steps.
This last was their cousin, Cassius Calhoun.
He, too, had thoughts of going after the mustanger.
Chapter Thirty Five.
An Uncourteous Host.
“The chicken-hearted fool!
Fool myself, to have trusted to such a hope!
I might have known she’d cajole the young calf, and let the scoundrel escape.
I could have shot him from behind the tree—dead as a drowned rat! And without risking anything—even disgrace! Not a particle of risk.
Uncle Woodley would have thanked me—the whole settlement would have said I had done right.
My cousin, a young lady, betrayed by a common scamp—a horse, trader—who would have said a word against it?
Such a chance!
Why have I missed it?
Death and the devil—it may not trump up again!”
Such were the reflections of the ex-captain of cavalry, while at some paces distance following his two cousins on their return to the hacienda.
“I wonder,” muttered he, on re-entering the patio, “whether the blubbering baby be in earnest? Going after to apologise to the man who has made a fool of his sister!
Ha—ha! It would be a good joke were it not too serious to be laughed at.
He is in earnest, else why that row in the stable? ’Tis he bringing but his horse!
It is, by the Almighty!”
The door of the stable, as is customary in Mexican haciendas opened upon the paved patio.
It was standing ajar; but just as Calhoun turned his eye upon it, a man coming from the inside pushed it wide open; and then stepped over the threshold, with a saddled horse following close after him.
The man had a Panama hat upon his head, and a cloak thrown loosely around his shoulders.
This did not hinder Calhoun from recognising his cousin Henry, as also the dark brown horse that belonged to him.
“Fool!
So—you’ve let him off?” spitefully muttered the ex-captain, as the other came within whispering distance. “Give me back my bowie and pistol.
They’re not toys suited to such delicate fingers as yours!
Bah! Why did you not use them as I told you?
You’ve made a mess of it!”
“I have,” tranquilly responded the young planter. “I know it.
I’ve insulted—and grossly too—a noble fellow.”
“Insulted a noble fellow!
Ha—ha—ha!
You’re mad—by heavens, you’re mad!”
“I should have been had I followed your counsel, cousin Cash.
Fortunately I did not go so far.
I have done enough to deserve being called worse than fool; though perhaps, under the circumstances, I may obtain forgiveness for my fault.
At all events, I intend to try for it, and without losing time.”
“Where are you going?”
“After Maurice the mustanger—to apologise to him for my misconduct.”
“Misconduct!
Ha—ha—ha!
Surely you are joking?”