"Oh! ah! you, cousin Cash? What is it? not the Indiana, I hope?"

"Worse than that--worse! worse! Quick! Rouse yourself, and see!

Quick, or it will be too late! Quick, and be the witness of your own disgrace--the dishonour of your house. Quick, or the name of Poindexter will be the laughing-stock of Texas!"

After such summons there could be no inclination for sleep--at least on the part of a Poindexter; and at a single bound, the youngest representative of the family cleared the mosquito curtains, and stood upon his feet in the middle of the floor--in an att.i.tude of speechless astonishment.

"Don't wait to dress," cried his excited counsellor, "stay, you may put on your pants. d.a.m.n the clothes! There's no time for standing upon trifles. Quick! Quick!"

The simple costume the young planter was accustomed to wear, consisting of trousers and Creole blouse of Attakapas _cottonade_, were adjusted to his person in less than twenty seconds of time; and in twenty more, obedient to the command of his cousin--without understanding why he had been so unceremoniously summoned forth--he was hurrying along the gravelled walks of the garden.

"What is it, Cash?" he inquired, as soon as the latter showed signs of coming to a stop. "What does it all mean?"

"See for yourself! Stand close to me! Look through yonder opening in the trees that leads down to the place where your skiff is kept. Do you see anything there?"

"Something white. It looks like a woman's dress. It is that. It's a woman!"

"It _is_ a woman. Who do you suppose she is?"

"I can't tell. Who do you say she is?"

"There's another figure--a dark one--by her side."

"It appears to be a man? It is a man!"

"And who do you suppose _he_ is?"

"How should I know, cousin Cash? Do you?"

"I do. That man is Maurice the mustanger!"

"And the woman?"

"_Is Louise--your sister--in his arms_!"

As if a shot had struck him through the heart, the brother bounded upward, and then onward, along the path.

"Stay!" said Calhoun, catching hold of, and restraining him. "You forget that you are unarmed! The fellow, I know, has weapons upon him.

Take this, and this," continued he, pa.s.sing his own knife and pistol into the hands of his cousin. "I should have used them myself, long ere this; but I thought it better that you--her brother--should be the avenger of your sister's wrongs. On, my boy! See that you don't hurt _her_; but take care not to lose the chance at him. Don't give him a word of warning. As soon as they are separated, send a bullet into his belly; and if all six should fail, go at him with the knife. I'll stay near, and take care of you, if you should get into danger. Now! Steal upon him, and give the scoundrel h.e.l.l!"

It needed not this blasphemous injunction to inspire Henry Poindexter to hasty action. The brother of a sister--a beautiful sister--erring, undone!

In six seconds he was by her side, confronting her supposed seducer.

"Low villain!" he cried, "unclasp your loathsome arm from the waist of my sister. Louise! stand aside, and give me a chance of killing him!

Aside, sister! Aside, I say!"

Had the command been obeyed, it is probable that Maurice Gerald would at that moment have ceased to exist--unless he had found heart to kill Henry Poindexter; which, experienced as he was in the use of his six-shooter, and prompt in its manipulation, he might have done.

Instead of drawing the pistol from its holster, or taking any steps for defence, he appeared only desirous of disengaging himself from the fair arms still clinging around him, and for whose owner he alone felt alarm.

For Henry to fire at the supposed betrayer, was to risk taking his sister's life; and, restrained by the fear of this, he paused before pulling trigger.

That pause produced a crisis favourable to the safety of all three. The Creole girl, with a quick perception of the circ.u.mstances, suddenly released her lover from the protecting embrace; and, almost in the same instant, threw her arms around those of her brother. She knew there was nothing to be apprehended from the pistol of Maurice. Henry alone had to be held doing mischief.

"Go, go!" she shouted to the former, while struggling to restrain the infuriated youth. "My brother is deceived by appearances. Leave me to explain. Away, Maurice! away!"

"Henry Poindexter," said the young Irishman, as he turned to obey the friendly command, "I am not the sort of villain you have been pleased to p.r.o.nounce me. Give me but time, and I shall prove, that your sister has formed a truer estimate of my character than either her father, brother, or cousin. I claim but six months. If at the end of that time I do not show myself worthy of her confidence--her love--then shall I make you welcome to shoot me at sight, as you would the cowardly coyote, that chanced to cross your track. Till then, I bid you adieu."

Henry's struggle to escape from his sister's arms--perhaps stronger than his own--grew less energetic as he listened to these words. They became feebler and feebler--at length ceasing--when a plunge in the river announced that the midnight intruder into the enclosed grounds of Casa del Corvo was on his way back to the wild prairies he had chosen for his home.

It was the first time he had recrossed the river in that primitive fashion. On the two previous occasions he had pa.s.sed over in the skiff; which had been drawn back to its moorings by a delicate hand, the tow-rope consisting of that tiny lazo that had formed part of the caparison presented along with the spotted mustang.

"Brother! you are wronging him! indeed you are wronging him!" were the words of expostulation that followed close upon his departure. "Oh, Henry--dearest Hal, if you but knew how n.o.ble he is! So far from desiring to do me an injury, 'tis only this moment he has been disclosing a plan to--to--prevent--scandal--I mean to make me happy.

Believe me, brother, he is a gentleman; and if he were not--if only the common man you take him for--I could not help what I have done--I could not, for _I love him_!"

"Louise! tell me the truth! Speak to me, not as to your brother, but as to your own self. From what I have this night seen, more than from your own words, I know that you love this man. Has he taken advantage of your--your--unfortunate pa.s.sion?"

"No--no--no. As I live he has not. He is too n.o.ble for that--even had I--Henry! he is innocent! If there be cause for regret, I alone am to blame. Why--oh! brother! why did you insult him?"

"Have I done so?"

"You have, Henry--rudely, grossly."

"I shall go after, and apologise. 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 compa.s.sion, 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 circ.u.mstances, 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, Ca.s.sius 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.