He was taking it, or rather getting it--Zeb having appointed himself to the easier post of conductor.

The idea was not altogether original. It was a rude copy from the Mexican _litera_, which in Southern Texas Zeb may have seen--differing from the latter only in being without screen, and instead of two mules, having for its _atelage_ a mare and a man!

In this improvised palanquin was Maurice Gerald transported to his dwelling.

It was night when the grotesque-looking group arrived at the _locale_.

In strong but tender arms the wounded man was transferred from the stretcher to the skin couch, on which he had been accustomed to repose.

He was unconscious of where he was, and knew not the friendly faces bending over him. His thoughts were still astray, though no longer exciting him to violent action. He was experiencing an interval of calm.

He was not silent; though he made no reply to the kind questions addressed to him, or only answered them with an inconsequence that might have provoked mirth. But there were wild words upon his lips that forbade it--suggesting only serious thoughts.

His wounds received such rude dressing as his companions were capable of administering to them; and nothing more could be done but await the return of day.

Phelim went to sleep upon his shake-down; while the other sate up to keep watch by the bedside of the sufferer.

It was not from any unfaithfulness on the part of the foster-brother, that he seemed thus to disregard his duty; but simply because Zeb had requested him to lie down--telling him there was no occasion for both to remain awake.

The old hunter had his reasons. He did not desire that those wild words should be heard even by Phelim. Better he should listen to them alone.

And alone he sate listening to them--throughout the live-long night.

He heard speeches that surprised him, and names that did not. He was not surprised to hear the name "Louise" often repeated, and coupled with fervent protestations of love.

But there was another name also often p.r.o.nounced--with speeches less pleasant to his ear.

It was the name of Louise's brother.

The speeches were disjointed--incongruous, and almost unintelligible.

Comparing one with the other, however, and a.s.sisted by the circ.u.mstances already known to him, before the morning light had entered the _jacale_, Zeb Stump had come to the conclusion: that Henry Poindexter was no longer a living man!

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

UN DIA DE NOVEDADES.

Don Silvio Martinez was one of the few Mexican _ricos_, who had chosen to remain in Texas, after the conquest of that country by the stalwart colonisers from the North.

A man of more than mature age, of peaceful habits, and taking no part in politics, he accepted the new situation without any great regret. He was the more easily reconciled to it, from a knowledge, that his loss of nationality was better than counterbalanced by his gain of security against Comanche incursions; which, previous to the coming of the new colonists, had threatened the complete depopulation of the country.

The savage was not yet entirely subdued; but his maraud was now intermittent, and occurred only at long intervals. Even this was an improvement on the old _regime_.

Don Silvio was a _ganadero_,--a grazier, on a grand scale. So grand that his _ganaderia_ was leagues in length and breadth, and contained within its limits many thousands of horses and horned cattle.

He lived in a large rectangular one-storied house--more resembling a jail than a dwelling--surrounded by extensive enclosures--_corrales_.

It was usually a quiet place; except during the time of the _herradero_, or cattle-branding; when for days it became the scene of a festivity almost Homeric.

These occasions were only of annual occurrence.

At all other times the old haciendado--who was a bachelor to boot--led a tranquil and somewhat solitary life; a sister older than himself being his only companion. There were occasional exceptions to this rule: when his charming _sobrina_ rode across from the Rio Grande to pay him and his sister a visit. Then the domicile of Don Silvio became a little more lively.

Isidora was welcome whenever she came; welcome to come and go when she pleased; and do as she pleased, while under her uncle's roof. The sprightliness of her character was anything but displeasing to the old haciendado; who was himself far from being of a sombre disposition.

Those traits, that might have appeared masculine in many other lands, were not so remarkable in one, where life is held by such precarious tenure; where the country house is oft transformed into a fortress, and the domestic hearth occasionally bedewed with the blood of its inmates!

Is it surprising that in such a land women should be found, endowed with those qualities that have been ascribed to Isidora? If so, it is not the less true that they exist.

As a general thing the Mexican woman is a creature of the most amiable disposition; _douce_--if we may be allowed to borrow from a language that deals more frequently with feminine traits--to such an extent, as to have become a national characteristic. It is to the denizens of the great cities, secure from Indian incursion, that this character more especially applies. On the frontiers, harried for the last half century by the aboriginal freebooter, the case is somewhat different. The amiability still exists; but often combined with a _bravourie_ and hardihood masculine in seeming, but in reality heroic.

Since Malinche, more than one fair heroine has figured in the history of Anahuac.

Don Silvio Martinez had himself a.s.sisted at many a wild scene and ceremony. His youth had been pa.s.sed amid perils; and the courage of Isidora--at times degenerating into absolute recklessness--so far from offending, rather gave him gratification.

The old gentleman loved his darling _sobrina_, as if she had been his own child; and had she been so, she would not have been more certain of succeeding to his possessions.

Every one knew, that, when Don Silvio Martinez should take leave of life, Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos would be the owner of--not his broad acres, but--his _leagues_ of land, as also his thousands of horses and horned cattle.

With this understanding, it is needless to say, that the senorita carried respect with her wherever she went, or that the va.s.sals of the Hacienda Martinez honoured her as their future mistress.

Independently of this was she regarded. Hers were just the qualities to win the esteem of the dashing _rancheros_; and there was not one upon the estate, but would have drawn his _machete_ at her nod, and used it to the shedding of blood.

Miguel Diaz spoke the truth, when he said he was in danger. Well might he believe it. Had it pleased Isidora to call together her uncle's _vaqueros_, and send them to chastise him, it would have been speedily done--even to hanging him upon the nearest tree!

No wonder he had made such haste to get away from the glade.

As already stated, the real home of Isidora was upon the other side of the Rio Grande--separated by some three-score miles from the Hacienda Martinez. But this did not hinder her from paying frequent visits to her relations upon the Leona.

There was no selfishness in the motive. The prospect of the rich inheritance had nothing to do with it. She was an expectant heiress without that: for her own father was a _rico_. But she liked the company of her uncle and aunt. She also enjoyed the ride from river to river--oft made by her between morning and night, and not unfrequently alone!

Of late these visits had become of much more frequent occurrence.

Had she grown fonder of the society of her Texan relatives--fonder as they grew older? If not, what was her motive?

Imitating her own frankness of character, it may at once be declared.

She came oftener to the Leona, in the hope of meeting with Maurice Gerald.

With like frankness may it be told, that she _loved_ him.

Beyond doubt, the young Irishman was in possession of her heart. As already known, he had won it by an act of friendship; though it may have been less the service he had done, than the gallantry displayed in doing it, that had put the love-spell on the daring Isidora.

Perhaps, too, she saw in him other captivating qualities, less easily defined. Whether these had been undesignedly exhibited, or with the intention to effect a conquest, he alone can tell. He has himself said, No; and respect is due to his declaration. But it is difficult to believe, that mortal man could have gazed into the eyes of Isidora de los Llanos without wishing them to look longingly upon him.