"What is it?" inquire a score of voices in quick simultaneity; while the eyes of all turn with eager interest towards the fair equestrian.

"There is a story of one being seen without a head--on horseback--out here too. _Valga me Dios_! we must now be near the place? It was by the Nueces--not far from the ford--where the road crosses for the Rio Grande. So the vaqueros said."

"Oh; some vaqueros have seen it?"

"Si, senores; three of them will swear to having witnessed the spectacle."

Isidora is a little surprised at the moderate excitement which such a strange story causes among the "Tejanos." There is an exhibition of interest, but no astonishment. A voice explains:

"We've seen it too--that headless horseman--at a distance. Did your vaqueros get close enough to know what it was?"

"_Santissima_! no."

"Can _you_ tell us, miss?"

"I? Not I. I only heard of it, as I've said. What it may be, _quien sabe_?"

There is an interval of silence, during which all appear to reflect on what they have heard.

The planter interrupts it, by a recurrence to his original interrogatory.

"Have you met, or seen, any one, miss--out here, I mean?"

"Si--yes--I have."

"You have! What sort of person? Be good enough to describe--"

"A lady."

"Lady!" echo several voices.

"Si, senores."

"What sort of a lady?"

"Una Americana."

"An American lady!--out here? Alone?"

"Si, senores."

"Who?"

"_Quien sabe_?"

"You don't know her? What was she like?"

"Like?--like?"

"Yes; how was she dressed?"

"_Vestido de caballo_."

"On horseback, then?"

"On horseback."

"Where did you meet the lady you speak of?"

"Not far from this; only on the other side of the chapparal."

"Which way was she going? Is there any house on the other side?"

"A _jacale_. I only know of that."

Poindexter to one of the party, who understands Spanish: "_A jacale_?"

"They give that name to their shanties."

"To whom does it belong--this _jacale_?"

"_Don Mauricio, el mustenero_."

"Maurice the mustanger!" translates the ready interpreter.

A murmur of mutual congratulation runs through the crowd. After two days of searching--fruitless, as earnest--they have struck a trail,--the trail of the murderer!

Those who have alighted spring back into their saddles. All take up their reins, ready to ride on.

"We don't wish to be rude, Miss Martinez--if that be your name; but you must guide us to this place you speak of."

"It takes me a little out of my way--though not far. Come on, cavalleros! I shall show you, if you are determined on going there."

Isidora re-crosses the belt of chapparal--followed by the hundred hors.e.m.e.n, who ride stragglingly after her.

She halts on its western edge; between which and the Alamo there is a stretch of open prairie.

"Yonder!" says she, pointing over the plain; "you see that black spot on the horizon? It is the top of an _alhuehuete_. Its roots are in the bottom lands of the Alamo. Go there! There is a canon leading down the cliff. Descend. You will find, a little beyond, the _jacale_ of which I've told you."

The searchers are too much in earnest to stay for further directions.

Almost forgetting her who has given them, they spur off across the plain, riding straight for the cypress.

One of the party alone lingers--not the leader, but a man equally interested in all that has transpired. Perhaps more so, in what has been said in relation to the lady seen by Isidora. He is one who knows Isidora's language, as well as his own native tongue.

"Tell me, _nina_," says he, bringing his horse alongside hers, and speaking in a tone of solicitude--almost of entreaty--"Did you take notice of the horse ridden by this lady?"

"_Carrambo_! yes. What a question, cavallero! Who could help noticing it?"