The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

“You can say nothing pleasant; but I listen.”

“First, then, here are certain documents that concern you – both you and your father.”

I saw some folded papers in his hand, which he had taken from under his jacket. He opened and held them before her face, as he continued: —

“This safeguard is one given by the American commander-in-chief to the Dona Isolina de Vargas. Perhaps you have seen it before? And here is a letter from Don Ramon de Vargas to the commissary-general of the American army, enclosed within another from that functionary to your pet filibustero – a pretty piece of treason this!”

“Well, sir?”

“Not so well for you, madame. You forget that General Santa Anna is now chief of this republic. Think you he will not punish such traitorous correspondence! Carrambo! if I but lay these documents before his Excellency, I shall have an order for the arrest of both yourself and your father as quickly as it can be spoken. No more; the estate will be proscript and confiscated – it will become mine – mine!”

The speaker paused, as if for an answer.

Isolina remained silent. I could not see her face to notice the effect. I fancied that the threat had terrified her. Ijurra continued: —

“Now, señorita! you better comprehend our relative positions. Give your consent to become my wife, and these papers shall be destroyed on the instant.”

“Never!” was the firm response that delighted my ears.

“Never!” echoed Ijurra; “then dread the consequences. I shall obtain orders for your arrest, and as soon as this horde of Yankee ruffians has been driven from the country, the property shall be mine.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” came the scornful laugh in reply – “ha, ha, ha! you mistake, Rafael Ijurra; you are not so far-sighted as you deem yourself; you forget that my father’s land lies on the Texan side of the Rio Grande; and ere that horde of Yankee ruffians, as you term them, be driven out, they will establish this river for their boundary. Where, then, will lie the power of confiscation? Not with you, and your cowardly master. Ha, ha, ha!”

The reply maddened Ijurra still further, for he saw the probability of what had been said. His face became livid, and he seemed to lose all control of himself.

“Even so,” he shouted with the addition of a fierce oath – “even so, you shall never inherit those lands. Listen, Isolina de Vargas! listen to another secret I have for you: know, señorita, that you are not the lawful daughter of Don Ramon!”

I saw the proud girl start, as if struck with an arrow.

“I have the proofs of what I repeat,” continued Ijurra; “and even should the United States triumph, its laws cannot make you legitimate. You are not the heiress of the hacienda de Vargas!”

As yet not a word from Isolina. She sat silent and motionless, but I could tell by the rising and falling of her shoulders that a terrible storm was gathering in her bosom.

The fiend continued: —

“Now, madame, you may know how disinterested it was of me to offer you marriage: nay, more, I never loved you; if I told you so, it was a lie – ”

He never lied in his life as he was doing at that moment. His face bespoke the falsehood of his words. It was the utterance of purest spleen. I read in his look the unmistakable expression of jealousy. Coarse as the passion may have been, he loved her – oh! how could it have been otherwise?

“Love you, indeed! Ha, ha, ha! love you – the daughter of a poor Indian – a margarita!”

The climax had come. The heaving bosom could bear silence no longer; the insult was unendurable.

“Base wretch!” cried she, in a voice of compressed agony, “stand aside from my path!”

“Not yet,” answered Ijurra, grasping the bridle more firmly. “I have something further to communicate – ”

“Villain! release the rein!”

“Before I do, you shall promise – you shall swear – ”

“Again! let go! or this bullet to your heart!”

I had sprung from out the thicket, and was running forward to her rescue. I saw her right hand raised on high, and something shining in its grasp. It was a pistol. Its muzzle was pointed at Ijurra.

No doubt the resolute character of her who held it was well known to him, for the threat produced an immediate effect; the coward relaxed his hold, the reins dropped from his fingers, and with a mingled look of hatred and fear, he stepped back a pace.

The moment the bridle became free, the steed, already startled by the spur, bounded forward; and after half-a-dozen springs, both horse and rider disappeared behind the screen of the palmettoes.

I was too late to play the knight-errant. The “ladye faire” had not needed my help; she neither saw nor heard me; and by the time I arrived upon the ground, she had passed out of sight, and Ijurra was alone.

Chapter Fifty.

Awkward Odds

Ijurra was alone, and I continued to advance to the spot where he was standing. His back was towards me, for he still fronted in the direction in which Isolina had galloped off. He had followed her with his eyes, with a cry of disappointed rage, with a threat of malignant vengeance.

The sound of his own voice hindered him from hearing mine, and he was not aware of my presence, when I paused scarcely three feet from where he stood, and directly behind him.

I held my sword drawn; I could have thrust him in the back, through and through again, before he could have offered either defence or resistance. He was completely in my power.

Fortunate was it for him at that moment that I had been bred a gentleman, else in another instant his lifeless body would have lain at my feet. A plebeian blade would have made short work with the ruffian, and I confess that my instincts of fair-play were sorely tried. I had before me a man who had sought my life – a deadly foe – a deadly foe to her I loved – a perjured villain – a murderer! With such titles for himself, he had none to the laws of honour; and I confess that for one short moment, I felt like ignoring his claim.

’Twas but for a moment: the thought revolted me. Wicked and worthless as he was, I could not stab him in the back.

I leaned forward, and tapping him upon the shoulder, pronounced his name.

It was the first intimation he had of my presence; and starting as if hit by a bullet, he turned face towards me. The flush of anger upon his cheek suddenly gave place to deadly pallor, and his eyes became set in that peculiar stare that indicates an apprehension of danger. This he must have felt keenly, for my determined look and drawn sword – to say nothing of the surprise by which I had come upon him – were calculated to produce that effect.

It was the first time we had stood face to face, and I now perceived that he was a much larger man than myself. But I saw, too, that his eye quailed, and his lip quivered, at the encounter. I saw that he was cowed; felt that I was his master.

“You are Rafael Ijurra?” I repeated, as he had not made answer to my first interrogation.

“Si, señor,” he answered hesitatingly. “What want you with me?”

“You have some documents there,” (he still held the papers in his hand); “a portion of them belongs to me. I shall trouble you to hand them over.”

“Are you Captain Warfield?” he asked, after a pause, at the same time pretending to examine the superscription upon the commissary’s letter. I saw that his fingers trembled.

“I am Captain Warfield – you ought to know by this time?”

Without noticing the insinuation, he replied —

“True – there is a letter here bearing that address. I found it upon the road: you are welcome to it, señor.”

As he said this, he handed me the commissary’s order, still retaining the other documents.

“There was an enclosure. I perceive you have it in your hand. I beg you will make me equally welcome to that.”