She tossed up a pretty foot and displayed it cased in rather a shabby little slipper. Then, with a laugh, she kicked it off towards him. “There,” she exclaimed, “put it in your bosom and keep it—something precious! And some day when you go to Montevideo, and wish to appear very grand before all the town, wear it on your great toe.”
“Who expects reason from a woman?” said Antonio, shrugging his shoulders.
“Reason! you have no more brains than a Muscovy duck, Antonio. You might have made this profit, but you never can make money like other men, and therefore you will always be poorer than the spiders. I have said this before very often, and only hope you will not forget it, for in future I intend to speak of other things.”
“Where would I have got the ten dollars to pay Petrona for the saddle?” he retorted, losing his temper.
“My friend,” I said, “if the saddle can be had, it is only just that you should have the profit. Take ten dollars, and if you buy it for me I will pay you two more.”
This proposal pleased him greatly, while Cleta, the volatile, clapped her hands with delight. While Antonio prepared to go to his neighbour’s after the saddle I went out to a solitary thorn-tree about fifty yards from the rancho, and, spreading my poncho in the shade, lay down to sleep the siesta.
Before the shepherd had been long gone I heard a great noise in the house, like banging on doors and on copper vessels, but took no notice, supposing it to proceed from Cleta engaged in some unusually noisy domestic operation. At length I heard a voice calling to me, “Señor! Señor!”
Getting up, I went to the kitchen, but no person was there. Suddenly a loud knock was given on the door communicating with the second room. “Oh, my friend,” cried Cleta’s voice behind it, “my ruffian of a husband has locked me in—can you let me out, do you think?”
“Why has he locked you in?” I asked.
“The question! Because he is a brute, of course. He always does it when he goes out. Is it not horrible?”
“It only shows how fond he is of you,” I returned.
“Are you so atrocious as to defend him? And I thought you had a heart—so handsome, too! When I saw you I said, Ah, had I married this man, what a happy life!”
“Thank you for your good opinion,” I said. “I am very sorry you are locked in, because it prevents me from seeing your pretty face.”
“Oh, you think it pretty? Then you must let me out. I have put up my hair now, and look prettier than when you saw me.”
“You look prettier with it down,” I answered.
“Ah, down it goes again then!” she exclaimed.—“Yes, you are right, it does look best that way. Is it not like silk? You shall feel it when you liberate me.”
“That I cannot do, Cletita mine. Your Antonio has taken away the key.”
“Oh, cruel man! He left me no water, and I am perishing with thirst. What shall I do? Look, I will put my hand under the door for you to feel how hot it is; I am consumed with fever and thirst in this oven.”
Presently her little brown hand came out at my feet, there being sufficient space between the floor and wood to pass it through. I stooped and took it in mine, and found it a hot, moist little hand, with a pulse beating very fast.
“Poor child!” I said, “I will pour some water in a plate and pass it to you under the door.”
“Oh, you are bad to insult me!” she cried. “What, am I a cat to drink water from a plate? I could cry my eyes out”; here followed sob-like sounds. “Besides,” she suddenly resumed, “it is fresh air, not water, I require. I am suffocated, I cannot breathe. Oh, dear friend, save me from fainting. Force back the door till the bolt slips out.”
“No, no, Cleta, it cannot be done.”
“What, with your strength! I could almost do it myself with my poor little hands. Open, open, open, before I faint.”
She had evidently sunk down on the floor sobbing, after making that practical suggestion; and, casting about for burglarious implements to aid me, I found the spit and a wedge-shaped piece of hard wood. These I inserted just above and below the lock, and, forcing back the door on its frame, I soon had the satisfaction of seeing the bolt slip from the catch.
Out sprang Cleta, flushed, tearful, her hair all in disorder, but laughing gleefully at having regained her liberty.
“Oh, dear friend, I thought you were going to leave me!” she cried. “How agitated I am—feel how my heart beats. Never mind, I can now pay that wretch out. Is not revenge sweet, sweet, sweet?”
“Now, Cleta,” I said, “take three mouthfuls of fresh air and a drink of water, then let me lock you in again.”
She laughed mockingly, and shook her hair like a wild young colt.
“Ah, you are not serious—do you not think I know?” she cried. “Your eyes tell me everything. Besides, you could not shut me up again if you tried.” Here she made a sudden dash at the door, but I caught her and held her a close prisoner.
“Let me go, monster—oh, no, not monster, dear, sweet friend, beautiful as the—moon, sun, stars. I am dying for fresh air. I will come back to the oven before he returns. If he caught me out, what blows! Come, let us sit under the tree together.”
“That would be disobeying your husband,” I said, trying to look stern.
“Never mind, I will confess it all to the priest some day, then it will be as if it had never happened. Such a husband—poof! If you were not a married man—are you married? What a pity! Say again, am I pretty?”
“Say first, Cleta, have you a horse a woman
