Antonio framed his face to express astonishment and virtue indignant; then with the point of his knife he scratched the figure of a cross on the ground, and was about to swear solemnly on it that I was egregiously mistaken, that his beast was a kind of equine angel, ora Pegasus, at least, when I interfered to stop him. “Tell as many lies as you like,” I said, “and I will listen to them with the greatest interest; but do not swear on the figure of the cross to what is false, for then the four or five or six dollars profit you have made on the sidesaddle will scarcely be sufficient to buy you absolution for such a sin.”
He shrugged his shoulders and restored the sacrilegious knife to its sheath. “There are my horses,” he said in an injured tone. “They are a kind of animal you seem to know a great deal about; select one and deceive yourself. I have endeavoured to serve you; but there are some people who do not know a friend when they see one.”
I then minutely examined all the other horses, and finally finished the farce by leading out the roan cream-nose, and was pleased to notice the crestfallen expression of my good shepherd.
“Your horses do not suit me,” I said, “so I cannot buy one. I will, however, purchase this old cow; for it is the only animal here I could trust my wife on. You can have seven dollars for it—not one copper more, for, like the Emperor of China, I speak once only.”
He plucked off his purple headgear and scratched his raven head, then led me back to the kitchen to consult his wife, “For, señor,” he said, “you have, by some fatality, selected her horse.” When Cleta heard that seven dollars had been offered for the roan, she laughed with joy. “Oh, Antonio, he is only worth six dollars! Yes, señor, you shall have him, and pay the seven dollars to me. Not to my husband. Who will say now that I cannot make money? And now, Antonio, I have no horse to ride on, you can give me the bay with white forefeet.”
“Do not imagine such a thing!” exclaimed her husband.
After taking maté I left them to settle their affairs, not doubting which would come out best from a trial of skill. When I arrived in sight of Peralta’s trees I unsaddled and picketed my horses, then stretched myself out on my rugs. After the excitements and pleasures of that day, which had robbed me of my siesta, I quickly fell into a very sound sleep.
XXVII
Night and Flight
When I woke I did not remember for some moments where I was. Feeling about me, my hand came in contact with the grass wet with dew. It was very dark, only low down in the sky a pale gleam of light gave promise, as I imagined, of coming day. Then recollection flashed upon me, and I sprang up alarmed to my feet, only to discover with inexpressible relief that the light I had remarked was in the west, not the east, and proceeded from the young moon just sinking beneath the horizon. Saddling my two animals expeditiously, I rode to Peralta’s estancia, and on arriving there carefully drew the horses into the shadow of a clump of trees growing on the borders of the ancient, well-nigh obliterated foss or ditch. I then dropped on to the ground so as to listen better for approaching footsteps, and began waiting for Demetria. It was past midnight: not a sound reached me except at intervals the mournful, faraway, reedy note of the little nocturnal cicada that always seemed to be there lamenting the lost fortunes of the house of Peralta. For upwards of half an hour I remained lying on the ground, growing more anxious every moment and fearing that Demetria was going to fail me, when I caught a sound like a human whisper. Listening intently, I found that it pronounced my name and proceeded from a clump of tall thorn-apples some yards from me.
“Who speaks?” I replied.
The tall, gaunt form of Ramona drew itself up out of the weeds and cautiously approached me. She was shaking with nervous excitement, and had not ventured to come near without speaking for fear of being mistaken for an enemy and fired at.
“Mother of Heaven!” she exclaimed, as well as her chattering teeth would allow her to speak. “I have been so agitated all the evening! Oh, señor, what are we to do now? Your plan was such a good one; when I heard it I knew an angel had flown down and whispered it in your ear. And now my mistress will not stir! All her things are ready—clothes, money, jewels; and for the last hour we have been urging her to come out, but nothing will serve. She will not see you, señor.”
“Is Don Hilario in the house?”
“No, he is out—could anything have been better? But it is useless, she has lost heart and will not come. She only sits crying in her room, saying that she cannot look on your face again.”
“Go and tell her that I am here with the horses waiting for her,” I said.
“Señor, she knows you are here. Santos watched for you and hastened in to inform her of your arrival. Now she has sent me out only to say that she cannot meet you, that she thanks you for all you have done, and begs you to go away and leave her.”
I was not greatly surprised at Demetria’s reluctance to meet me at the last moment, but was determined not to leave without first seeing her and trying to change her mind. Securing the horses to a tree, I went with Ramona to the house. Stealing in on tiptoe, we found Demetria in that room where she had received me the
