Part 73 (2/2)
”_Perfectamente, s'norita_. Your orders shall be obeyed to the letter.”
”Thanks, good Benito. Uncle Silvio will like you all the better for it; though _you_ mustn't tell him of it. Leave that to me. If he shouldn't--if he shouldn't--well! one of these days there may be an estate on the Rio Grande that will stand in need of a brave, faithful steward--such an one as I know you to be.”
”Every one knows that the Dona Isidora is gracious as she is fair.”
”Thanks--thanks! One more request. The service I ask you to do for me must be known to only three individuals. The third is he whom you are sent to succour. You know the other two?”
”S'norita, I comprehend. It shall be as you wish it.”
The mayor-domo is moving off on horseback, it need scarce be said. Men of his calling rarely set foot to the earth--never upon a journey of half a league in length.
”Stay! I had forgotten!” calls out the lady, arresting him. ”You will find a hat and serape. They are mine. Bring them, and I shall wait for you here, or meet you somewhere along the way.”
Bowing, he again rides away. Again is he summoned to stop.
”On second thoughts, Senor Benito, I've made up my mind to go along with you. _Vamos_!”
The steward of Don Silvio is not surprised at caprice, when exhibited by the niece of his employer. Without questioning, he obeys her command, and once more heads his horse for the hill.
The lady follows. She has told him to ride in the advance. She has her reason for departing from the aristocratic custom.
Benito is astray in his conjecture. It is not to caprice that he is indebted for the companions.h.i.+p of the senorita. A serious motive takes her back along the road.
She has forgotten something more than her wrapper and hat--that little letter that has caused her so much annoyance.
The ”good Benito” has not had _all_ her confidence; nor can he be entrusted with this. _It_ might prove a scandal, graver than the quarrel with Don Miguel Diaz.
She rides back in hopes of repossessing herself of the epistle. How stupid not to have thought of it before!
How had El Coyote got hold of it? He must have had it from Jose!
Was her servant a traitor? Or had Diaz met him on the way, and forced the letter from him?
To either of these questions an affirmative answer might be surmised.
On the part of Diaz such an act would have been natural enough; and as for Jose, it is not the first time she has had reason for suspecting his fidelity.
So run her thoughts as she re-ascends the slope, leading up from the river bottom.
The summit is gained, and the opening entered; Isidora now riding side by side with the mayor-domo.
No Miguel Diaz there--no man of any kind; and what gives her far greater chagrin, not a sc.r.a.p of paper!
There is her hat of vicuna wool--her seraph of Saltillo, and the loop end of her lazo--nothing more.
”You may go home again, Senor Benito! The man thrown from his horse must have recovered his senses--and, I suppose, his saddle too. Blessed be the virgin! But remember, good Benito _Secrecy all the same.
Entiende, V_?”
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