Part 10 (1/2)

At his instigation, Calderon spurs on by his side, the two tearing furiously along. Their purpose is evident: to force the pedestrians from the path, and so humble them in the eyes of their sweethearts.

On his side, Crozier remains cool, admonis.h.i.+ng Cadwallader to do the same. They feel the power of possession: a.s.sured by those smiles, that the citadel is theirs. It is for the outsiders to make the a.s.sault.

”Give a clear gangway, Will!” counsels Crozier; ”and let them pa.s.s. We can talk to the gentlemen afterwards.”

Both step back among the _manzanita_ bushes, and the _ginetes_ go galloping past; De Lara on Crozier's side scowling down, as if he would annihilate the English officer with a look. The scowl is returned with interest, the officer still reserves speech.

On the other edge of the avenue the action is a little different. The mids.h.i.+pman, full of youthful freak, determines on having his ”lark.” He sees the chance, and cannot restrain himself. As Calderon sweeps past, he draws his dirk, and p.r.i.c.ks the Californian's horse in the hip. The animal, maddened by the pain, springs upward, and then shoots off at increased speed, still further heightened by the fierce exclamations of his rider, and the mocking laughter of the mid.

Under the walls the two hors.e.m.e.n come to a halt, neither having made much by their bit of rude bravadoism. And they know they will have a reckoning to settle for it--at least De Lara does. For on the brow of Crozier, coming up, he can read a determination to call him to account.

He is not flurried about this. On the contrary, he has courted it, knowing himself a skilled swordsman, and dead shot. Remembering that he has already killed his man, he can await with equanimity the challenge he has provoked. It is not fear has brought the pallor to his cheeks, and set the dark seal upon his brow. Both spring from a different pa.s.sion: observable in his eyes as he turns them towards the house-top.

For the ladies are still there, looking down.

Saluting, he says:

”Dona Carmen, can I have the honour of an interview?”

She thus interrogated does not make immediate answer. Spectator of all that has pa.s.sed, she observes the hostile att.i.tude between the two sets of visitors. To receive both at the same time will be more than embarra.s.sing. With their angry pa.s.sions roused to such a pitch, it must end in a personal encounter.

Her duty is clear. She is mistress of the house, representing her father, who is absent. The English officers are there by invitation.

At thought of this she no longer hesitates.

”Not now, Don Francisco de Lara,” she says, replying to his question; ”not to-day. I must beg of you to excuse me.”

”Indeed!” rejoins he sneeringly. ”Will it be deemed discourteous in me to ask why I am denied?”

It is discourteous; and so Dona Carmen deems it. Though she does not tell him as much in words, he can take it from her rejoinder.

”You are quite welcome to know the reason. We have an engagement!”

”Oh! an engagement!”

”Yes, sir, an engagement,” she repeats, in a tone telling of irritation.

”Those gentlemen you see are our guests. My father has invited them to spend the day with us.”

”Ah! your father has invited them! How very good of Don Gregorio Montijo, extending his hospitality to _gringos_! And Dona Carmen has added her kind compliments with earnest entreaties for them to come, no doubt?”

”Sir!” says Carmen, no longer able to conceal her indignation, ”your speech is impertinent--insulting. I shall listen to it no longer.”

Saying which, she steps back, disappearing behind the parapet--where Inez has already concealed herself, at the close of a similar short, but stormy, dialogue with Calderon.

De Lara, a lurid look in his eyes, sits in his saddle as if in a stupor.

He is roused from it by a voice, Crozier's, saying:

”You appear anxious to make apology to the lady? You can make it to _me_.”

”_Caraji_!” exclaims the gambler, starting, and glaring angrily at the speaker. ”Who are you?”