Part 28 (1/2)

There was no signature nor other mark upon the paper.

”From Don Cosme?” I inquired, in a whisper to the Mexican.

”Yes, Senor,” was the reply.

”And how did you expect to reach us in the corral?”

”_Asi_,” (So), said the man, holding up a s.h.a.ggy bull's hide, which he carried over his arm.

”We have friends here, Clayley. Come, my good fellow, take this!” and I handed a gold eagle to the peon.

”Forward!”

The tinkling of canteens, the jingling of sabres, and the echo of bounding hoofs recommenced. We were again in motion, filing on through the shadowy woods.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

LUPE AND LUZ.

Shortly after, we debouched from the forest, entering the open fields of Don Cosme's plantation. There was a flowery brilliance around us, full of novelty. We had been accustomed to the ruder scenes of a northern clime. The tropical moon threw a gauzy veil over objects that softened their outlines; and the notes of the nightingale were the only sounds that broke the stillness of what seemed a sleeping elysium.

Once a vanilla plantation, here and there the aromatic bean grew wild, its ground usurped by the pita-plant, the acacia, and the th.o.r.n.y cactus.

The dry reservoir and the ruined _acequia_ proved the care that had in former times been bestowed on its irrigation. _Guardarayas_ of palms and orange-trees, choked up with vines and jessamines, marked the ancient boundaries of the fields. Cl.u.s.ters of fruit and flowers hung from the drooping branches, and the aroma of a thousand sweet-scented shrubs was wafted upon the night air. We felt its narcotic influence as we rode along. The helianthus bowed its golden head, as if weeping at the absence of its G.o.d; and the cereus spread its bell-shaped blossom, joying in the more mellow light of the moon.

The guide pointed to one of the guardarayas that led to the house. We struck into it, and rode forward. The path was pictured by the moonbeams as they glanced through the half-shadowing leaves. A wild roe bounded away before us, brus.h.i.+ng his soft flanks against the rustling thorns of the mezquite.

Farther on we reached the grounds, and, halting behind the jessamines, dismounted. Clayley and myself entered the inclosure.

As we pushed through a copse we were saluted by the hoa.r.s.e bark of a couple of mastiffs, and we could perceive several forms moving in front of the rancho. We stopped a moment to observe them.

”_Quitate, Carlo! Pompo_!” (Be off, Carlo! Pompo!) The dogs growled fiercely, barking at intervals.

”_Papa, mandalos_!” (Papa, order them off!)

We recognised the voices, and pressed forward.

”_Afuera, malditos perros! abajo_!” (Out of the way, wicked dogs!-- down!) shouted Don Cosme, chiding the fierce brutes and driving them back.

The dogs were secured by several domestics, and we advanced.

”_Quien es_?” inquired Don Cosme.

”_Amigos_” (Friends), I replied.

”_Papa! papa! es el capitan_!” (Papa, it is the captain!) cried one of the sisters, who had run out in advance, and whom I recognised as the elder one.

”Do not be alarmed, Senorita,” said I, approaching.