The Headless Horseman Part 16

"Ah, caught! what capital news! I shall be so delighted to see the beautiful thing; and ride it too. I haven't had a horse worth a piece of orange-peel since I've been in Texas. Papa has promised to purchase this one for me at any price. But who is the lucky individual who accomplished the capture?"

"Ye mean who grupped the maar?"

"Yes--yes--who?"

"Why, in coorse it wur a mowstanger."

"A mustanger?"

"Ye-es--an such a one as thur ain't another on all these purayras-- eyther to ride a hoss, or throw a laryitt over one. Yo may talk about yur Mexikins! I never seed neery Mexikin ked manage hoss-doin's like that young fellur; an thur ain't a drop o' thur pisen blood in his veins. He ur es white es I am myself."

"His name?"

"Wal, es to the name o' his family, that I niver heern. His Christyun name air Maurice. He's knowed up thur 'bout the Fort as Maurice the mowstanger."

The old hunter was not sufficiently observant to take note of the tone of eager interest in which the question had been asked, nor the sudden deepening of colour upon the cheeks of the questioner as she heard the answer.

Neither had escaped the observation of Florinda.

"La, Miss Looey!" exclaimed the latter, "shoo dat de name ob de brave young white gen'l'm--he dat us save from being smodered on de brack prairee?"

"Geehosofat, yes!" resumed the hunter, relieving the young lady from the necessity of making reply. "Now I think o't, he told me o' thet suck.u.mstance this very mornin', afore we started. He air the same.

Thet's the very fellur es hev trapped spotty; an he air toatin' the critter along at this eyedentical minnit, in k.u.mp'ny wi' about a dozen others o' the same cavyurd. He oughter be hyur afore sundown. I pushed my ole maar ahead, so 's to tell yur father the spotty war comin', and let him git the fust chance o' buyin'. I know'd as how thet ere bit o'

hosdoin's don't get druv fur into the Settlements efore someb'dy snaps her up. I thort o' _you_, Miss Lewaze, and how ye tuk on so when I tolt ye 'bout the critter. Wal, make yur mind eezy; ye sh.e.l.l hev the fast chance. Ole Zeb Stump 'll be yur bail for thet."

"Oh, Mr Stump, it is so kind of you! I am very, very grateful. You will now excuse me for a moment. Father will soon be back. We have a dinner-party to-day; and I have to prepare for receiving a great many people. Florinda, see that Mr Stump's luncheon is set out for him.

Go, girl--go at once about it!"

"And, Mr Stump," continued the young lady, drawing nearer to the hunter, and speaking in a more subdued tone of voice, "if the young-- young gentleman should arrive while the other people are here--perhaps he don't know them--will you see that he is not neglected? There is wine yonder, in the verandah, and other things. You know what I mean, dear Mr Stump?"

"Durned if I do, Miss Lewaze; that air, not adzackly. I kin unnerstan'

all thet ere 'bout the licker' an other fixins. But who air the young gen'leman yur speakin' o'? Thet's the thing as bamboozles me."

"Surely you know who I mean! The young gentleman--the young man--who, you say, is bringing in the horses."

"Oh! ah! Maurice the mowstanger! That's it, is it? Wal, I reck'n yur not a hundred mile astray in calling _him_ a gen'leman; tho' it ain't offen es a mowstanger gits thet ent.i.tlement, or desarves it eyther. _He air one_, every inch o' him--a gen'leman by barth, breed, an raisin'-- tho' he air a hoss-hunter, an Irish at thet."

The eyes of Louise Poindexter sparkled with delight as she listened to opinions so perfectly in unison with her own.

"I must tell ye, howsomdiver," continued the hunter, as some doubt had come across his mind, "it won't do to show that 'ere young fellur any sort o' second-hand hospertality. As they used to say on the Ma.s.sissippi, he air 'as proud as a Peintdexter.' Excuse me, Miss Lewaze, for lettin' the word slip. I did think o't thet I war talkin'

to a Peintdexter--not the proudest, but the puttiest o' the name."

"Oh, Mr Stump! you can say what you please to me. You know that I could not be offended with you, you dear old giant!"

"He'd be meaner than a dwurf es ked eyther say or do anythin' to offend you, miss."

"Thanks! thanks! I know your honest heart--I know your devotion.

Perhaps some time--some time, Mr Stump,"--she spoke hesitatingly, but apparently without any definite meaning--"I might stand in need of your friends.h.i.+p."

"Ye won't need it long afore ye git it, then; thet ole Zeb Stump kin promise ye, Miss Peintdexter. He'd be stinkiner than a skunk, an a bigger coward than a coyoat, es wouldn't stan' by sech as you, while there wur a bottle-full o' breath left in the inside o' his body."

"A thousand thanks--again and again! But what were you going to say?

You spoke of second-hand hospitality?"

"I dud."

"You meant--?"

"I meaned thet it 'ud be no use o' my inviting Maurice the mowstanger eyther to eat or drink unner this hyur roof. Unless yur father do that, the young fellur 'll go 'ithout tastin'. You unnerstan, Miss Lewaze, he ain't one o' thet sort o' poor whites as kin be sent roun' to the kitchen."

The young Creole stood for a second or two, without making rejoinder.

She appeared to be occupied with some abstruse calculation, that engrossed the whole of her thoughts.

"Never mind about it," she at length said, in a tone that told the calculation completed. "Never mind, Mr Stump. You need not invite him. Only let _me_ know when he arrives--unless we be at dinner, and then, of course, he would not expect any one to appear. But if he _should_ come at that time, _you_ detain him--won't you?"

"Boun' to do it, ef you bid me."

"You will, then; and let me know he is here. _I_ shall ask him to eat."

"Ef ye do, miss, I reck'n ye'll speil his appet.i.te. The sight o' you, to say nothin' o' listenin' to your melodyus voice, ud cure a starvin'

wolf o' bein' hungry. When I kim in hyur I war peckish enuf to swaller a raw buzzart. Neow I don't care a durn about eatin'. I ked go 'ithout chawin' meat for month."

As this exaggerated chapter of euphemism was responded to by a peal of clear ringing laughter, the young lady pointed to the other side of the patio; where her maid was seer emerging from the "cocina," carrying a light tray--followed by Pluto with one of broader dimensions, more heavily weighted.

"You great giant!" was the reply, given in a tone of sham reproach; "I won't believe you have lost your appet.i.te, until you have eaten Jack.

Yonder come Pluto and Morinda. They bring something that will prove more cheerful company than I; so I shall leave you to enjoy it. Good bye, Zeb--good bye, or, as the natives say here, _hasta luego_!"

Gaily were these words spoken--lightly did Louise Poindexter trip back across the covered corridor. Only after entering her chamber, and finding herself _chez soi-meme_, did she give way to a reflection of a more serious character, that found expression in words low murmured, but full of mystic meaning:--

"It is my destiny: I feel--I know that it is! I dare not meet, and yet I cannot shun it--I may not--I would not--I _will not_!"

CHAPTER TWELVE.

TAMING A WILD MARE.

The pleasantest _apartment_ in a Mexican house is that which has the roof for its floor, and the sky for its ceiling--the _azotea_. In fine weather--ever fine in that sunny clime--it is preferred to the drawing-room; especially after dinner, when the sun begins to cast rose-coloured rays upon the snow-clad summits of Orizava, Popocatepec, Toluca, and the "Twin Sister;" when the rich wines of Xeres and Madeira have warmed the imaginations of Andalusia's sons and daughters-- descendants of the Conquistadores--who mount up to their house-tops to look upon a land of world-wide renown, rendered famous by the heroic achievements of their ancestors.

Then does the Mexican "cavallero," clad in embroidered habiliments, exhibit his splendid exterior to the eyes of some senorita--at the same time puffing the smoke of his paper cigarito against her cheeks. Then does the dark-eyed doncella favourably listen to soft whisperings; or perhaps only pretends to listen, while, with heart distraught, and eye wandering away, she sends stealthy glances over the plain towards some distant hacienda--the home of him she truly loves.

So enjoyable a fas.h.i.+on, as that of spending the twilight hours upon the housetop, could not fail to be followed by any one who chanced to be the occupant of a Mexican dwelling; and the family of the Louisiana planter had adopted it, as a matter of course.

On that same evening, after the dining-hall had been deserted, the roof, instead of the drawing-room, was chosen as the place of re-a.s.semblage; and as the sun descended towards the horizon, his slanting rays fell upon a throng as gay, as cheerful, and perhaps as resplendent, as ever trod the azotea of Casa del Corvo. Moving about over its tessellated tiles, standing in scattered groups, or lined along the parapet with faces turned towards the plain, were women as fair and men as brave as had ever a.s.sembled on that same spot--even when its ancient owner used to distribute hospitality to the _hidalgos_ of the land--the _bluest_ blood in Coahuila and Texas.

The company now collected to welcome the advent of Woodley Poindexter on his Texan estate, could also boast of this last distinction. They were the _elite_ of the Settlements--not only of the Leona, but of others more distant. There were guests from Gonzales, from Castroville, and even from San Antonio--old friends of the planter, who, like him, had sought a home in South-Western Texas, and who had ridden--some of them over a hundred miles--to be present at this, his first grand "reception."

The planter had spared neither pains nor expense to give it _eclat_.