Chapter 49 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
Threats
Yes, the voice was Ijurra’s. I knew it well. While listening to it by the mesa, I had noted its tones sufficiently to remember them—round, sonorous, of true Spanish accent, and not inharmonious—though at that moment they grated harshly upon my ear.
An indescribable feeling came over me: it was not jealousy—I was too confident to be jealous—and yet, I shame to confess, I felt a sensation sadly akin to it. After those earnest oaths, those tears and frenzied kisses—so soon after! Oh, shame upon me!
Alas! the experienced heart no more enjoys the tranquil continuity of faith. Its belief is like a broken dream—an intermittence of light and shade. It was my misfortune, my error, perhaps my crime, to remember too many pairs of pretty perjured lips.
In a word, I was once more jealous, in spite of all that had passed—of sighs, and tears, and plighted vows—once more jealous of Ijurra!
But the moment before, his name was on her tongue, and spoken with scorn; in the same breath I was assured that he was no longer in the neighbourhood, that he was far away!
No; he was upon the spot, in close conversation with her, and scarcely five minutes after the oath had been sworn that bound her to me for life! Less wonder I was jealous. That the feeling lasted only for an instant might be some palliation, but it was no merit of mine that brought it so quickly to a termination. I cannot screen my conduct behind an act of volition; for although the poisoned sting rankled but for a few seconds of time, during that short period I yielded obedience to its demoniac promptings.
I slipped down gently from my saddle; and with the crouching gait and silent tread of the jaguar, approached the speakers. My horse, well trained to such tactics stayed where I had dismounted, without tie or hopple. No fear that his hoof would betray me.
Step by step I advanced, with my hands cautiously parting the boughs. The fronds of a curious sabal palm befriended me. They grew vertically on short petioles, like large green fans; and overlying one another, formed a perfect screen, through which the keenest eye could not perceive the approach of an intruder.
In a few seconds, I stood behind the last row that bounded the edge of a small opening; and peering through the serrate interstices of the leaves, I saw my betrothed and her cousin.
Isolina was still in the saddle. Ijurra was on foot, and standing by her stirrup, with one hand resting upon the pommel, the other grasping the rein.
Up to this moment, my heart had continued its painful throbbing; but the attitude of Ijurra, with his troubled and angry look, at once produced a revulsion in my feelings. I saw that the encounter had been accidental—at least on the part of Isolina; I saw that she was detained.
I could not see her face; it was turned in the opposite direction, and towards Ijurra; but the tones of her voice reached me, and by these I perceived that she addressed him in anger. Oh, how those accents of indignation ravished my heart; sweeter were they to me than the softest melody!
As yet, I had heard nothing of what had passed between them; the loud beating of my heart, the rustling of the leaves under my feet, of the boughs as I pressed through them, had prevented me from distinguishing what was said. These sounds ceased as I came to a stop; and although still fifty paces distant from the speakers, I could catch every word of their conversation, favoured by the loud tone in which it was carried on.
“So, then, you refuse?”
It was Ijurra who put this interrogatory.
“I have done so before, Rafael; your conduct has given me no cause to change my mind.”
“Ha! my conduct has nothing to do with it; you have other reasons. Isolina, do not imagine I am such a bobo. I know your secret: you love this gringo—this Yankee captain?”
“And suppose I do, that is my affair. Nay, more, sir, shall not even attempt to make a secret of it. I do love him—I do—I do.”
Ijurra’s eyes gleamed with malignant fire; his lips turned white, and tightened over his teeth; he seemed endeavouring to curb the exposure of his spleen.
“And you would marry him?” he asked with compressed emphasis.
“I shall marry him,” was the prompt reply.
“Por todos santos! it shall never be.”
“And who is to hinder it?”
“I!”
“Ha, ha, ha! You are raving, Rafael Ijurra!”
“You may love him to your heart’s content—I care not; but marry him—never! s’death! never!”
“Indeed?”
“By the saints, I swear it. I swear—”
“You have sworn enough; you are sufficiently perjured already.”
“Carrai!” furiously shouted Ijurra, as if losing patience. “Listen to me, Isolina de Vargas! I have something to say that may not be so pleasant—”
“You can say nothing pleasant; but I listen.”
“First, then, here are certain documents that concern you—both you and your father.”
I saw some folded papers in his hand, which he had taken from under his jacket. He opened and held them before her face, as he continued:—
“This safeguard is one given by the American commander-in-chief to the Dona Isolina de Vargas. Perhaps you have seen it before? And here is a letter from Don Ramon de Vargas to the commissary-general of the American army, enclosed within another from that functionary to your pet filibustero—a pretty piece of treason this!”
“Well, sir?”
“Not so well for you, madame. You forget that General Santa Anna is now chief of this republic. Think you he will not punish such traitorous correspondence! Carrambo! if I but lay these documents before his Excellency, I shall have an order for the arrest of both yourself and your father as quickly as it can be spoken. No more; the estate will be proscript and confiscated—it will become mine—mine!”
The speaker paused, as if for an answer.
Isolina remained silent. I could not see her face to notice the effect. I fancied that the threat had terrified her. Ijurra continued:—
“Now, señorita! you better comprehend our relative positions. Give your consent to become my wife, and these papers shall be destroyed on the instant.”
“Never!” was the firm response that delighted my ears.
“Never!” echoed Ijurra; “then dread the consequences. I shall obtain orders for your arrest, and as soon as this horde of Yankee ruffians has been driven from the country, the property shall be mine.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” came the scornful laugh in reply—“ha, ha, ha! you mistake, Rafael Ijurra; you are not so far-sighted as you deem yourself; you forget that my father’s land lies on the Texan side of the Rio Grande; and ere that horde of Yankee ruffians, as you term them, be driven out, they will establish this river for their boundary. Where, then, will lie the power of confiscation? Not with you, and your cowardly master. Ha, ha, ha!”
The reply maddened Ijurra still further, for he saw the probability of what had been said. His face became livid, and he seemed to lose all control of himself.
“Even so,” he shouted with the addition of a fierce oath—“even so, you shall never inherit those lands. Listen, Isolina de Vargas! listen to another secret I have for you: know, señorita, that you are not the lawful daughter of Don Ramon!”
I saw the proud girl start, as if struck with an arrow.
“I have the proofs of what I repeat,” continued Ijurra; “and even should the United States triumph, its laws cannot make you legitimate. You are not the heiress of the hacienda de Vargas!”
As yet not a word from Isolina. She sat silent and motionless, but I could tell by the rising and falling of her shoulders that a terrible storm was gathering in her bosom.
The fiend continued:—
“Now, madame, you may know how disinterested it was of me to offer you marriage: nay, more, I never loved you; if I told you so, it was a lie—”
He never lied in his life as he was doing at that moment. His face bespoke the falsehood of his words. It was the utterance of purest spleen. I read in his look the unmistakable expression of jealousy. Coarse as the passion may have been, he loved her—oh! how could it have been otherwise?
“Love you, indeed! Ha, ha, ha! love you—the daughter of a poor Indian—a margarita!”
The climax had come. The heaving bosom could bear silence no longer; the insult was unendurable.
“Base wretch!” cried she, in a voice of compressed agony, “stand aside from my path!”
“Not yet,” answered Ijurra, grasping the bridle more firmly. “I have something further to communicate—”
“Villain! release the rein!”
“Before I do, you shall promise—you shall swear—”
“Again! let go! or this bullet to your heart!”
I had sprung from out the thicket, and was running forward to her rescue. I saw her right hand raised on high, and something shining in its grasp. It was a pistol. Its muzzle was pointed at Ijurra.
No doubt the resolute character of her who held it was well known to him, for the threat produced an immediate effect; the coward relaxed his hold, the reins dropped from his fingers, and with a mingled look of hatred and fear, he stepped back a pace.
The moment the bridle became free, the steed, already startled by the spur, bounded forward; and after half-a-dozen springs, both horse and rider disappeared behind the screen of the palmettoes.
I was too late to play the knight-errant. The “ladye faire” had not needed my help; she neither saw nor heard me; and by the time I arrived upon the ground, she had passed out of sight, and Ijurra was alone.