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"
Maurice
the
mustanger
!
"
translates
the
ready
interpreter
.
A
murmur
of
mutual
congratulation
runs
through
the
crowd
.
After
two
days
of
searching
--
fruitless
,
as
earnest
--
they
have
struck
a
trail
,
--
the
trail
of
the
murderer
!
Those
who
have
alighted
spring
back
into
their
saddles
.
All
take
up
their
reins
,
ready
to
ride
on
.
"
We
do
n't
wish
to
be
rude
,
Miss
Martinez
--
if
that
be
your
name
;
but
you
must
guide
us
to
this
place
you
speak
of
.
"
"
It
takes
me
a
little
out
of
my
way
--
though
not
far
.
Come
on
,
cavalleros
!
I
shall
show
you
,
if
you
are
determined
on
going
there
.
"
Isidora
re-crosses
the
belt
of
chapparal
--
followed
by
the
hundred
horsemen
,
who
ride
stragglingly
after
her
.
She
halts
on
its
western
edge
;
between
which
and
the
Alamo
there
is
a
stretch
of
open
prairie
.
"
Yonder
!
"
says
she
,
pointing
over
the
plain
;
"
you
see
that
black
spot
on
the
horizon
?
It
is
the
top
of
an
alhuehuete
.
Its
roots
are
in
the
bottom
lands
of
the
Alamo
.
Go
there
!
There
is
a
cañon
leading
down
the
cliff
.
Descend
.
You
will
find
,
a
little
beyond
,
the
jacalé
of
which
I
've
told
you
.
"
The
searchers
are
too
much
in
earnest
to
stay
for
further
directions
.
Almost
forgetting
her
who
has
given
them
,
they
spur
off
across
the
plain
,
riding
straight
for
the
cypress
.
One
of
the
party
alone
lingers
--
not
the
leader
,
but
a
man
equally
interested
in
all
that
has
transpired
.
Perhaps
more
so
,
in
what
has
been
said
in
relation
to
the
lady
seen
by
Isidora
.
He
is
one
who
knows
Isidora
's
language
,
as
well
as
his
own
native
tongue
.
