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"
Tell
me
,
niña
,
"
says
he
,
bringing
his
horse
alongside
hers
,
and
speaking
in
a
tone
of
solicitude
--
almost
of
entreaty
--
"
Did
you
take
notice
of
the
horse
ridden
by
this
lady
?
"
"
Carrambo
!
yes
.
What
a
question
,
cavallero
!
Who
could
help
noticing
it
?
"
"
The
colour
?
"
gasps
the
inquirer
.
"
Un
musteño
pintojo
"
"
A
spotted
mustang
!
Holy
Heaven
!
"
exclaims
Cassius
Calhoun
,
in
a
half
shriek
,
half
groan
,
as
he
gallops
after
the
searchers
--
leaving
Isidora
in
the
belief
,
that
,
besides
her
own
,
there
is
one
other
heart
burning
with
that
fierce
fire
which
only
death
can
extinguish
!
The
retreat
of
her
rival
--
quick
and
unexpected
--
held
Louise
Poindexter
,
as
if
spell-bound
.
She
had
climbed
into
the
saddle
,
and
was
seated
,
with
spur
ready
to
pierce
the
flanks
of
the
fair
Luna
.
But
the
stroke
was
suspended
,
and
she
remained
in
a
state
of
indecision
--
bewildered
by
what
she
saw
.
But
the
moment
before
she
had
looked
into
the
jacalé
--
had
seen
her
rival
there
,
apparently
at
home
;
mistress
both
of
the
mansion
and
its
owner
.
What
was
she
to
think
of
that
sudden
desertion
?
Why
that
took
of
spiteful
hatred
?
Why
not
the
imperious
confidence
,
that
should
spring
from
a
knowledge
of
possession
?
In
place
of
giving
displeasure
,
Isidora
's
looks
and
actions
had
caused
her
a
secret
gratification
.
Instead
of
galloping
after
,
or
going
in
any
direction
,
Louise
Poindexter
once
more
slipped
down
from
her
saddle
,
and
re-entered
the
hut
.
At
sight
of
the
pallid
cheeks
and
wild
rolling
eyes
,
the
young
Creole
for
the
moment
forgot
her
wrongs
.
