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"
Santissima
Virgen
!
"
she
mutters
with
a
fervent
earnestness
.
"
What
have
I
done
?
If
these
men
--
Los
Reguladores
--
the
dreaded
judges
I
've
heard
of
--
if
they
should
find
him
guilty
,
where
may
it
end
?
In
his
death
!
Mother
of
God
!
I
do
not
desire
that
.
Not
by
their
hands
--
no
!
no
!
How
wild
their
looks
and
gestures
--
stern
--
determined
!
And
when
I
pointed
out
the
way
,
how
quickly
they
rode
off
,
without
further
thought
of
me
!
Oh
,
they
have
made
up
their
minds
.
Don
Mauricio
is
to
die
!
And
he
a
stranger
among
them
--
so
have
I
heard
.
Not
of
their
country
,
or
kindred
;
only
of
the
same
race
.
Alone
,
friendless
,
with
many
enemies
.
Santissima
!
what
am
I
thinking
of
?
Is
not
he
,
who
has
just
left
me
,
that
cousin
of
whom
I
've
heard
speak
!
Ay
de
mi
!
Now
do
I
understand
the
cause
of
his
questioning
.
His
heart
,
like
mine
own
--
like
mine
own
!
"
She
sits
with
her
gaze
bent
over
the
open
plain
.
The
grey
steed
still
frets
under
restraint
,
though
the
cavallada
has
long
since
passed
out
of
sight
.
He
but
responds
to
the
spirit
of
his
rider
;
which
he
knows
to
be
vacillating
--
chafing
under
some
irresolution
.
'
Tis
the
horse
that
first
discovers
a
danger
,
or
something
that
scents
of
it
.
He
proclaims
it
by
a
low
tremulous
neigh
,
as
if
to
attract
her
attention
;
while
his
head
,
tossed
back
towards
the
chapparal
,
shows
that
the
enemy
is
to
be
looked
for
in
that
direction
.
Who
,
or
what
is
it
?
Warned
by
the
behaviour
of
her
steed
,
Isidora
faces
to
the
thicket
,
and
scans
the
path
by
which
she
has
lately
passed
through
it
.
It
is
the
road
,
or
trail
,
leading
to
the
Leona
.
'
Tis
only
open
to
the
eye
for
a
straight
stretch
of
about
two
hundred
yards
.
Beyond
,
it
becomes
screened
by
the
bushes
,
through
which
it
goes
circuitously
.
No
one
is
seen
upon
it
--
nothing
save
two
or
three
lean
coyotés
,
that
skulk
under
the
shadow
of
the
trees
--
scenting
the
shod
tracks
,
in
the
hope
of
finding
some
scrap
,
that
may
have
fallen
from
the
hurrying
horsemen
.
It
is
not
these
that
have
caused
the
grey
to
show
such
excitement
.
He
sees
them
;
but
what
of
that
?
The
prairie-wolf
is
a
sight
to
him
neither
startling
,
nor
rare
.
There
is
something
else
--
something
he
has
either
scented
,
or
heard
.
Isidora
listens
:
for
a
time
without
hearing
aught
to
alarm
her
.
The
howl-bark
of
the
jackal
does
not
beget
fear
at
any
time
;
much
less
in
the
joy
of
the
daylight
.
She
hears
only
this
.
Her
thoughts
again
return
to
the
"
Tejanos
"
--
especially
to
him
who
has
last
parted
from
her
side
.
She
is
speculating
on
the
purpose
of
his
earnest
interrogation
;
when
once
more
she
is
interrupted
by
the
action
of
her
horse
.
The
animal
shows
impatience
at
being
kept
upon
the
spot
;
snuffs
the
air
;
snorts
;
and
,
at
length
,
gives
utterance
to
a
neigh
,
far
louder
than
before
!
