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- Стр. 454/662
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"
Los
Indios
!
"
mechanically
mutters
the
Mexican
,
as
,
driving
the
rowels
against
the
ribs
of
her
steed
,
she
goes
off
at
full
gallop
for
the
alhuehueté
.
A
quick
glance
behind
shows
her
she
is
pursued
;
though
she
knows
it
without
that
.
The
glance
tells
her
more
,
--
that
the
pursuit
is
close
and
earnest
--
so
earnest
that
the
Indians
,
contrary
to
their
usual
custom
,
do
not
yell
!
Their
silence
speaks
of
a
determination
to
capture
her
;
and
as
if
by
a
plan
already
preconcerted
!
Hitherto
she
has
had
but
little
fear
of
an
encounter
with
the
red
rovers
of
the
prairie
For
years
have
they
been
en
paz
--
both
with
Texans
and
Mexicans
;
and
the
only
danger
to
be
dreaded
from
them
was
a
little
rudeness
when
under
the
influence
of
drink
--
just
as
a
lady
,
in
civilised
life
,
may
dislike
upon
a
lonely
road
,
to
meet
a
crowd
of
"
navigators
,
"
who
have
been
spending
their
day
at
the
beer-house
.
Isidora
has
passed
through
a
peril
of
this
kind
,
and
remembers
it
--
with
less
pain
from
the
thought
of
the
peril
itself
,
than
the
ruin
it
has
led
to
.
But
her
danger
is
different
now
.
The
peace
is
past
.
There
is
war
upon
the
wind
.
Her
pursuers
are
no
longer
intoxicated
with
the
fire-water
of
their
foes
.
They
are
thirsting
for
blood
;
and
she
flies
to
escape
not
only
dishonour
,
but
it
may
be
death
!
On
over
that
open
plain
,
with
all
the
speed
she
can
take
out
of
her
horse
,
--
all
that
whip
,
and
spur
,
and
voice
can
accomplish
!
She
alone
speaks
.
Her
pursuers
are
voiceless
--
silent
as
spectres
!
Only
once
does
she
glance
behind
.
There
are
still
but
four
of
them
;
but
four
is
too
many
against
one
--
and
that
one
a
woman
!
