For some minutes after the lady of the lazo and her attendant had passed out of sight, Louise Poindexter pursued the train of reflection — started by the somewhat singular episode of which she had been spectator. Her attitude, and air, of continued dejection told that her thoughts had not been directed into a more cheerful channel.

Rather the reverse. Once or twice before had her mind given way to imaginings, connected with that accomplished equestrienne; and more than once had she speculated upon her purpose in riding up the road. The incident just witnessed had suddenly changed her conjectures into suspicions of an exceedingly unpleasant nature.

It was a relief to her, when a horseman appeared coming out of the chapparal, at the point where the others had ridden in; a still greater relief, when he was seen to swerve into the cross path that conducted to the hacienda, and was recognised, through the lorgnette, as Zeb Stump the hunter.

The face of the Creole became bright again — almost to gaiety. There was something ominous of good in the opportune appearance of the honest backwoodsman.

“The man I was wanting to see!” she exclaimed in joyous accents. “He can bear me a message; and perhaps tell who she is. He must have met her on the road. That will enable me to introduce the subject, without Zeb having any suspicion of my object. Even with him I must be circumspect — after what has happened. Ah, me! Not much should I care, if I were sure of his caring for me. How provoking his indifference! And to me — Louise Poindexter! Par dieu! Let it proceed much further, and I shall try to escape from the toils if — if — I should crush my poor heart in the attempt!”

It need scarce be said that the individual, whose esteem was so coveted, was not Zeb Stump.

Her next speech, however, was addressed to Zeb, as he reined up in front of the hacienda.

“Dear Mr Stump!” hailed a voice, to which the old hunter delighted to listen. “I’m so glad to see you. Dismount, and come up here! I know you’re a famous climber, and won’t mind a flight of stone stairs. There’s a view from this housetop that will reward you for your trouble.”

“Thur’s suthin’ on the house-top theear,” rejoined the hunter, “the view o’ which ’ud reward Zeb Stump for climbin’ to the top o’ a steamboat chimbly; ’an thet’s yurself, Miss Lewaze. I’ll kum up, soon as I ha’ stabled the ole maar, which shall be dud in the shakin’ o’ a goat’s tail. Gee-up, ole gal!” he continued, addressing himself to the mare, after he had dismounted, “Hold up yur head, an may be Plute hyur ’ll gie ye a wheen o’ corn shucks for yur breakfist.”

“Ho — ho! Mass ’Tump,” interposed the sable coachman, making his appearance in the patio. “Dat same do dis nigga — gub um de shucks wi’ de yaller corn inside ob dem. Ho — ho! You gwup ’tairs to de young missa; an Plute he no ’gleck yar ole mar.”

“Yur a dod-rotted good sample o’ a nigger, Plute; an the nix occashun I shows about hyur, I’ll fetch you a ’possum — wi’ the meat on it as tender as a two-year old chicken. Thet’s what I’m boun’ ter do.”

After delivering himself of this promise, Zeb commenced ascending the stone stairway; not by single steps, but by two, and sometimes three, at a stride.

He was soon upon the housetop; where he was once more welcomed by the young mistress of the mansion.

Her excited manner, and the eagerness with which she conducted him to a remote part of the azotea, told the astute hunter, that he had been summoned thither for some other purpose than enjoying the prospect.

“Tell me, Mr Stump!” said she, as she clutched the sleeve of the blanket coat in her delicate fingers, and looked inquiringly into Zeb’s grey eye — “You must know all. How is he? Are his wounds of a dangerous nature?”

“If you refar to Mister Cal-hoon — ”

“No — no — no. I know all about him. It’s not of Mr Calhoun I’m speaking.”

“Wall, Miss Lewasse; thur air only one other as I know of in these parts thet hev got wownds; an thet air’s Maurice the mowstanger. Mout it be thet ere individooal yur inquirin’ abeout?”

“It is — it is! You know I cannot be indifferent to his welfare, notwithstanding the misfortune of his having quarrelled with my cousin. You are aware that he rescued me — twice I may say — from imminent peril. Tell me — is he in great danger?”

Such earnestness could no longer be trifled with. Zeb without further parley, made reply: —

“Ne’er a morsel o’ danger. Thur’s a bullet-hole jest above the ankle-jeint. It don’t signerfy more’n the scratch o’ a kitting. Thur’s another hev goed through the flesh o’ the young fellur’s left arm. It don’t signerfy neyther — only thet it drawed a good sup o’ the red out o’ him. Howsomdever, he’s all right now; an expecks to be out o’ doors in a kupple o’ days, or tharabout. He sez that an hour in the seddle, an a skoot acrosst the purayra, ’ud do him more good than all the docters in Texas. I reckon it wud; but the docter — it’s the surgint o’ the Fort as attends on him — he won’t let him git to grass yit a bit.”

“Where is he?”

“He air stayin’ at the hotel — whar the skrimmage tuk place.”

“Perhaps he is not well waited upon? It’s a rough place, I’ve heard. He may not have any delicacies — such as an invalid stands in need of? Stay here, Mr Stump, till I come up to you again. I have something I wish to send to him. I know I can trust you to deliver it. Won’t you? I’m sure you will. I shall be with you in six seconds.”

Without waiting to note the effect of her speech, the young lady tripped lightly along the passage, and as lightly descended the stone stairway.

Presently she reappeared — bringing with her a good-sized hamper; which was evidently filled with eatables, with something to send them down.

“Now dear old Zeb, you will take this to Mr Gerald? It’s only some little things that Florinda has put up; some cordials and jellies and the like, such as sick people at times have a craving for. They are not likely to be kept in the hotel. Don’t tell him where they come from — neither him, nor any one else. You won’t? I know you won’t, you dear good giant.”

“He may depend on Zeb Stump for thet, Miss Lewaze. Nobody air a goin’ to be a bit the wiser about who sent these hyur delekissies; though, for the matter o’ cakes an kickshaws, an all that sort o’ thing, the mowstanger hain’t had much reezun to complain. He hev been serplied wi’ enuf o’ them to hev filled the bellies o’ a hul school o’ shugar-babbies.”

“Ha! Supplied already! By whom?”

“Wal, thet theer this chile can’t inform ye, Miss Lewaze; not be-knowin’ it hisself. I on’y hyurd they wur fetched to the tavern in baskets, by some sort o’ a sarving-man as air a Mexikin. I’ve seed the man myself. Fact, I’ve jest this minnit met him, ridin’ arter a wuman sot stridy legs in her seddle, as most o’ these Mexikin weemen ride. I reck’n he be her sarvingt, as he war keepin’ a good ways ahint, and toatin’ a basket jest like one o’ them Maurice hed got arready. Like enuf it air another lot o’ Rickshaws they wur takin’ to the tavern.”

There was no need to trouble Zeb Stump with further cross-questioning. A whole history was supplied by that single speech. The case was painfully clear. In the regard of Maurice Gerald, Louise Poindexter had a rival — perhaps something more. The lady of the lazo was either his fiancée, or his mistress!

It was not by accident — though to Zeb Stump it may have seemed so — that the hamper, steadied for a time, upon the coping of the balustrade, and still retained in the hand of the young Creole, escaped from her clutch, and fell with a crash upon the stones below. The bottles were broken, and their contents spilled into the stream that surged along the basement of the wall.

The action of the arm that produced this effect, apparently springing from a spasmodic and involuntary effort, was nevertheless due to design; and Louise Poindexter, as she leant over the parapet, and contemplated the ruin she had caused, felt as if her heart was shattered like the glass that lay glistening below!