The Mystery of The Barranca

by Herman Whitaker

  CHAPTER XX

  "What!" In the language of the good old romances, Seyd roared the word.

  In the main, Paulo was not a bad old chap. To further the interests of aGarcia he would cheerfully have surrendered his old bones to be boiledin oil, and in his joy at the event he allowed his natural garrulity todominate his prejudice against the gringo.

  "_Si_, senor, they were married at the hacienda by the priest ofChilpancin. On account of the death of Don Sebastien's mother Don Luisand the senora only were present, and immediately afterward the youngcouple went home alone to El Quiss. A sensible practice, say I! Whenyoung hot blood mixes it should be left to cool and settle. Over thereat El Quiss the fur will be flying before the end of a week, and put medown as a liar if Francesca do not keep him busy. She has run too longsingle not to kick at double harness. But she'll settle to it, and likethe fine wench she is, there is to be no European travel or suchkickshaws as now are common with our rich young folk. No, in the goodold Mexican fashion she goes from the church straight to her man'shome, there to stay till the first babe makes us all completely happy."

  Over and above his real joy in the event the old fellow was undoubtedlyaware of its effect on Seyd. While speaking, his small red eyes searchedhis victim's face for the pain beneath its confusion. But even under thespur of race hatred his imagination could not divine a tithe of thetorture he was inflicting. Like all lovers, Seyd had dreamed long movingpictures of himself and Francesca as husband and wife, and now, with thespeed of light, the reels spun backward, exhibiting her with another inthe thousand and one intimacies of married life. Through all, his stiffAnglo-Saxon reserve persisted, and, finding egress at his heels, thepain that he tried to hide brought the situation to a ludicrous close.Springing from the unconscious pressure of his spurs, his horse, amettled little beast, collided with Paulo and knocked him flat on hisback.

  More hurt in his pride than body, the old fellow scrambled up and stoodshaking his fist and cursing. But Seyd rode on without attempt to checkthe animal, whose top speed ran slower than his own hot thought. Indeed,when, from sheer fatigue, it slowed he laid on with quirt and spur, andkept on at a gallop till violent exercise had withdrawn the blood fromhis swelling brain.

  In place of pulsing waves of confused pain came the tortures ofclear thought. In turn he was ruled by anger, despair, unbelief. Thethought of Francesca as he had seen her on the train, quiet, lovely,sympathetic, inspired the last. It was not possible! Then up would risethe blank ink scores round the divorce notice to provide the motive andplunge him back into deep despair. Lastly came anger, blind andunreasoning, in furious gusts.

  Occasionally through his welter of feeling there flashed a glimmer ofreason. "She's married now! She's married! That ends it--for you!" Butinstead of despair the thought produced furious reactions. "I don'tcare! She's mine! I'll have her--I have to take her by force!" It roseagain and again, his cry on the trail of the other day.

  By instinct rather than conscious thought he had turned his horse into apath which presently curved at a sharp angle into one that led from SanNicolas up to the rim of the Barranca where at this season ran the onlypassable trail. At the forks he came on the fresh tracks of shod horsesthat led up the zigzag staircases.

  Overlapping each other on the narrow trail, they might have been madeby two or a half dozen, and not until he saw two sets clearly imprintedside by side crossing a small plateau did he think of the riders.If proof were required it was presently furnished by the littlehandkerchief that hung, fluttering in the rain and wind, on a"crucifixion thorn."

  As, reining in, he examined the corner initial a whiff of violets rosein his nostrils. Under the sudden crush of his hand it shed a rain oftears.