Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid. Майн Рид

present – very similar to the first – another basket, containing other bottles, and crammed with fresh “confections.”

      The Bavarian wench was again questioned; but with no better result. A “shentlemans” had “prot” it – the same “stranger shentlemans” as before. She could only add that “the shentlemans” was very “Schwartz,” wore a glazed hat, and came to the tavern mounted upon a mule.

      Maurice did not appear to be gratified with this description of the unknown donor; though no one – not even Phelim – was made the confidant of his thoughts.

      In two days afterwards they were toned down to their former sobriety – on the receipt of a third basket, “prot by the Schwartz gentleman” in the glazed hat, who came mounted upon a mule.

      The change could not be explained by the belongings in the basket – almost the counterpart of what had been sent before. It might be accounted for by the contents of a billet doux[173], that accompanied the gift – attached by a ribbon to the wickerwork of palm-sinnet.

      “’Tis only Isidora!” muttered the mustanger, as he glanced at the superscription upon the note.

      Then opening it with an air of indifference, he read: —

      +++“Querido Señor!

      “Soy quedando por una semana en la casa del tío Silvio. De questra desfortuna he oído – también que V. está mal ciudado en la fonda. He mandado algunas cositas. Sea graciosa usarlos, como una chiquitita memoria del servicio grande de que vuestra deudor estoy. En la silla soy escribando, con las espuelas preparadas sacar sangre de las ijadas del mio cavallo. En un momento más, partirá por el Río Grande.

      “Bienhichor – de mi vida Salvador – y de que a una mujer esa mas querida, la honra – adiós – adiós!

      “Isidora Covarubio De Los Llanos.

      “Al Señor Don Mauricio Gerald.”

      Literally translated, and in the idiom of the Spanish language, the note ran thus: —

      “Dear Sir, – I have been staying for a week at the house of Uncle Silvio. Of your mischance I have heard – also, that you are indifferently cared for at the hotel. I have sent you some little things. Be good enough to make use of them, as a slight souvenir of the great service for which I am your debtor. I write in the saddle, with my spurs ready to draw blood from the flanks of my horse. In another moment I am off for the Rio Grande!

      “Benefactor – preserver of my life – of what to a woman is dearer – my honour – adieu! adieu!

      “Isidora Covarubio De Los Llanos.”

      “Thanks – thanks, sweet Isidora!” muttered the mustanger, as he refolded the note, and threw it carelessly upon the coverlet of his couch. “Ever grateful – considerate – kind! But for Louise Poindexter, I might have loved you!”

      Chapter 23

      Vows of Vengeance

      Calhoun, chafing in his chamber, was not the object of such assiduous solicitude. Notwithstanding the luxurious appointments that surrounded him, he could not comfort himself with the reflection: that he was cared for by living creature. Truly selfish in his own heart, he had no faith in friendships; and while confined to his couch – not without some fears that it might be his death-bed – he experienced the misery of a man believing that no human being cared a straw whether he should live or die.

      Any sympathy shown to him, was upon the score of relationship. It could scarce have been otherwise. His conduct towards his cousins had not been such as to secure their esteem; while his uncle, the proud Woodley Poindexter, felt towards him something akin to aversion, mingled with a subdued fear.

      It is true that this feeling was only of recent origin; and rose out of certain relations that existed between uncle and nephew. As already hinted, they stood to one another in the relationship of debtor and creditor – or mortgagor and mortgagee – the nephew being the latter. To such an extent had this indebtedness been carried, that Cassius Calhoun was in effect the real owner of Casa del Corvo; and could at any moment have proclaimed himself its master.

      Conscious of his power, he had of late been using it to effect a particular purpose: that is, the securing for his wife, the woman he had long fiercely loved – his cousin Louise. He had come to know that he stood but little chance of obtaining her consent: for she had taken but slight pains to conceal her indifference to his suit. Trusting to the peculiar influence established over her father, he had determined on taking no slight denial.

      These circumstances considered, it was not strange that the ex-officer of volunteers, when stretched upon a sick bed, received less sympathy from his relatives than might otherwise have been extended to him.

      While dreading, death – which for a length of time he actually did – he had become a little more amiable to those around him. The agreeable mood, however, was of short continuance; and, once assured of recovery, all the natural savageness of his disposition was restored, along with the additional bitterness arising from his recent discomfiture.

      It had been the pride of his life to exhibit himself as a successful bully – the master of every crowd that might gather around him. He could no longer claim this credit in Texas; and the thought harrowed his heart to its very core.

      To figure as a defeated man before all the women of the settlement – above all in the eyes of her he adored, defeated by one whom he suspected of being his rival in her affections – a more nameless adventurer – was too much to be endured with equanimity. Even an ordinary man would have been pained by the infliction. Calhoun writhed under it.

      He had no idea of enduring it, as an ordinary man would have done. If he could not escape from the disgrace, he was determined to revenge himself upon its author; and as soon as he had recovered from the apprehensions entertained about the safety of his life, he commenced reflecting upon this very subject.

      Maurice, the mustanger, must die! If not by his (Calhoun’s) own hand, then by the hand of another, if such an one was to be found in the settlement. There could not be much difficulty in procuring a confederate. There are bravoes[174] upon the broad prairies of Texas, as well as within the walls of Italian cities. Alas! there is no spot upon earth where gold cannot command the steel of the assassin.

      Calhoun possessed gold – more than sufficient for such a purpose; and to such purpose did he determine upon devoting at least a portion of it.

      In the solitude of his sick chamber he set about maturing his plans; which comprehended the assassination of the mustanger. He did not purpose doing the deed himself. His late defeat had rendered him fearful of chancing a second encounter with the same adversary – even under the advantageous circumstances of a surprise. He had become too much encowardised to play the assassin. He wanted an accomplice – an arm to strike for him. Where was he to find it?

      Unluckily he knew, or fancied he knew, the very man. There was a Mexican at the time making abode in the village – like Maurice himself – a mustanger; but one of those with whom the young Irishman had shown a disinclination to associate.

      As a general rule, the men of this peculiar calling are amongst the greatest reprobates, who have their home in the land of the “Lone Star.” By birth and breed they are mostly Mexicans, or mongrel Indians; though, not unfrequently, a Frenchman, or American, finds it a congenial calling. They are usually the outcasts of civilised society – oftener its outlaws – who, in the excitement of the chase, and its concomitant dangers, find, perhaps, some sort of salvo

173

billet doux – a love letter (French)

174

bravoes – brave men (Spanish)