he spy I pursued was a female. As the mustang
sprung over the zequia, the flowing skirt of the manga was puffed
upward, and hung for some moments spread out in the air. A velvet
bodice beneath, a tunic-like skirt, the _tournure_ of the form, all
impressed me as singular for a cavallero, however rich and young. The
limbs I could not see, as the goat-skin _armas-de-agua_ were drawn over
them; but I caught a glimpse of a gold spur, and a heel of a tiny red
boot to which it was attached. The clubbed hair, too, loosened by the
violent motion, had fallen backward, and in two thick plaits, slightly
dishevelled, rested upon the croup of the horse. A young Indian's might
have been equally as long, but _his_ tresses would have been jet-black
and coarse-grained, whereas those under my eyes were soft, silky, and
nut-brown. Neither the style of riding--_a la Duchesse de Berri_--nor
the manlike costume of manga and hat, were averse to the idea that the
rider was a woman. Both the style and costume are common to the
_rancheras_ of Mexico. Moreover, as the mustang made his last double, I
had caught a near view of the side face of the rider. The features of
no man--not of the Trojan shepherd, not of Adonis or Endymion--were so
exquisitely chiselled as they. Certainly a woman! Her declaration at
once put an end to my conjectures, but, as I have said, did not astonish
me.

I _was_ astonished, however, by its tone and manner. Instead of being
uttered in accents of alarm, it was pronounced as coolly as if the whole
thing had been a jest! Sadness, not supplication, was the prevailing
tone, which was further carried out as she knelt to the ground, pressed
her lips to the muzzle of the still breathing mustang, and exclaimed--

"_Ay-de-mi! pobre yegua! muerte! muerte_!" (Alas me! poor mare! dead!
dead!)

"A woman?" said I, feigning astonishment. My interrogatory was
unheeded; she did not even look up.

"_Ay-de-mi! pobre yegua! Lola, Lolita_!" she repeated, as coolly as if
the dead mustang was the only object of her thoughts, and I, the armed
assassin, fifty miles from the spot! "A woman?" I again ejaculated--in
my embarrassment scarcely knowing what to say.

"_Si, senor; nada mas_--_que quiere V.?_" (Yes, sir nothing more--what
do you want?)

As she made this reply, she rose to her feet, and stood confronting me
without the slightest semblance of fear. So unexpected was the answer,
both in tone and sentiment, that for