a shadow over the bright fancies
I had conjured up.

A dispatch from head-quarters calls for prompt attention and my
reflections were cut short by the necessity of carrying the order into
execution. Without loss of time, I issued the command for about fifty
of the rangers to "boot and saddle."

I was about to pay more than ordinary attention to my toilet, when it
occurred to me I might as well first peruse the "note" referred to in
the dispatch. I opened the paper; to my surprise the document was in
Spanish. This did not puzzle me, and I read:--

"The five thousand beeves are ready for you, according to the contract,
but _I_ cannot take upon me to deliver them. _They must be taken from
me_ with a _show of force_; and even a _little rudeness_, on the part of
those you send, would not be out of place. My vaqueros are at your
service, but _I_ must not command them. You may _press_ them.

"Ramon de Vargas."

This note was addressed to the commissary-general of the American army.
Its meaning, though to the uninitiated a little obscure, was to me as
clear as noonday; and, although, it gave me a high opinion of the
administrative talents of Don Ramon de Vargas, it was by no means a
welcome document. It rendered null every act of the fine programme I
had sketched out. By its directions, there was to be no "embracing," no
hobnobbing over wine, no friendly chat with the Don, no _tete-a-tete_
with his beautiful daughter--no; but, on the contrary, I was to ride up
with a swagger, bang the doors, threaten the trembling porter, kick the
peons, and demand from their master five thousand head of beef-cattle--
all in true freebooting style!

A nice figure I shall cut, thought I, in the eyes of Isolina.

A little reflection, however, convinced me that that intelligent
creature would be in the secret. Yes, she will understand my motives.
I can act with as much mildness as circumstances will permit. My Texan
lieutenant will do the kicking of the peons, and that without much
pressing. If she be not cloistered, I will have a glimpse at her; so
here goes. "_To horse_!"

The bugle gave the signal; fifty rangers--with Lieutenants Holingsworth
and Wheatley--leaped into their saddles, and next moment were filing by
twos from the piazza, myself at their head.

A twenty minutes' trot brought us to the front gate of the hacienda,
where we halted. The great door, massive and jail-like, was closed,
locked, and barred; the shut