Carlos regarded the crowd with a smile, but many of
these were in no humour for smiling. They were really awed by the
terrible fate which they believed awaited the reckless cibolero. A
voice, however, answered him:--

"Twenty onzas, Carlos, for any other purpose. But I cannot encourage
this mad project."

It was the young ranchero, his former backer, who spoke.

"Thank you, Don Juan," replied the cibolero. "I know you would lend
them. Thank you all the same. Do not fear! I'll win the onza. Ha!
ha! ha! I haven't been twenty years in the saddle to be bantered by a
_Gachupino_."

"Sir!" thundered Vizcarra and Roblado in a breath, at the same time
grasping the hilts of their swords, and frowning in a fierce threatening
manner.

"Oh! gentlemen, don't be offended," said Carlos, half sneeringly. "It
only slipped from my tongue. I meant no insult, I assure you."

"Then keep your tongue behind your teeth, my good fellow," threatened
Vizcarra. "Another slip of the kind may cost you a fall."

"Thank you, Senor Comandante," replied Carlos, still laughing. "Perhaps
I'll take your advice."

The only rejoinder uttered by the Comandante was a fierce "Carrajo!"
which Carlos did not notice; for at this moment his sister, having heard
of his intention, sprang down from the carreta and came running forward,
evidently in great distress.

"Oh, brother Carlos!" she cried, reaching out her arms, and grasping him
by the knees, "Is it true? Surely it is not true?"

"What, _hermanita_?" (little sister), he asked with a smile.

"That you--"

She could utter no more, but turned her eyes, and pointed to the cliff.

"Certainly, Rosita, and why not? For shame, girl! Don't be alarmed--
there's nought to fear, I assure you--I've done the like before."

"Dear, dear Carlos, I know you are a brave horseman--none braver--but
oh! think of the danger--_Dios de mi alma_! think of--"

"Pshaw, sister! don't shame me before the people--come to mother!--hear
what she will say. I warrant she won't regard it." And, so saying, the
cibolero rode up to the carreta, followed by his sister.

Poor Rosita! Eyes gleamed upon you at that moment that saw you for the
first time--eyes in whose dark orbs lay an expression that boded you no
good. Your fair form, the angelic beauty of your face--perhaps your
very grief--awakened interest in a heart whose love never meant else
than ruin to its object. It was the heart of Colonel Vizcarra.