Oliver and Dominique, after leaving the rancho, rode for a long time side by side without exchanging a word; the adventurer seemed to be reflecting, while for his part the vaquero, in spite of his apparent nonchalance, was greatly preoccupied. Dominique, or Domingo, according as he was called in French or Spanish, whose physical portrait we have sketched in a preceding chapter, was, morally, a strange mixture of good and bad instincts; still, we are bound to add, that the good nearly always gained the victory. The wandering life he had led for several years among the indomitable Indians of the prairie, had developed in him, beside a great personal strength, an incredible force of will and energy of character, blended with a leonine courage and a degree of cleverness which might at times be taken for duplicity. Crafty and distrustful like a Comanche, he had transferred to civilized life all the practices of the wood rangers, never letting himself be taken unawares by the most unforeseen events, and opposing an impassive face to the most scrutinizing glances, he feigned a simplicity by which the cleverest persons were often deceived; added to this, he generally displayed a rare frankness, unbounded generosity, exquisite sensibility of heart, and carried his devotion to those he loved to the extremest limits, without reflection or afterthought; but on the other hand he was implacable in his hatreds, and possessed a true Indian ferocity. In one word, his was one of those strange natures as perfect for good as for evil, and whom opportunity can as easily make remarkable men as great villains.

Oliver had profoundly studied the extraordinary character of his protégé, hence he knew better than himself, perhaps, of what he was capable; and he had frequently shuddered on probing the hidden depths of this strange organization which did not know itself; and while imposing his will on the indomitable nature and making it bow as he pleased, still, like the imprudent beast tamer who plays with a tiger, he foresaw the moment when the lava boiling dully at the bottom of this young man's heart would suddenly burst forth under the impetuous blast of the passions; hence, in spite of the implicit confidence he seemed to have in his friend, it was with extreme care that he set certain chords vibrating in him, and he sedulously avoided giving him a consciousness of his strength, or revealing to him the extent of his moral power.

After a ride of some hours the travellers arrived about three leagues from the hacienda del Arenal, on the skirt of a rather thick wood that bordered the last plantations of the hacienda.

"Let us stop here and eat," Oliver said, as he dismounted; "this is our destination for the present."

"I am quite willing," Dominique answered; "this confounded sun falling virtually on my head since the morning, is beginning, I confess, to tire me, and I should not be sorry to lie down for a little while on the grass."

"In that case stand on no ceremony, comrade; the spot is glorious for a rest."

The two men hobbled their horses, which they unbridled, to let them browze at their ease; and after sitting down opposite each other under the protection of the dense foliage of the trees, they felt in their alforjas, which were well stocked with provisions, and began eating with good appetite. Neither of the men was a great speaker, hence they disposed of their meal in silence, and it was not till Oliver had lit a puro and Dominique his Indian calumet, that the former resolved to speak.

"Well, Dominique," he said to him, "what do you think of the life I have made you lead for the last five months in this province?"

"To tell you the truth," the vaquero replied, puffing out a dense cloud of smoke, "I consider it absurd and wearisome to the highest degree. I should long ago have requested you to send me back to the western prairies, had I not been convinced that you wanted me here."

Oliver burst into a laugh.

"You are true, friend," he said, as he offered him his hand, "ever ready to act without observation or comment."

"I flatter myself I am; for is not friendship composed of self-denial and devotedness?"

"Yes; and that is why it is so rarely met with in this world."

"I pity those who are incapable of experiencing the feeling, for they deprive themselves of a great enjoyment. Friendship is the only real link that attaches men to each other."

"Many believe that it is egotism."

"Egotism is only a variety of the species; it is friendship badly understood, and reduced to low proportions."

"Hang it! I did not fancy you were so strong in paradoxes. Did you learn these tricks of the tongue among the Indians?"

"The Indians are wise men, my master," the vaquero answered with a shake of the head; "with them the true is true, and the false false, while in your cities you have so well succeeded in embroiling everything, that the cleverest man could not find his way, while the simple man soon loses the feeling of justice and injustice. Let me return to the prairies, my friend, my place is not among the paltry contests that disgrace this country, and make my heart ache with disgust and pity."

"I would willingly restore you your liberty, my boy, but I repeat that I have need of you, perhaps for three months longer."

"Three months? That is very long."

"Perhaps you will find the period very short," he said, with a peculiar expression.

"I do not believe it."

"We shall see; but I have not told you yet what I want of you."

"That is true, and I had better know, so that I may fulfil your intentions properly."

"Listen to me then: I shall be the more brief, because when the persons I am expecting arrive, I shall give you more detailed instructions."

"Very good, go on."

"Two persons are going to join us here, a young man, and a young lady; the latter is do?a Dolores de la Cruz, daughter of the owner of the hacienda del Arenal: she is sixteen years of age, and very beautiful; she is a gentle, pure, and simple girl."

"Very good, but that does not concern me, for you know I trouble myself but slightly about squaws."

"That is true, so I will not dwell on the point: do?a Dolores is betrothed to don Ludovic, who will marry her immediately."

"Much good may it do him; and who is don Ludovic? Some Mexican, I suppose, stupid and proud, who prances like a canon's mule."

"In that you are mistaken; don Ludovic is her cousin, Count Ludovic de la Saulay, belonging to the highest nobility in France."

"Ah, ah! He is the Frenchman in question?"

"Yes: he has come expressly from France to contract with his cousin this union which has long been arranged between the two families. Count Ludovic is a most agreeable gentleman, rich, kind, amiable, well educated, and obliging: in short, an excellent fellow, in whom I take the most sincere interest, and I wish you to attach yourself to him."

"If he is as you say, all righ............