“No matter,” said Felipe, his hand already at his purse. “I only want to ask you a few questions. You are from Temecula, they tell me.”
“Yes, Señor,” the man replied in a dogged tone,—no man of Temecula could yet hear the word without a pang,—“I was of Temecula.”
“I want to find one Alessandro Assis who lived there. You knew him, I suppose,” said Felipe, eagerly.
At this moment a brand broke in the smouldering fire, and for one second a bright blaze shot up; only for a second, then all was dark again. But the swift blaze had fallen on Felipe's face, and with a start which he could not control, but which Felipe did not see, the Indian had recognized him. “Ha, ha!” he thought to himself. “Señor Felipe Moreno, you come to the wrong house asking for news of Alessandro Assis!”
It was Antonio,—Antonio, who had been at the Moreno sheep-shearing; Antonio, who knew even more than Carmena had known, for he knew what a marvel and miracle it seemed that the beautiful Señorita from the Moreno house should have loved Alessandro, and wedded him; and he knew that on the night she went away with him, Alessandro had lured out of the corral a beautiful horse for her to ride. Alessandro had told him all about it,—Baba, fiery, splendid Baba, black as night, with a white star in his forehead. Saints! but it was a bold thing to do, to steal such a horse as that, with a star for a mark; and no wonder that even now, though near three years afterwards, Señor Felipe was in search of him. Of course it could be only the horse he wanted. Ha! much help might he get from Antonio!
“Yes, Señor, I knew him,” he replied.
“Do you know where he is now?”
“No, Señor.”
