Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid

“Wild horses!” announced the major commandant of Fort Inge, after a short inspection through his pocket telescope. “Some one bringing them in,” he added, a second time raising the glass to his eye. “Oh! I see now – it’s Maurice the mustanger, who occasionally helps our men to a remount. He appears to be coming this way – direct to your place, Mr Poindexter.”

“If it be the young fellow you have named, that’s not unlikely,” replied the owner of Casa del Corvo.

“I bargained with him to catch me a score or two; and maybe this is the first instalment he’s bringing me.”

“Yes, I think it is,” he added, after a look through the telescope.

“I am sure of it,” said the planter’s son. “I can tell the horseman yonder to be Maurice Gerald.”

The planter’s daughter could have done the same; though she made no display of her knowledge. She did not appear to be much interested in the matter – indeed, rather indifferent.

She had become aware of being watched by that evil eye, constantly burning upon her.

The cavallada came up, Maurice sitting handsomely on his horse, with the spotted mare at the end of his lazo.

“What a beautiful creature!” exclaimed several voices, as the captured mustang was led up in front of the house, quivering with excitement at a scene so new to it.

“It’s worth a journey to the ground to look at such an animal!” suggested the major’s wife, a lady of enthusiastic inclinings.

“I propose we all go down! What say you, Miss Poindexter?”

“Oh, certainly,” answered the mistress of the mansion, amidst a chorus of other voices crying out —

“Let us go down! Let us go down!”

Led by the majoress[137 - majoress – wife of a major], the ladies filed down the stone stairway – the gentlemen after; and in a score of seconds the horse-hunter, still seated in his saddle, became, with his captive, the centre of the distinguished circle.

Henry Poindexter had hurried down before the rest, and already, in the frankest manner, bidden the stranger welcome.

Between the latter and Louise only a slight salutation could be exchanged. Familiarity with a horse-dealer – even supposing him to have had the honour of an introduction – would scarce have been tolerated by the “society.