"Ay, terrible news! The Doctor West was found this morning dead
two miles from the casa."
"Dr. West dead!" repeated Pereo, slowly, as if endeavoring to
master the real meaning of the words. Then, seeing the vacuity of
his question reflected on the faces of those around him, he added,
hurriedly, with a feeble smile, "O--ay--dead! Yes! I remember.
And he has been ill--very ill, eh?"
"It was an accident. He was thrown from his horse, and so killed,"
returned Sanchez, gravely.
"Killed--by his horse! sayest thou?" said Pereo, with a sudden
fixed look in his eye.
"Ay, good Pereo. Dost thou not remember when the mustang bolted
with him down upon us in the lane, and then thou didst say he would
come to evil with the brute? He did--blessed San Antonio!--within
half an hour!"
"How--thou sawest it?"
"Nay; for the mustang was running away and I did not follow.
Bueno! it happened all the same. The Alcalde, Coroner, who knows
all about it, has said so an hour ago! Juan brought the news from
the rancho where the inquest was. There will be a funeral the day
after to-morrow! and so it is that some of the family will go.
Fancy, Pereo, a Guitierrez at the funeral of the Americano Doctor!
Nay, I doubt not that the Dona Maria will ask thee to say a prayer
over his bier."
"Peace, fool! and speak not of thy lady mistress," thundered the
old man, sitting upright. "Begone to the stables. Dost thou hear
me? Go!"
"Now, by the Mother of Miracles," said Sanchez, hastening from the
room as the gaunt figure of the old man rose, like a sheeted
spectre, from the bed, "that was his old self again! Blessed San
Antonio! Pereo has recovered.
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