The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 120: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

116 THE ARGOSY. co their ways, tu meet, and love, and marry some one else.” “No, no, mujercita,’ protested ‘Teresa, a far away look in her eyes; “ I do not believe that.” “Pout!” laughed Ysabel, and kissed ‘Teresa on the lips. “ Some day you will learn.” When the manager left the Golden Kagle there was a void in the Gonzales home, and a greater void in Teresa’s heart. “7; is but for the day,” said Teresa to herself; “ he returns to-morrow. Ah, I wish it were to-morrow! ” Tuesday she was outside the house for most of the day, her eyes upon the road that led from the stage trail to the c.mp. The horses did not come with the buckboard, but instead the lumber- ing old Cache d’Oro stage with its leaders and wheel-horses came plung- ing toward the camp. The driver of the stage-coach saw Teresa, drew his horses to a halt, and stood up, waving a white object.. The girl hurried down the hill, and the driver flung the white object at her feet. It was a letter. | “Is it for me?” cried Teresa, her heart bounding with a wild hope. “For Miss Amy Travis,’ answered the driver, turning back toward the trail. ' ‘Teresa stamped her foot and crushed the letter in her hand. For Amy! Why was the manager writing to Amy? But perhaps it was not from the manager after all. She chided herself for her >folly, smoothed the letter out carefully, and hurried to the office. Amy was at her desk, bending over the papers with which it was littered. “ Ah, Teresa,” she said, hardly look- ing up as the Mexicana entered. “ What have you? Something for me?” “A letter, Amy.” Teresa passed to the desk and laid the letter down. “From the manager,’ said Amy, glancing at the envelope as it lay be- fore her. “Perhaps he is not coming to-day! ” exclaimed Teresa, her hands clenching and her breath coming short and hard. She felt strangely and could not understand herself. C. OuUgle “The manager has written to Amy, he has written to Amy,” was the thought that swept through her brain continually. , Amy hardly noticed Teresa. Care- lessly she picked up the letter, tore it open, and drew out the enclosed sheet. She was but a moment reading the few words it contained. The lines of her face sharpened, and with a hasty movement she tore the letter again and again and dropped the pieces in a waste basket. “The manager will not be back until to-morrow, Teresa,” said Amy, resum- ing her work; “ he has gone to look for the thieves.” Without a word, Teresa whirled and ran from the room. Her cyes were abnormally bright and her face was ‘\ushed and angry. Why she was in such a mood she could not have explained. Only the one thought went coursing through her foolish little head: “ The manager has written to Amy, to Amy.” , Why had he not written to her— Teresa? Had she not cared for him when he was ill? And was it not to her that he had sung about the high-walled town, and the regiments, and the Span- ish eyes? When she reached the house she ran through it and up to her own room. That Amy was the manager’s repre- sentative at the works, and that the letter might be a business letter, were ideas that never suggested themselves to the Mexicana. And so, with a burst- ing heart, she threw herself on her bed and gave way to a torrent of tears. When she conquered her grief and reappeared in the sitting-room, she was very angry with both Whipple and “Amy. She put the guitar away, for the sight of it was hateful to her; and when the madre asked about the man- ager, she shrugged ner shoulders and would not answer, But the next day she was again watching for the approach of the horses and the buckboard. They did not come that day, nor the next, nor the next. There were no letters, either; no letters for Amy or any one else. Carefully Teresa brought out the guitar from its hiding-place, kissing it COMRRIC LOO COL