Yaqui cut the wire. He did not look at her. The perfectly folded and pressed strands of fiber shook and swelled and moved apart as if in relief. And like a great white jewel case of glistening silken threads the bale of henequen opened. It commanded a stilling of the gay murmur--a sudden silence that had a subtle effect upon all. The beautiful bride, leaning closer to look, seemed to lose the light of the tawny proud eyes. Her mother froze into a creature of stone. The old Don, in slow strange action, as if his mind had feeble sway over body, bent his gray head away from the gaunt and terrible Yaqui. Something showed blue down under the center strands of the glistening fiber. With a swift flash of his huge black hand, with exceeding violence, Yaqui swept the strands aside. Then from his lips pealed an awful cry. Instead of the jewels, there, crushed and ghastly, lay the bridegroom Perez. TIGRE TIGRE “Yes, I’ve a power over animals. Look at Tigre there! But the old women in Micas say I’ve found one wild thing I’ll never tame.” “And that, _señor_?” asked Muella. “My young and pretty wife.” She tossed her small head, so that her black curls rippled in the sunlight, and the silver rings danced in her ears. “Bernardo, I’m not a parrot to have my tongue slit, or a monkey to be taught tricks, or a jungle cat to be trained. I’m a woman, and--” “Yes--and I am old,” he interrupted bitterly. “Look, Muella--there on the Micas trail!” “It’s only Augustine, your _vaquero_.” “Watch him!” replied Bernardo. Muella watched the lithe figure of a man striding swiftly along the trail. He was not going to drive cattle up to the corrals, for in that case he would have been riding a horse. He was not going toward the huts of the other herders. He faced the jungle into which ran the Micas trail. Surely he could not be on his way to Micas! The afternoon was far advanced and the village many miles away. No _vaquero_ ever trusted himself to the dangers of the jungle at night. Even Augustine, the boldest and strongest of Bernardo’s many herders, would scarcely venture so much. Yet Augustine kept on down the trail, passed the thatched bamboo fence, went through the grove of palms, and disappeared in the green wall of jungle. “He’s gone!” cried Bernardo. “Muella, I sent Augustine away.” She saw a dull red in her husband’s cheeks, a dark and sinister gleam in his eyes; and her surprise yielded to misgiving. “Why?” she asked. “He loved you.” “No! No! Bernardo, if that’s why you sent him away, you’ve wronged him. Of all your _vaqueros_, Augustine alone never smiled at me--he cared nothing for me.” “I say he loved you,” returned Bernardo hoarsely. “Bernardo, you are unjust!” “Would you lie to me? I know he loves you. Girl, confess that you love him. Tell it! I won’t bear this doubt another day!” Muella stood rigid in his grasp, her eyes blazing the truth that her lips scorned to speak.