"Then he made a signal to his comrade, and after bowing slightly, they started at a gallop, and left me considerably embarrassed at the way in which this singular interview had ended, and twisting in my fingers the letter I did not dare open." "Well," the American muttered, "what did you, so soon as the men left you alone?" "I looked after them a long time, and then, suddenly recalled to my duty by several carbine shots whose bullets whizzed past my ears, I bent down over my horse's neck and regained the bivouac at full gallop. On arriving, I opened the letter, for I was burning with impatience and curiosity." "And it was?" "From Carmela." "By Heavens!" the American said, as he slapped his thigh; "I would have wagered it." CHAPTER XXI. SANDOVAL. "Yes," the Jaguar continued presently in a broken voice; "this letter was entirely in Carmela's handwriting. Would you like to know the contents?" The American looked around him. "Well, what matter?" the Jaguar exclaimed with some violence; "Are not these brave lads our friends, faithful and devoted friends? Why keep secret from them a thing I should be forced to tell them, perhaps tomorrow?" John Davis bowed. "You did not understand my thought," he said. "I am not afraid about them, but of those who may be possibly listening outside." The young man shook his head. "No, no," he said, "fear nothing, John Davis, my old friend; no one is listening to us." "Read the letter in that case, for I am anxious to know its contents." Although the dawn was beginning to tinge the horizon with all the prismatic colours, the light was not sufficient yet for it to be possible to read by it. Lanzi, therefore, seized the candil, whose smoky wick smouldered without spreading any great light, snuffed it intrepidly with his fingers, and held it in a line with the Jaguar's face. The latter, after a moment's hesitation, drew from the pocket of his velvet jacket a dirty and crumpled piece of paper, unfolded it, and read: "_To the Chief of the Texan Freebooters, surnamed the Jaguar._" "If you really take that interest in me you have so often offered to prove to me, save me, save the daughter of your friend! Having left Galveston to go in search of my father, I have fallen into the hands of my most cruel enemy. I have only hope in two men in this world, yourself and Colonel Melendez. My father is too far for me to be allowed to hope effectual assistance from him. And besides, his life is too precious to me for me to consent to him risking it. Whatever may happen, I trust in you as in God; will you fail me? "The disconsolate CARMELA." "Hum!" the American muttered; "Is that all?" "No," the young man answered, "there is a second note written below the first." "Ah, ah! By Carmela?" "No." "By whom, then?" "I do not know, for it is not signed." "And do you suspect nobody?" "Perhaps I do--but before telling you whom I suspect, I had better read you the second letter." "For what reason?"