g delivered; though her first words would assure, and set his nerves
at rest, could he but understand them. But he knows not his fate, till
it has passed through the tedious transference from one language to
another--from Spanish to his own native tongue.

"Tell him," is the response of Conchita, given without sign of
insincerity, "tell him that I love him as much as he can me. That I
loved him from the first moment of our meeting, and shall love him to
the end of my life. In reply to his honourable proposal, say to him
yes. I am willing to become his wife."

When the answer is translated to Walt, he bounds at least three feet
into the air, with a shout of triumph such as he might give over the
fall of an Indian foe.

Then, advancing towards the girl, he flings his great arms around her,
lifts her from the ground as if she were a child's doll; presses her to
his broad, throbbing breast, and imprints a kiss upon her lips--the
concussion of which can be heard far beyond the borders of the
cottonwood copse.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

A DANGEROUS EAVESDROPPER.

However successful in his suit with Conchita, Walt Wilder is not without
a rival. Hamersley has reason to suspect this soon after separating
from the lovers, which he does, leaving them to themselves. It has
occurred to him, that the presence of more than two on that spot can be
no longer desirable. His part has been performed, and he withdraws
without saying a word.

There is a third man, notwithstanding--a spectator--whose breast is
stirred with terrible emotion.

As the Kentuckian passes out through the copse, he catches sight of a
figure crouching behind the trunk of a tree--apparently that of a man.
Twilight is now on, and beneath the leafy branches reigns an obscurity
almost equalling night. What he sees may be some straying animal, or
perhaps it is only fancy. His thoughts are engrossed with that which
carries him on towards the house. There one will be awaiting him, in
whose refined presence he will soon forget the uncouth spectacle of
courtship at which he has been assisting.

But the form he has observed cowering under the shadow of the
cotton-woods was no fancy, nor four-footed creature, but a human being,
a man--in short, Manuel the Indian.

Manuel is mad in love with the little mestiza, who, with Spanish blood
in her veins, is, nevertheless, maternally of his own race--that of the
_Indios mansos_, or "tame Indians," of New Mexico--