Success had crowned Juan Ramon's efforts. The pretty little hacienda of which he had dreamed so long was no longer a vision of the future, but a reality. It was actually in his possession, purchased with a part of the money he had received from Don Felipe for his work. It now only remained for the pretty Rosita to consent to become the mistress of the place and he, Juan Ramon, would bid farewell to the old Posada and the gaming-tables forever. This Juan naÏvely promised himself as his thoughts dwelt upon the bright picture of domestic felicity which his imagination conjured up before him.

The attractive presence of Rosita was undoubtedly the source of this inspiration which actually led him to believe in the possibility of the sudden and complete reformation of an inveterate gambler whose desire for play was like the toper's insatiable thirst for liquor. And then, there was Captain Forest's horse. Juan had an idea regarding that animal. When everybody's attention was occupied with the festivities during the night of the fandango, and he had succeeded in filling JosÉ with the proper amount of aguardiente, he would slip quietly away with the horse and conceal him at his hacienda. Caramba! what a horse—the like of which there was not in all Mexico! And Juan Ramon, the champion vaquero of Chihuahua, was the man to ride him! And he rolled and smoked innumerable cigarillos as he sauntered about the garden and corrals, or lounged in the patio, musing on these and many other things.

To say that Don Felipe was elated by what he had discovered but mildly describes his state of exultation. At last the woman who had ruined his life was in his power. Not for years had he experienced such delicious transports of rapture. How sweet a thing is revenge! He was like one born anew. The expression of melancholy faded from his countenance, his eyes shone with renewed luster and he smiled upon all the world. There was no more escape for her than there had been for him when she so treacherously thrust the knife into his heart. What he had discovered was different from anything his imagination had pictured in connection with her. Nothing could be more compromising, and the marvel of it was that she had been able to keep the facts concealed from the world so long. Only a woman could have done it, and only the cleverest of women at that. No wonder she had danced in public. She had reason to!

Never had he dreamed that he would live to enjoy this hour. When he first imparted his information to Blanch, she refused to believe it; but the proofs were too convincing to leave so much as the shadow of a doubt in her mind. How fortunate that he had discovered her secret at this time; just before the fandango. What an opportunity to confront her with the truth; force her to make a public confession of her guilt. Nothing could be more propitious for the execution of his plans; the annihilation of the woman who had wrecked his life. It was not enough that she should be exposed. She must be humiliated publicly as he had been.

He did not entirely reveal his plans to Blanch, knowing that the woman in her and her consideration for the Captain would cause her to shrink from inflicting so cruel a revenge even upon a rival. He was far too clever for that. So, without going into details concerning his plans, he led her to believe that, at a prearranged signal from her, he would confront Chiquita personally and compel her to acknowledge the truth before himself and the Captain. Her nature revolted at that which Don Felipe told her, cried out for justice, for the exposure of the impostor; nevertheless, she disliked a scene, and for the Captain's sake, made Don Felipe promise to do nothing unless she gave the signal.

One week hence and their scores would be even. The thought thrilled him as he paced the length of his room, his hands clasping and unclasping nervously behind his back; his mind actively engaged in rehearsing the events of the last few days which led to the discovery, and the details of the plan he had formulated, the carrying out of which was to be deferred until that eventful evening when the principal families of the town and neighborhood, her friends and acquaintances, would be gathered together to witness her shame—the same as they had witnessed his. Her disgrace would be far worse than his had been. She would be an outcast; for let a man transgress and the world may forgive him, but let a woman fall and she is damned forever so far as the world is concerned. He would make no mistake this time. He carefully weighed every detail of his plan, considered every eventuality that might arise. Subtle and resourceful though he knew her to be, there would be no loophole of escape for her.

It was almost too good to be true. He was beside himself. He talked and laughed aloud repeatedly when alone, scarcely able to retain himself, so rapturously sweet was the thought of her humiliation. Suddenly a new thought flashed through his mind. He had sworn that he would kill Captain Forest—lay him dead at her feet; but that, thanks to circumstances, would not now be necessary. The thought of killing a man in cold blood was not pleasant even to one of Don Felipe's temperament in his present state of mind. But should circumstances compel him to do so to complete his revenge, he would stop at nothing, let the consequences be what they might.

That he had received his just deserts for his betrayal of a woman, did not enter his thoughts. Had he not atoned for that misdeed through years of suffering? Had ever mortal been humiliated as he had been? That fact alone decided him. The memory of his transgression had been effaced long since by his intense longing for revenge. Nothing short of revenge could satisfy him now.

A grim smile lit up his countenance as he pondered upon what he knew. And yet, he reflected, who could tell? Infatuation might blind the Captain to the truth. It was best to be prepared for all emergencies. Stepping to his dresser, he opened the top drawer from which he took a knife which lay concealed beneath the numerous articles it contained. Drawing the blade from its leathern sheath, he ran his thumb lightly over its double edge to assure himself that it had lost none of its keenness. He always carried a pistol, but considering the circumstances a knife would be better. It would make no noise, create less disturbance. It would be so easy, in some secluded part of the garden, to thrust it home and get away quietly before the deed was discovered. One quick thrust, a stifled cry, that would be all. As a youth he could have placed that blade at ten paces in the center of a mark no larger than a silver dollar at every cast. But he had no thought of employing such a method now even if he were able to. Striking the Captain would be like sinking the blade in Chiquita's heart; for did he not hate the Captain, because she loved him, almost as much as he hated her? No, he would not forego that exquisite sense of pleasure and satisfaction, born of jealousy and his insatiable thirst for revenge.

For some time he toyed absently with the knife. Then, from sheer exuberance of spirits, he began tossing it aloft; watching with sparkling eyes the glittering blade as it turned over and over in the air and catching it deftly by the hilt in his right hand as it descended. His hand and wrist were firm and supple as of old; they had lost none of their vigor during the long years he had wandered aimlessly about the world. Again that cold smile, cruel and cutting as the edge of his knife, lit up his face as he at length sheathed the blade in its leathern case and returned it to its resting place in the drawer of his dresser.