There is one remark which has been often made. It is this: That, generally speaking, men who delight to dabble in gore – who unhesitatingly commit the most atrocious cruelties, and exercise their powers in exciting the terror they love to inspire – are cowards; and when they happen to meet with effective resistance, their cowardice falls to a baseness beyond comparison. Jackals and hyenas are ferocious and cowardly; men are jackals and hyenas – the thing is explained.

At the answer of the leader of the strangers, the mashorqueras became convulsed with terror. They comprehended that they were face to face with resolute foes, without having it in their power to retreat an inch. They crowded close to each other, and fixed their eyes in fright and amazement on the six men who, sitting calmly and impassively before them, bid them defiance.

Don Torribio alone felt no fear. The man was a savage brute, whom the smell of blood intoxicated, and who could only breathe freely in an atmosphere of carnage. Crossing his arms and raising his head defiantly, he answered the words of the unknown with a long laugh of contempt; then, turning to his terror-stricken soldiers:

"Will you suffer yourselves to be intimidated by six men?" he cried. "Come, my children; face about. ¡Vive Dios! these pícaros dare not stand against us."

The soldiers, aroused by the tones of the voice they had so long obeyed, and ashamed of their hesitation, fell in as well as they could, and formed a line in front of the rancho. The lieutenant, putting spurs to his horse, made him execute a demivolte, and resolutely placed himself at the head of his troop. The strangers, notwithstanding the inequality of numbers, did not hesitate a moment, but charged the federalists sword and pistol in hand. Don Torribio received them bravely without retreating a foot. Having discharged their pistols, they took to the sword, and in an instant the mêlée grew terrible. In spite of their prodigies of valour and gigantic efforts, the strangers would, in all probability, have had the worst of it, when suddenly Corporal Luco, who had remained spectator of the fight, with four or five of his comrades, made his horse bound to the front, and, instead of ranging himself on the side of the federalists, attacked them vigorously in flank, and came with his comrades to place himself beside Don Leoncio.

This defection of a party of his soldiers raised Don Torribio's ire to seething point – the more so, as the mashorqueras, not knowing to what cause to attribute the strange conduct of the corporal and his comrades, began to suspect treason, to lose courage, and to reply but feebly to the blows of the assailants; who, seeing them falter, redoubled their efforts for victory.

The arrieros and wagoners, having in some measure recovered from their fright, and seeing the favourable opportunity of avenging the insults and villainies the hirelings of Rosas had so long heaped upon them, armed themselves with anything that fell in their way, and, burning to make up for lost time, rushed headforemost on their ferocious enemies.

But at this very moment loud cries reached their ears. Some forty mounted men entered at full gallop the zone of light proceeding from the post house, and, deploying with amazing dexterity and despatch, surrounded the rancho on all sides.

The riders who had galloped up so opportunely for the assailants and so inopportunely for the colorados, were Don Guzman de Ribera and his peones.

Having left Buenos Aires several hours ago, they ought long before this to have reached the rancho, which lay on the road they had to follow in order to get to the hacienda where Don Guzman hoped to meet his brother. But at a little distance from the town, Don Bernardo Pedrosa had managed somehow or other to cut his bonds; he slipped off the horse on which he had been placed, threw himself among the tall grasses, and disappeared before anyone suspected his flight.

Don Guzman had lost a good deal of time in marching for the fugitive, whose traces he could not find, and had only abandoned the pursuit when convinced that all his efforts to recover his prisoner were in vain. Recalling his peones, who were scattered right and left, he had resumed the road to the hacienda, feeling extremely uneasy for the consequences of his prisoner's escape; for he knew Don Bernardo too well to suppose for an instant that he would not strain every nerve to avenge the insult he had met with at his hands.

When Don Guzman was still about half a league from the rancho, some fugitives, escaped from the massacre, had run blindly among his men, and warned him of what was going on. Without suspecting how important these news might be to himself, his natural generosity excited the wish to assist, if possible, the persons engaged in this terrible affray; so Don Guzman, well acquainted with the ferocity of the Buenos-Airean tyrant ruffians, had increased the pace of his horses, and galloped in to aid the unfortunate people in their contest with the mashorqueras. His unexpected arrival decided the affair.

The lieutenant, finding flight impossible, retired step by step, fighting like a lion, and withdrew all his men into the rancho, himself remaining last in order to secure their retreat.

Don Torribio – the Butcher, as he was called – scorned to ask quarter. He himself had never granted it to a soul. The extremity to which he found himself reduced, far from diminishing his courage, had increased it tenfold. Feeling his last hour was come – that no human aid could save him – he resolved to fight to the last breath, and sell his life as dearly as possible.

The mashorqueras, following the example of their leader, drew fresh courage from the depths of their despair, and once within the rancho, busied themselves in fortifying it, so as to carry on the strife as long as they could, and to fall after an heroic resistance.

The doors and windows were barricaded with the utmost care; holes were knocked in the walls; and the ruffians, half-intoxicated with previous and still-continued libations, waited firmly for the attack, determined to die bravely in the assault their enemies would soon make on the rancho.

However contrary to their expectations, a long time elapsed without their adversaries commencing the attack. This suspension of hostilities, which was incomprehensible, – for they were ignorant of all that was going on outside, – gave them great uneasiness, and made the bravest of them tremble.

Man is so constituted that, however firmly he may have made up his mind to face death – however convinced he may be that his last hour is come – however prepared for the struggle, the consequences of which he knows and accepts beforehand – if that final struggle is delayed, his resolution fades, the fever that sustained him dies out, and he begins to fear, not death, for that he knows to be inevitable, but the agonies which he fancies may precede death. He creates a thousand sinister chimeras; and the unknown danger which threatens him, without his being able to divine how or whence it will come, appears to him a thousand times more terrible than that which he was prepared to face bravely and with a resolute heart.

The mashorqueras vainly sought, in copious draughts of aguardiente, a remedy for the wild terror which gradually overcame them. The mournful silence which reigned around them, the obscurity, wrapping them up as in a shroud, and the forced inaction to which they were condemned, concurred, in spite of their efforts, to increase the invincible terror that had seized upon them. The lieutenant alone preserved his ferocious energy, and awaited patiently the striking of the hour for his last battle.

Let us see what was passing among the assailants, and what had occasioned the delay in the assault.

Don Guzman de Ribera, as soon as the soldiers had shut themselves up in the rancho, wished to know, before he finished with the latter, who the persons were to whom his providential arrival had done such good service.

It was not long before his curiosity was satisfied; his brother Don Leoncio, who had recognised him from the first, rushed forward to offer his thanks.

The two brothers, who had been so long separated, threw themselves into each other's arms with tears of joy, and for some time forgot everything but themselves in the unexpected happiness of meeting.

When the first shock of their sudden reunion was over, Don Guzman took his brother's hand, and, leading him apart, uttered the single word, "Well?" with a smile which was intended to be gay.

"She is here," said Don Leoncio, trying to stifle a sigh.

"Did she consent to come?"

"It was she who wished it."

"That is indeed astonishing," said Don Guzman.

"Why so? Doña Antonia is one of those rare spirits who never recoil before an obligation, however hard it may be, when they know that honour binds them."

"True. Well, be it so; it is perhaps better as it is and that she is with you."

"Have you forgotten, brother, what occurred exactly a year ago today, at sunrise, between you and me, when, in a moment of folly, I confessed to you my love for Doña Antonia de Solis?"

"What is the good of recurring to it, brother? We are reconciled now, thank God; and I hope nothing may happen to separate us again."

"Do not hope so, brother," replied Don Leoncio in melancholy accents.

"What do you mean, brother? My wife – "

"Your wife has never ceased to be worthy of you; you will go and see her?"

Don Guzman hesitated.

"No," said he, at length; "not now; let us first finish with these rascals; then I will give myself up to happiness."

"Let it be so," said Don Leoncio, rejoiced.

Two persons now made their appearance; they were Don Diego de Solis, and Doña Antonia, his sister, and the wife of Don Guzman.

On seeing his wife, who had been compelled to withdraw from Buenos Aires in order to escape from the pursuit of Don Bernardo Pedrosa, Don Guzman, notwithstanding his resolve not to make himself known to her for the present, could not resist the temptation of pressing her to his heart.

The lady uttered a cry of joy on finding herself once more in her husband's arms.

Don Leoncio, a few months after the confession he had made to his brother, seemed to have forgotten his passion, and had espoused the second sister of Don Diego de Solis, four months prior to the day the events of which we are now recording.

So when Don Guzman was forced into a temporary separation from his wife, he had not hesitated to confide her to his brother, convinced that the latter's love for Doña Antonia had changed into honourable and lasting friendship.

"Why have you returned?" said Don Guzman, kissing his wife.

"It was necessary," she replied in a low voice, and suppressing a gesture of fear; "my sister herself recommended me to do so."

"It was very imprudent, my darling."

"Oh! I have no fears at your side. Will you not embrace your son, too?"

"Have you brought him with you?"

"I will not leave you again, whatever may happen." Then, bending to her husband's ear she whispered: "Your brother is as much in love with me as ever; his wife discovered his passion for me, and it is she and Don Diego who advised my return, as my position was growing intolerable."

Don Guzman's eyes flashed fire.

"They did well," said he; "but silence: my brother is watching us."

In fact, Don Leoncio, uneasy at this conversation apart, had guessed, with the intuition peculiar to the guilty, that he was the subject of their discussion, and exhibited signs of restlessness which all his efforts could not conceal. At last, unable to bear the suspense any longer, he approached his brother, and said to him curtly:

"What are we to do now?"

"Whatever you please," answered Don Guzman, who had been disagreeably affected by the sound of his voice after what his wife had told him.

Don Leoncio perceived the aversion his brother felt for him; he bit his lips, but dissembled his resentment.

"It is for you to decide," said he, "since it is you who have rescued us."

"I am at your service, brother. Don Diego," he continued, turning to the young man, "I trust my wife to your care. We shall most likely commence the assault at once. She and her infant must not be exposed to danger."

"Set your heart at rest: I will be answerable for them," said Diego, pressing his hand.

Before he left her, Doña Antonia threw herself once more on her husband's breast.

"Beware!" she whispered in his ear; "Don Leoncio is meditating treason against you."

"He would not dare!" firmly replied Don Guzman.

"Go; and fear not."

The lady, only half-consoled, followed her brother, and the two soon disappeared behind the bales and wagons.

The two brothers were left alone, and there was a long silence between them.

Don Guzman, with his arms crossed, and his head bent down, was in deep meditation.

Don Leoncio was watching his brother intently, with a strange expression on his countenance, and a sardonic smile on his lips.

At last Don Guzman raised his head.

"Enough of this," he said, "it has lasted too long." Don Leoncio started: he fancied these words were addressed to him; but his brother continued:

"Before attacking these ruffians we must summon them to surrender."

"Can you think of such a thing, brother. These men are mashorqueras!"

"So much the greater reason to prove to them that we are not rascals of their own kind, and that we practise the laws of warfare, which they glory in setting at nought."

"I submit, brother; although I know we are only losing valuable time."

Don Leoncio immediately ordered torches of resinous wood to be lighted, so that the besieged might clearly see him; and, tying his handkerchief to the point of his sword, resolutely advanced towards the rancho.

When Don Torribio saw the light of the torches, he comprehended that the assailants wished to enter into communication with him, and unbarred a window, holding himself in readiness for the parley.

As soon as Don Leoncio got within a pace or two of the door, he halted.

"Flag of truce!" said he.

A window was thrown open, at which the burly figure of the lieutenant made its appearance.

"What is it you want?" he replied, carelessly leaning his elbows on the windowsill.

"We demand that you surrender," said Don Leoncio.

"Do you, really?" said Don Torribio, bursting into a laugh; "And why do you want us to surrender?"

"Because all resistance is futile."

"You think so, do you?" replied the officer, with another laugh; "Try and dislodge us, and see what it will cost you!"

"Much less than you think."

"Pooh! I should be glad to know how."

"Enough! Will you surrender, or not?"

"It is ridiculous! May the devil embrace me, if you know with whom you have to deal! Do we ever demand quarter – we, mashorqueras? If we surrender, you will kill us, that is all. What is the good of it?"

"Then you are determined not to listen to terms?"

"Upon my soul, this is growing too tiresome!"

"You are resolved to defend yourself to the last?"

"Canarios, comrade! I should think so; tooth and nail. I will not stay any longer. Be off!"

"Well, we shall have you all soon."

"Try it, compadre; try it. In the meantime, as your conversation has little attraction for me, I shall take the liberty of breaking it off. Good luck!"

Saying this, he closed the window abruptly.

Don Leoncio turned to his brother, who had advanced to his side.

"Did I not tell you so?" said he, with a shrug; "Was I mistaken?"

"No; I admit it. Now, having saved our honour, we can act as we please."

Don Guzman leaned towards his brother, and spoke a few words in his ear; the latter smiled, and left him.

The peones, arrieros, and wagoners were posted behind the galeras, so as to be sheltered from the balls of the besieged. There they awaited the signal for the assault.

Don Leoncio busied himself during all this time in heaping dry grass and branches around the rancho. When sufficient had been collected, he set fire to it, and his men cast their burning torches on the roof.

The fire, fed by the wind, soon extended itself; and in a very short time the rancho was enveloped in flames.

The besieged gave vent to a cry of horror; the besiegers replied by a shout of triumph.

After all, the mashorqueras had no reason to complain; it was meted to them as they would have meted to others: they were undergoing the lex talionis.

In the meanwhile, the position of the besieged grew intolerable. Blinded by the smoke and scorched by the fire, which ran up the walls in long tongues of flame, calcining as they licked them, a sortie became inevitable, if they would not be burnt alive.

The lieutenant ordered the door to be unfastened: he opened it suddenly, and threw himself, followed by his men, into the thickest ranks of the assailants.

The latter opened their ranks to receive them, then closed in upon them, and surrounded them with a circle of steel.

At the moment when the last morsel of wall crashed into the fiery furnace, the last mashorquera fell, with his head cloven to the chine. All had fallen around Don Torribio, who had fought to the last moment with the desperate frenzy which makes a man almost invincible.

The sun rose in his majesty, illumining the savage depths of the Pampas.

The arrieros and wagoners, cowed by the night's work, and dreading the consequences, hastened to span the oxen to the heavy galeras, and load their mules. Anxious to quit the place, they were soon dispersing in all directions. Don Guzman and his peones remained masters of the field.

Soon after the attack commenced, Don Guzman was surprised that he did not see his brother near him; but he did not attach much importance to the fact, being more seriously occupied with other matters. Now, when the affray was over, he burned with desire to see his wife. He was amazed that Don Diego had not brought her to him as soon as all danger for her was over.

But he was not very anxious. Don Diego had probably not wished to expose the lady to the horror of crossing the field of battle, and soiling her feet with the blood in which the earth was soaked. He applauded his delicacy, and waited a few minutes, during which he repaired the disorder of his dress, and removed the traces of the combat.

At last he determined to look for his wife, whose long absence began to make him very uneasy.

Corporal Luco, as anxious as himself, undertook to guide him; he had a faint recollection of seeing Don Diego, accompanied by Doña Antonia, the nurse, and two or three more, going in the direction of a hollow in the ground at a little distance.

All of a sudden, the two men uttered a shout of sorrow, and recoiled in horror from the dreadful spectacle before their eyes.

Don Diego was lying on the ground, his chest pierced through and through. He was dead; and close to him Doña Antonia and the nurse were lying senseless. The nurse was Corporal Luco's wife.

Don Guzman fell on his knees beside his wife; he then perceived a paper, which she was clutching convulsively in her right hand.

The unhappy man had great difficulty in releasing it from her grasp; some words were written on it. Don Guzman cast his eyes over the lines, and threw himself on the ground with an agonising cry of despair.

The paper contained these words:

"Brother, – You have deprived me of the woman I love; I deprive you of your son: we are quits."

"DON LEONCIO DE RIBERA."

No doubts were possible after reading this: Don Leoncio was really the author of this odious abduction. He had contrived this horrible piece of treachery while his brother was coming, in all his confidence, to meet him. With an incredible refinement of wickedness, and in order to enjoy his revenge to the utmost, he had delayed the stroke, with the determination to make it fall on his brother's head like a thunderbolt.

For a long time, Don Guzman remained crouching on the Pampas, holding in his arms the lifeless body of his wife, whom he tried in vain to resuscitate. He lay there, absorbed in doubts, and trembling; seeing nothing; hearing nothing; lamenting the death of his wife; deprived of his child.

He was suddenly roused by a heavy stroke on his shoulder. He raised his head. A man was standing before him, with a smile on his lips.

"Don Guzman de Ribera," said he, with a mocking salutation, "you are my prisoner."

It was Don Bernardo Pedrosa, with a numerous escort of soldiers.