The Tiger Hunter

Chapter Sixty Eight.
The Commission Executed

While the Captain Lantejas stood in the midst of an atmosphere that nearly stifled his breathing, he saw one of these shadowy forms step out from among the rest and advance towards him. As the man came nearer, he recognised the ferocious captain of the bandits, who, licking his blood-stained lips like a jaguar after leaving its prey, cried out in a hoarse voice, “Bring me that spy! I can examine him while the coyote is coming to himself.”

“Here he is,” replied Bocardo, seizing Don Cornelio by the shoulder, and pushing him forward into the presence of his associate.

“My good friend,” muttered Bocardo, addressing himself to Don Cornelio, “it’s your turn now. Of course the lash will make you confess that you are a spy, and of course your head will be taken off immediately after. I would, therefore, advise you not to waste time about it but acknowledge your guilt at once.”

While Bocardo was giving this fearful counsel, his associate stood regarding Don Cornelio with eyes that expressed a villainous pleasure, at the idea of having another victim to satisfy his bloodthirsty instincts.

“Confess quickly!” he cried, “and let that end it. I am tired, and shan’t be kept waiting.”

“Señor Arroyo!” replied Lantejas, “I am a captain in the insurgent army, and am sent by General Morelos to tell you – ”

Don Cornelio paused. He was hesitating as to whether he dare proclaim his real errand.

“Your proofs?” demanded Arroyo.

“My papers have been taken from me,” said Lantejas.

“A fig for your papers! Hola! wife!” continued Arroyo, turning to the hag who still stood by the fainting victim, “here’s a little work for you, as I am somewhat fatigued. I charge you with making this spy confess who sent him here, and what design he had in coming. Make him speak out whatever way you please.”

“By and by,” answered the virago, “but not yet. This coyote has come round again, and better still, has come to his right senses at last: he is about to confess.”

“Bring him here, then!” commanded Arroyo.

Several men hastened to execute the order, and, detaching the victim from the place where he had been bound, half dragged, half carried him across the floor. Don Cornelio saw that the unfortunate individual was a young man – of less than thirty, of noble aspect, though his features expressed at the moment the terrible agony he was enduring.

“Now, Gachupino!” exclaimed the woman, “where is your money hid?”

“Where is your wife?” cried Arroyo. On hearing this question so pointedly put, the hideous companion of Arroyo directed upon her husband a glance of concentrated rage and jealousy.

“I want the woman,” muttered Arroyo, “in order that I may draw a good ransom out of her father.”

The young Spaniard, his spirit tortured to a certain degree of feebleness, in a voice scarce audible, indicated to his persecutors where lay the secret chamber – the door of which, cunningly set in the wall, had escaped even the keen eyes of the robbers.

Both Bocardo and Arroyo immediately repaired to the spot. A keg of dollars, with a large quantity of plate, was found in the chamber, but the Señora Marianita had disappeared.

On hearing this news, a tremor of joy passed through the lacerated frame of the young Spaniard. Little cared he for his treasure, so long as his beloved wife had escaped from the outrages of the brigands. His emotion caused him to faint anew; and he lay once more senseless at the feet of his tormentors.

Don Cornelio now remembered the white phantom he had observed gliding among the trees, and he doubted not that what he had seen was she of whom they were in search.

Arroyo returned to examine his prisoner, but by this time the whole nature of Don Cornelio appeared to have become suddenly transformed. The perfumes of the alcohol, mixed with that of the resin torches, had mounted to his head; and as he had never in his life even tasted strong liquors, the effect was that of a partial but instant intoxication. He appeared to have become animated with a portion of that courage, with which in the field of battle the flaming eyes of Galeana had more than once inspired him – while combating under the aegis of the marshal’s death-dealing lance.

“Señor Arroyo!” cried he in a voice whose thundering tones astonished even himself, “and you who call yourself the Colonel of Colonels! I command you both to respect the envoy of his Excellency the General Morelos – myself – who am charged to tell you, that if you continue, by your sanguinary cruelties, to disgrace the holy cause for which we fight – not as brigands but as Christians – you will both be drawn and quartered!”

At this unexpected and insulting menace the eyes of Arroyo sparkled with fury. Upon Bocardo the effect was somewhat different. He trembled and turned pale at the name of Morelos.

Lantejas, though somewhat alarmed at his own boldness, nevertheless continued in the same strain.

“Bring here the negro and Indian!” demanded he, “prisoners like myself – and see if both do not know me as Captain Don Cornelio Lantejas. If they do not I consent – ”

At this point Arroyo interrupted the speaker, springing forward and crying out in a husky voice —

“Woe be to you if you are lying! I will pluck the tongue out of your head, and scourge with it the cheeks of an impostor.”

Lantejas, now elevated in spite of himself to a point of haughty grandeur, replied to this menace only with a superb smile.

Clara being sent for, the moment after appeared within the room.

“Who is this man, dog of a negro?” interrogated the fierce brigand.

This time too punctual in executing the orders of his captain, the black displayed his ivory teeth in a smile of significant intelligence. “Don Lucas Alacuesta, of course!” he replied.

A cry of gratification issued from the lips of the bandit.

“But there is another name which I also bear, is there not?” inquired Don Cornelio, without losing countenance.

“Don Cornelio Lantejas,” added Clara.

“The proofs – the proofs!” cried the guerillero, pacing rapidly backward and forward, like a caged tiger who sees the spectators outside the bars of his prison without being able to devour them, “the proofs! – I must have them at once.”

At this moment confused and violent noises were heard outside the door, and rising above all the voice of Costal. The door was suddenly burst open, and the Indian rushed into the middle of the room, holding in one hand a bloody dagger, while the other was enveloped in a shapeless mass of what seemed to be cloth. The latter was serving him for a shield against the attack of several guerilleros, who were pressing him from behind.

Costal, on getting inside, turned abruptly and stood facing his adversaries.

These, finding themselves in the presence of their chief, desisted for a moment from the attack – one of them crying out to Arroyo, that the Indian had poniarded their comrade Gaspacho.

“I did it to get back my own property,” replied Costal, “or rather that of Captain Lantejas; and here it is.”

In saying these words, the Zapoteque unwound from his left arm what had served him as a buckler, and which was now seen to be the cloak so inopportunely missing.

Don Cornelio seized it from him with an exclamation of joy, and at once plunged his hands into the pockets.

“Here are my proofs!” cried he, drawing out a number of papers, so stained with blood, fresh from the veins of the slain robber, as to be scarce legible. Enough, however, could be read to establish the identity of Don Cornelio and the authority under which he was acting.

The names of Morelos and Galeana in the midst of this band of brigands were, for him, like the whisper of the Lord to Daniel in the den of lions. Even the two ferocious leaders lowered their tone at the mention of these names, so universally feared and respected.

“You may go, then!” cried Arroyo, yielding reluctantly to the authority that had awed him; “but if you ever boast of the arrogant language you have used to me, Carajo!” and the brigand hissed out the infamous oath. “As for General Morelos,” he added, “you may say to him, that each of us fights according to his own way; and, notwithstanding his threats, I shall follow mine.”

Saying this, an order was issued to let the three prisoners pass free, after delivering up to them their arms and horses.

“Let six horsemen get ready to pursue this runaway Señora!” cried the bandit chief, as Don Cornelio and his companions were leaving the room. “Some one bridle my horse, and quickly. I shall go along with them, and you too, Bocardo.”

Bocardo made no reply, but not equally silent was Arroyo’s female companion.

“What want you with the Señora?” she inquired, in a tone of angry jealousy. “Have you got the keg of dollars to satisfy you!”

“I have told you already,” rejoined Arroyo, with a demoniac glance at his wife, “that I want her for the purpose of enabling me to extract a ransom from her father. I want her, and will have her. You stay here, and guard the treasure; and by all the devils if you don’t behave yourself better – ”

The bandit drew his dagger with such an air of resolution and menace, that the hag, cowed by the gesture, no longer offered opposition to his will. Shrinking to one side, she appeared to busy herself in looking after the keg of dollars.

Meanwhile Don Cornelio and his two acolytes, not caring to remain in such company longer than was absolutely necessary, hastened from the room; and, mounting their restored steeds, rode off into the darkness of the night.

Chapter Sixty Nine.
The Catalan Lieutenant

It is already known how Don Rafael Tres-Villas had fortified his hacienda of Del Valle, and how, when called elsewhere by his military duties, he had left its garrison of nearly a hundred men, under the command of a Catalonian officer, Lieutenant Veraegui.

On the same day in which he had made a sortie from the hacienda, and succeeded in capturing ten of the besieging guerilleros, the Lieutenant received a despatch from the governor of the province, ordering him, without further delay, to attack the band of Arroyo, and annihilate it, if possible. Then, with his whole troop, to repair to Oajaca, which was now in danger of being besieged by Morelos. The despatch also conveyed to Veraegui the additional intelligence of the raising of the siege of Huajapam, and the total defeat of the besieging forces.

The news was anything but agreeable to the Catalonian Lieutenant. In the alcavala– which he had for the past two years been accustomed to levy on all the traffic between Puebla and Oajaca – he had found excellent pay for his soldiers; and being a man not over scrupulous, though brave as a lion, he felt greatly disinclined to change his comfortable quarters. A fierce royalist, moreover, the news from Huajapam excited his fury against the insurgents to the highest pitch; and he blamed himself for the clemency he had displayed that very morning in hanging four of the guerilleros he had taken, up by the neck, instead of by the heels – as he had done with three of their comrades.

About an hour after Don Cornelio Lantejas and his travelling companions had passed Del Valle – and only a few minutes from the time, when, thanks to the darkness of the night, two of Arroyo’s followers had found an opportunity to carry off the heads of their three comrades – two men presented themselves in front of the fortified hacienda.

They were Gaspar and Juan de Zapote, who had hidden themselves during the day, and awaited the friendly darkness, to enable them to make their way through the lines of the besieging force.

“I see no one,” muttered Zapote, as they glided into the avenue. “The place appears to be deserted! It’s likely enough that my ex-comrades have abandoned the siege.”

“So much the better – let us keep on then!” rejoined Gaspar.

“Gently, gently, compadre!” counselled Zapote. “You forget that my costume is of the military kind, and likely to make a sentinel suspicious of me. A carbine shot might be the only hail we should get from one of these Royalists.”

“Your physiognomy, amigo, is more likely than your costume to beget suspicions.”

“Ah! that comes of the bad company I have been keeping of late.”

“Never mind that. I shall go forward alone, and make myself known to the sentries. I can then introduce you as a comrade, devoted to the service of Don Rafael Tres-Villas, and who offers to assist in delivering the Colonel from danger.”

“Precisely so, that is, if the Colonel be still alive.”

“Quien viva!” came the sonorous hail of a sentinel from the crenelled parapet.

“Gente de paz!” replied Gaspar, advancing alone, while Zapote, notwithstanding the obscurity of the night, instinctively placed himself behind the trunk of a tree.

“What is your wish?” demanded the guard.

“I am the bearer of important news from the Colonel Tres-Villas,” answered Gaspar.

“And we wish to communicate them to Lieutenant Veraegui,” added Zapote, from behind, but without leaving the shelter of the tree.

“How many of you are there?” asked the sentinel.

“Two.”

“You may advance, then,” said the soldier, dropping his carbine to the “order arms.”

The gate was soon opened; and Gaspar and Zapote, entering within the fortress, were conducted by the corporal of the guard towards the quarters of his commander.

The Lieutenant Veraegui was, at the moment, within one of the chambers of the mansion, engaged over a game of cards with a young alferez. On the table before them stood a bottle of Catalan brandy – the product of his own native province – clear and strong as alcohol. A couple of glasses flanked the bottle, and beside them lay a pile of Havana cigars.

Zapote, on entering, could not help a slight tremor; which was increased as the Catalan Lieutenant bent upon him an inquisitorial look of his grey eyes, that glanced keenly under eyebrows long and grizzled like his moustaches.

Veraegui was a soldier of fortune, of rude unpolished speech, and with manners not very different from those which he had practised while wearing the chevrons of a Sergeant.

From the examination of Zapote, he passed unceremoniously to that of Gaspar, whose features he instantly recognised.

“Ah! it is you?” he said, addressing the messenger. “Well, you have seen the Colonel, and bring news from him? He has, I trust, escaped from the disaster of Huajapam.”

“Señor Lieutenant,” replied Gaspar, “I know not of what affair you are speaking. All I know is, that this morning the Colonel Tres-Villas was in the woods between here and the Ostuta – where the bandits of Arroyo were tracking him like a wild beast.”

“Ho!” cried the Lieutenant, angrily, as he started up from his chair; “and it is only now you tell me of this, when you might have brought the news in an hour?”

“Pardon, Lieutenant: both my companion and myself were also hunted by the same brigands; and we were not able to escape from the woods one minute sooner than we have done.”

“Ah! in that case, I ask your pardon, and that of your companion there,” continued the Lieutenant, turning to Zapote, “whom I should certainly have taken for a friend of Arroyo, rather than an enemy to that worthy individual. Where the devil have I seen you, my good fellow?” he added, fancying he recognised the features of the deserter.

“Oh! your honour, I have travelled a great deal,” replied Zapote, whose presence of mind did not forsake him. “It would not be strange if – ”

“So the Colonel has sent you to apprise me of his situation?” said the Lieutenant, without waiting for Zapote’s explanation.

“We met the Colonel without knowing him,” blundered out Gaspar. “It was only afterwards we learnt it was he.”

“Ha! that is very strange!” remarked the Catalan, again turning his eye upon the men with a suspicious glance.

Gaspar now related how, as he and his companion were flying from the bandits of Arroyo, Don Rafael had leaped down between them from the branches of a tree; and how they had parted from him without recognising him.

So far the story was well enough; but the narrator was treading on ground that was dangerous for Juan el Zapote. It remained to be explained how they had been informed, by the ex-comrades of the deserter, that the fugitive they had encountered was the Colonel Tres-Villas.

At this point Gaspar hesitated, while the suspicion glances of the Lieutenant flitted alternately from one to the other. Zapote, however, came resolutely to the aid of his companion.

“My compadre,” said he, “does not wish to tell the whole truth, out of regard for me. I shall speak for him; and this it is. In going away from here on his message to the Colonel, my friend Gaspar was captured by the scouts of Arroyo, and taken to the camp of the guerilleros. There he stood a very fair chance of losing his life, when, out of regard for our compadrazgo, and old acquaintance’ sake, I consented to assist him at the risk of losing my head.”

“Oh! you are then from the camp of Arroyo?”

“Yes,” muttered Zapote, in a tone of compunction, “the lamb is sometimes found in the company of wolves.”

“Especially when the lamb so nearly resembles a wolf, that it is difficult to distinguish them,” rejoined the lieutenant with a smile.

“I have always been an honest man,” affirmed Zapote, with a demure look. “Virtue has been my motto through life; and I assure your honour, that I was forced to consort with these brigands very much against my will. I was only too glad, when, to save my old compadre here, I found an opportunity of making some amends for the wicked life I have been obliged to lead in their company.”

“Hum!” said the Lieutenant, with a dubious shrug of the shoulders, “I suppose you expect your virtue to be well rewarded. But how did you ascertain that the man you encountered so unexpectedly was the Colonel?”

Zapote now recounted their subsequent interview with the brigands; and how he had learnt from them the object of their pursuit – as well as the adroit ruse he had practised to secure the escape of himself and his “compadre.”

“It’s all true as gospel!” affirmed Gaspar, when his companion had finished the relation.

Zapote also made known the advice he had given to Don Rafael: to conceal himself among the bamboos.

“At what place?” demanded the Lieutenant.

“Just below the ford,” answered the deserter.

“But, Señor Lieutenant,” added he, “I shall be most happy to conduct you to the spot myself.”

“You shall do no such thing, my brave fellow. You and your worthy compadre, as you call him, shall remain here as hostages, till Don Rafael is found. I have no confidence in lambs that have been so long in the company of wolves. If the Colonel be living, so may you; but if I find it otherwise, then your prospects – Ho, there!” cried the Lieutenant, without finishing the threat, “take these two men to the guard-house, and keep them there, till I order them to be set free.”

So saying, the Catalan poured out a glass of his favourite liquor, and commenced drinking it.

“What, and me, too?” inquired Gaspar, in a tone not very complimentary to his companion in misfortune.

“A fig for you! my worthy fellow!” rejoined the Lieutenant. “You should have remembered the proverb, mas vale viajar in solo que mal acompanado.” (Better travel alone than in bad company.)

“By the cross of Christ!” continued he, after quaffing off his glass, “I shall make short work of it with this bandit, Arroyo. To-night I shall finish with him and his band; and if I don’t give the jackals and vultures a meal that will last them for a twelvemonth, my name’s not Veraegui!”

At an order from his superior, the alferez flung down the cards, and hurried off to prepare the garrison troops for sallying out of the fort to the rescue of their Colonel; while the corporal of the guards conducted Gaspar and Zapote to the prison – the latter no little disconcerted at finding his first act of virtue so indifferently rewarded!

Chapter Seventy.
News Sweet and Sad

From the middle of the cane-brake where Don Rafael had found shelter, he was able through the stems of the bamboos to see the camp of Arroyo and his bandits. He could note many of the movements passing within their lines; and at length perceived the guerilleros striking their tents, and riding off in a body from the banks of the river.

He still kept his place, however, until the night had fairly come on, and then wading back to the high bank where the bamboo thicket commenced, he looked out upon the open space between the river and the edge of the forest.

At first, all was silent along the bank of the stream; but shortly after three horsemen were seen riding past, and not far behind them two other men followed, also on horseback.

The first party were Don Cornelio and his companions, making for the ford of the river. The other horsemen were two of Arroyo’s guerilla– who, by his orders, had remained near the hacienda Del Valle, for the purpose of taking down the heads of his three followers nailed over the gate – should an opportunity offer for their so doing. They had found the opportunity – as already known – and it was they who had passed Don Cornelio at the ford, and whose ambiguous speech had caused a difference of opinion, as to its meaning, between the Captain and Clara.

The first care of Don Rafael, as soon as he believed the road to be clear, was to recover his horse – which he had left tied in a thicket in the woods.

Like his master, Roncador had escaped the researches of the bandits; but so weak was he with thirst and hunger, that Don Rafael had doubts whether the poor animal would be able to carry him. It was necessary that he should take the horse to the river, in order to water him. This required to be done by stealth; for, although Don Rafael had witnessed the departure of the guerilleros from the ford, he did not know whether those who blockaded the hacienda had also gone away.

After giving Roncador his drink, just as he was leading the horse up the bank again, he perceived a man coming from the direction of the ford. As this man was on foot and alone, Don Rafael resolved to stop and question him. Sabre in hand, therefore, he placed himself in front of the pedestrian.

The latter, thus assailed by a man with a naked sword – and who was covered from head to foot with a coating of mud – was almost frightened out of his senses.

“Oh, Lord!” he cried, “help a poor servant who is seeking assistance for his master!”

“Who is your master?” demanded Don Rafael.

“Don Fernando Lacarra,” answered the man.

“Of the hacienda San Carlos?”

“Si, Señor. You know him?”

“Yes: is he in any danger?”

“Alas!” replied this servant, “the hacienda is pillaged by guerilleros; and, just as I was leaving it, I heard the groans of my poor master under the lash of their Captain Arroyo – ”

“Again this villain!” muttered Don Rafael, interrupting the narrator with his angry soliloquy.

“Ah! he is always committing some crime,” rejoined the servant.

“And your mistress – the Doña Marianita – what of her?”

“It was to make him tell where she was concealed that Arroyo was flogging my master,” replied the man. “Fortunately I was able to get her out of the way, by assisting her to descend from the window of the chamber where they had hidden her. Afterwards I got off myself, and am now on my way to the hacienda Del Valle, in hopes of getting assistance from its brave defenders, who themselves never violate the laws of war.”

“But how will you get in there? Are not some of Arroyo’s guerilleros still besieging the place?”

“No, Señor. The whole band is now at San Carlos.”

“Good!” exclaimed the Colonel. “Come along with me, and I promise you a prompt and bloody vengeance.”

Without further explaining himself, Don Rafael leaped upon his horse, directing the domestic to mount behind him, and then started off at a rapid trot in the direction of Del Valle.

“Where did you leave your mistress?” inquired Don Rafael, as they rode on.

“In truth, sir,” replied the domestic, “I was so confused when she left me, that I did not think of reminding her to fly to Del Valle. I only told her to make into the woods near San Carlos. But the most important matter was for her to get out of the reach of Arroyo; and I hope she will be safe in the chapparal. Poor young creature! She was so happy this morning. She was expecting on this very night the arrival of her father and sister – neither of whom she has seen for a long time.”

The Colonel could not hinder himself from shuddering.

“Are you sure that it is to-night that Don Mariano and Doña Gertrudis are expected at San Carlos?” he inquired, with a tone of anxiety in his voice.

“Yes; a letter had reached my master to say so. God forbid that they, too, should fall into the hands of these merciless men! They say, too, that Arroyo is an old servant of Don Mariano.”

“Let us hope they may not come!” said the Colonel, with a choking effort.

“It may be,” continued the domestic, “that the illness of Doña Gertrudis may detain them a day or two on the journey. That would be the luckiest thing that could happen.”

“What say you? is Doña Gertrudis ill!”

“Señor!” exclaimed the domestic, “you, who appear to know the family, are you ignorant that Doña Gertrudis is only the shadow of her former self, and that some secret grief is wasting her away? But, Señor, why do you tremble?” inquired the man, who, with his arm round his waist, felt the nervous agitation of Don Rafael’s body.

“Oh, nothing,” replied the latter; “but tell me – does any one know the cause of her grief?”

“Rather say, who is there who don’t know it, Señor? Doña Gertrudis was in love with a young officer; and so fondly, that it is said she cut off the whole of her beautiful hair, as a sacrifice to the Holy Virgin, for saving his life on an occasion when he was in danger! And yet for all this, he who was thus loved proved faithless, and deserted her!”

“Well?” mechanically interposed Don Rafael.

“Well,” continued the servant, “the poor young lady is dying on account of being so deserted – dying by inches; but surely – why, Señor, you are certainly ill? I feel your heart beating against my hand as if it would leap out of your bosom!”

“It is true,” answered Don Rafael, in a husky voice. “I am subject to severe palpitations; but presently – ” The Colonel, for support, fell back against the domestic, his herculean strength having yielded to the powerful emotions which were passing within him. “Presently,” he continued, “I shall get over it. I feel better already. Go on with your history. This man – this officer – did he ever tell Doña Gertrudis that he no longer loved her? Does he love any other?”

“I do not know,” was the response of the domestic.

“Could she not have sent him word – say by some means agreed upon – which should bring him back to her from the farthest corner of the earth? Perhaps then – ”

Don Rafael could not finish what he intended to have said. A bright hope, long time suppressed, began to spring up within his heart, and with such force, that he feared to know the truth – lest it should be crushed on the instant.

“Señor, you ask me more than I am able to answer,” rejoined the domestic. “I have told you all I know of this sad story!”

Heaving a deep sigh, the Colonel remained for some moments silent. After a while, he resumed the conversation, by putting a question, the answer to which might terminate his doubts.

“Have you ever heard the name of this young officer?”

“No,” replied the domestic; “but were I in his place, I should not leave this young lady to die, for one lovelier I never beheld in all my life.”

These were the last words spoken on either side: for at that moment the voices of the sentinels, challenging from the walls of the hacienda, put an end to the conversation.

“Say to Lieutenant Veraegui,” commanded Don Rafael, in reply to the challenge, “that it is Colonel Tres-Villas.”

The sound of the trumpets inside soon after signalised the joy felt by the garrison at the return of their old commandant, while the domestic of Don Fernando flung himself promptly to the ground, asking a thousand pardons for not recognising the quality of his compagnon de cheval.

“It is I who have most reason to feel obliged,” said Don Rafael. “Remain here till I see you again. I may, perhaps, need you for an important message.”

The domestic bowed respectfully, taking hold of the bridle of Don Rafael’s horse, while the Lieutenant Veraegui, the alferez, with several soldiers of the garrison, came forth with torches to congratulate their superior officer on his escape from the dangers that had so lately surrounded him.

As soon as their first greetings had been exchanged, Veraegui informed the Colonel that they were just about preparing to start upon an expedition against the banditti of Arroyo.

“You know where they are, then?” said Don Rafael.

“Not the precise spot. But it is not difficult to find the traces of these gentry,” replied Catalan.

“True,” rejoined the Colonel. “But I chance to know their whereabouts. They are just now at the hacienda of San Carlos. This faithful servant, who is holding my horse, has lately escaped from them, and come to beg your assistance to rescue his master from the brutal outrages they are at this moment inflicting upon him. Lieutenant Veraegui! see that your men are provided with a sufficient quantity of ropes. Let a piece of ordnance be mounted upon the back of a mule: we shall, no doubt, require it to force open the gate.”

“But, Señor Colonel, what do you want with the ropes?” inquired the Lieutenant, with a significant smile.

“For the execution of these brigands. We shall hang them to the last man, my dear Veraegui.”

“Good!” assented the Catalan, in a joyous accent, “and this time by the heels, I hope. I shall never forgive myself for my foolish indulgence – ”

“What! you have spared some of them?” interrupted Don Rafael.

“I have been too merciful to four whom I captured yesterday – in hanging them by the necks. But, by the way, Colonel, now I think of it, two odd fellows came in a while ago, who say that they wish to speak with you.”

“I cannot receive them now,” answered Don Rafael, little suspecting the supreme happiness their message would have given him. “I shall see them on my return. We have already wasted too much time, while the worthy proprietor of San Carlos is no doubt counting the minutes in anguish. I shall not even stay to change my dress; so haste, and get your men upon horseback.”