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Such was the man who was listening to Panchito in the brake, and all that was known about him.
"Enough!" he said passionately, interrupting the gaucho; "you are a dog, and the son of a dog."
"Señor!" said Panchito, drawing himself up.
"I am inclined to crush you, like the wretch you are."
"Threats to me!" the gaucho shouted, pale with rage, and drawing his knife.
Don Torribio clutched the fellow's wrist with his gloved hand, and twisted it so rudely, that he let the weapon fall with a cry of pain.
"On your knees, and ask pardon," the gentleman said, as he twisted Panchito to the ground.
"No; kill me sooner."
"Begone, villain; you are only a brute beast."
The gaucho rose tottering, his eyes were filled with blood, his lips were livid, and his whole body trembled. He picked up his knife, and approached Don Torribio, who waited for him with folded arms.
"Well, yes," he said; "I am a brute beast, but I love you, after all. Forgive me or kill me, but do not send me away."
"Begone!"
"Is that your last word?"
"Yes."
"To the demon, then."
And the gaucho, with a movement rapid as thought, raised his knife to stab himself.
"I forgive you," Don Torribio said, after checking Panchito's arm; "but if you wish to serve me, be dumb as a corpse."
The gaucho fell at his feet, and covered his hand with kisses, like a dog licking his master, who has chastised it. Corrocho had remained a motionless observer of the scene.
"What power does this strange man possess to be thus beloved?" muttered Blas Salazar, who was still concealed behind his tree.
CHAPTER III.
DON TORRIBIO CARVAJAL
After a short silence, Don Torribio continued —
"I know that you are devoted to me, and I have perfect confidence in you; but you are a drunkard, Panchito, and drink is a bad counsellor."
"I will drink no more," the gaucho answered.
Don Torribio smiled.
"Drink, but without destroying reason. In drunkenness people utter words, as you did just now, which cannot be recalled, and are more deadly than a dagger. It is not your master who is now speaking, but the friend. Can I count on both of you?"
"Yes," the gaucho said.
"I am going away; but you must not leave the colony, but be ready for anything. Before all, carefully watch the house of Don Valentine Cardoso, both inside and out. If anything extraordinary happens to him or his daughter Doña Concha, you will immediately light two fires, one on the cliff of the Urubús, the other on that of San Xavier, and within a few hours you will hear from me. Do you promise to execute promptly and devotedly any order of mine, however extraordinary it may appear to you?"
"We swear it."
"That is well. One word in conclusion. Connect yourselves with as many gauchos as you can; try, without exciting suspicion, which always sleeps with one eye open, to collect a band of determined fellows. By the by, distrust Patito: he is a traitor."
"Must he be killed?" Corrocho asked.
"Perhaps it would be prudent, but you would have to get rid of him cleverly."
The two gauchos exchanged a side glance, but Don Torribio pretended not to see it.
"Do you want money?"
"No, master."
"No matter; take this."
He threw to Corrocho a long silk purse, through the meshes of which a great number of gold ounces glittered.
"My horse, Panchito."
The gaucho entered the wood, and almost immediately re-appeared, holding the bridle of a magnificent charger, upon whose back Don Torribio leaped.
"Farewell," he said to them; "prudence and fidelity; any indiscretion would cost your life."
And, after giving the gauchos a friendly nod, he dug his spurs into the horse's sides, and went off in the direction of Carmen, while Corrocho and Panchito went back toward Población del Sur. As soon as they had gone some distance, the bushes in a corner of the brake were shaken, and a face pale with fear peeped out. This head belonged to Patito, who, with a pistol in one hand, and a knife in the other, drew himself up, and looked around with great agitation, while muttering in a low voice —
"¡Canario! kill me cleverly. We shall see, we shall see. ¡Santa Virgen del Pilar! What demons! Well, listening is a good thing."
"It is the only way to hear," someone replied a mocking voice.
"Who's there?" Patito shouted, as he leaped on one side.
"A friend!" Blas Salazar answered, as he came from behind the maple and joined the gaucho, whose hand he shook.
"Ah, ah, capataz, you are welcome. You were listening too, then?"
"I should think so. I took advantage of the opportunity to instruct myself about Don Torribio."
"Well?"
"This caballero appears to me a precious scoundrel, but, with the aid of Heaven, we will ruin his dark schemes."
"So be it!"
"And, in the first place, what do you intend to do?"
"On my word I do not know. There's a buzzing in my ears, 'kill me cleverly.' Corrocho and Panchito are certainly the most hideous villains of the Pampa."
"¡Caramba! I have known them a long time, and at present they alarm me but slightly."
"But me?"
"Nonsense; you are not dead yet."
"I am not much better."
"What, are you afraid? You, the boldest panther hunter of my acquaintance?"
"A panther is, after all, only a panther, and you can get the better of it with a bullet; but the two fellows Don Torribio has let loose on me are demons."
"That is true; so let us proceed to the most important point. Don Valentine Cardoso, whose capataz I am, is my foster brother, that is to say, I am devoted to him body and soul. Don Torribio is forming some infernal plot against my master's family, which I wish to foil. Are you decided to lend me a hand? Two men who have only one will between them can do a great deal."
"Frankness for frankness, Don Blas," Patito answered, after a moment's reflection. "This morning I should have refused, this evening I accept, because I no longer run a risk of betraying the gauchos, my comrades. The position is changed. Kill me cleverly! By Heaven I will avenge myself. I belong to you, capataz, as my knife blade does to its hilt – yours, body and soul, on the word of a gaucho."
"Excellent," said Don Blas, "we shall be able to understand each other. Get on your horse and go and wait for me at the estancia. I shall return there after sunset, and we will draw up the plan of the countermine."
"Agreed. Where are you going?"
"To Don Valentine Cardoso."
"This evening, then?"
"This evening."
They then separated. Patito, whose horse was hidden a short distance off, galloped toward the Estancia of San Julian, of which Don Blas was the capataz, while the latter proceeded in great haste toward the Población.
Don Valentine Cardoso was one of the richest landed proprietors in Carmen, where his family had been established since the foundation of the colony. He was a man of about five and forty. As his family originally came from old Castile, he had retained the handsome type of that race, a type which was recognized in his face by the vigorously marked lines, with which was combined a certain air of proud majesty, to which the rather sad eyes imparted an expression of gentleness and kindness.
Left a widower after two too short years of marriage, Don Valentine had kept the memory of his wife locked up in his heart like a sacred relic, and he believed that it was still loving her to devote himself entirely to the education of their daughter Concepción, called more familiarly Concha or Conchita.
Don Valentine lived in the Población of old Carmen, near the fort, in one of the handsomest and largest houses of the colony.
A few hours after the events we have recorded, two persons were seated near a brasero in a drawing room of this mansion.
In this drawing room, elegantly furnished in the French style, a stranger on opening the door might have believed himself transported to the Faubourg St. Germain; there was the same luxury in the paper hangings, the same taste in the choice and arrangement of the furniture. Nothing was wanting; not even an Erard pianoforte, covered with the scores of operas sung at Paris, and, as if better to prove that glory travels a great distance, that genius has wings, the fashionable romance writers and poets filled a buhl cheffonier. Here everything recalled France and Paris, excepting the silver brasero in which the smouldering olive stones indicated Spain. Chandeliers holding pink wax candles lit up this magnificent withdrawing room.
Don Valentine Cardoso and his daughter Conchita were seated near the brasero.
Doña Concha, who was scarcely fifteen years of age, was exquisitely beautiful. The raven arch of eyebrows, traced as with a pencil, heightened the grace of her rather low and pale forehead; her large blue and thoughtful eyes, fringed with long brown lashes, contrasted harmoniously with her ebony black hair which curled round her delicate neck, and in which odoriferous jessamine flowers were expiring in delight. Short, like all true-blooded Spanish women, her waist was exquisitely small. Never had smaller feet trodden in the dance the Castilian grass plots, and never had a more dainty hand nestled in that of a lover. Her movements, careless as those of all the creoles, were undulating and full of salero as the Spaniards say.
Her dress, which was charmingly simple, consisted of a dressing gown of white cashmere, embroidered with large silk flowers in bright colours, and fastened round the hips by a cord and tassels. A Mechlin lace veil was carelessly thrown over her shoulders, while her feet were thrust into pink slippers, lined with swan's-down.
Doña Conchita was smoking a tiny husk cigarette, while talking to her father.
"Yes, father," she said, "a ship has arrived to day from Buenos Aires, with the prettiest birds in the world."
"Well, little one?"
"I fancy that my dear little father," she remarked, with an adorable pout, "is not at all gallant this evening."
"What do you know about it, young lady?" Don Valentine replied with a smile.
"No, have you really," she said, bounding with delight in her chair, and clapping her hands, "thought of – "
"Buying you some birds? You will tomorrow see your aviary stocked with parrots, Bengalis, macaws, hummingbirds, in short, about four hundred specimens, you ungrateful little chit."
"Oh, how good you are, father, and how I love you," the girl replied, throwing her arms round Don Valentine's neck, and embracing him several times.
"Enough, enough, madcap. Do you want to stifle me with your caresses?"
"What can I do to requite your kindness?"
"Poor dear, I have only you to love now."
"Say adore, my darling father; for it is adoration you feel for me. Hence, I love you with all the strength God has placed in my heart."
"And yet," Don Valentine said, with a gentle accent of reproach, "you do not fear, naughty girl, to cause me anxiety."
"I?" Concha asked, with an internal tremor.
"Yes, you, you," he said, threatening her tenderly with his finger, "you hide something from me."
"Father!"
"Come, child, a father's eyes can read the heart of a girl of fifteen, and for some days past, if I am not mistaken, I have not been the sole object of your thoughts."
"That is true," the girl replied, with a certain amount of resolution.
"And whom are you dreaming of, little maid?" Don Valentine asked, hiding his anxiety behind a smile.
"Of Don Torribio Carvajal."
"Ah," the father cried, in a choking voice "and do you love him?"
"No," she answered; "listen, father, I will conceal nothing from you. No," she continued, laying her hand on her heart, "I do not love Don Torribio, still he occupies my thoughts; why, I cannot say, but his look troubles and fascinates me, his voice causes me a feeling of undefinable pain; he is handsome, his manners are elegant and noble, he has everything belonging to a gentleman of high caste, and yet something in him, something fatal, checks me, and inspires me with invincible repugnance."
"You romantic girl."
"Laugh at me, ridicule me," she said with a tremor in her voice. "Shall I confess all to you, father?"
"Speak with confidence."
"Well, I have a presentiment that this man will be dangerous to me."
"Child," Don Valentine replied, as he kissed her forehead, "what can he do to you?"
"I do not know; but I am afraid."
"Do you wish not to remain here any longer?"
"Heaven forbid! That would be hastening on the misfortune that threatens me."
"You are losing your head, and taking pleasure in creating chimeras."
At the same moment a man servant announced Don Torribio Carvajal, who entered the room.
The young man was dressed in the latest Parisian fashion, and the candles lit up his splendid face.
Father and daughter started.
Don Torribio walked up to Doña Concha, bowed to her gracefully, and offered her a superb bouquet of exotic flowers. She thanked him with a smile, took the bouquet, and almost without looking at it, laid it on a table.
In succession were announced the governor, Don Antonio Valverde, accompanied by his whole staff, and two or three other families, or altogether some fifteen persons. By degrees the conversation grew animated.
"Well, colonel," Don Valentine asked the governor, "What news from Buenos Aires?"
"Our great Rosas," the colonel answered, who was stifling in his uniform, "has again defeated Oribe's Unitarian savages."
"Heaven be praised! Perhaps that victory will procure us a little of that tranquillity which commerce requires."
"Yes," a colonist remarked, "the communications are becoming so difficult that nothing can be sent by land."
"Can the Indians be stirring?" a merchant asked anxiously, on hearing the observation.
"Oh!" the stout commandant interrupted, "There is no danger; the last lesson they received was rude, they will remember it a long time, and not dream of invading our frontiers for many a day to come."
An almost invisible smile played round Don Torribio's lips.
"In case of an invasion, do you consider them capable of seriously troubling the colony?"
"Hum!" Don Antonio answered, "Take them altogether they are poor scrubs."
The young man smiled again in a bitter and sinister manner.
"Excellency," he said, "I am of your opinion; I believe the Indians will do well in remaining at home."
"I should think so," the commandant exclaimed.
"Señorita," Don Torribio said, turning to Doña Concha, "would it be too great a favour to ask you to sing that delicious air from the Black Domino which you sang so exquisitely the other evening?"
The young lady, without farther pressing, sat down to the pianoforte, and sang the romance from the third act in a pure voice.
"I heard that sung in Paris by Madame Damoreau, a nightingale who has flown away, and I cannot say which of you displays more grace or simplicity."
"Don Torribio," Doña Concha answered, "you lived too long in France."
"Why so, señorita."
"Because you have come back a detestable flatterer."
"Bravo!" the governor said with a hearty laugh. "You see, Don Torribio, that our creoles are equal to the Parisian ladies in quickness of repartee."
"Incontestably, colonel," the young man replied; "but leave me alone," he added with an undefinable accent, "I shall soon take my revenge."
And he gave Doña Concha a look that made her shudder.
"I trust, Don Torribio," the governor said, "that you will be present tomorrow at the Te Deum chanted in honour of our glorious Rosas?"
"Impossible, colonel; this very evening I start on a compulsory journey."
"What, another of your mysterious excursions?"
"Yes, but this one will not be long, and I shall be back soon?"
"All the better."
"¿Quién sabe?" the young man murmured in a sinister voice.
Doña Concha, who had heard the last words, was not mistress of her terror.
The visitors took leave one after the other, and Don Torribio Carvajal was at length left alone with his hosts.
"Señorita," he said on taking leave, "I am setting out on a journey in which I shall doubtless incur great dangers. May I hope that you will deign to remember the traveller in your prayers."
Concha looked at him for a moment in the face, and replied with a frankness which was natural to her: —
"Señor Caballero, I cannot pray for the success of an expedition whose object I do not know."
"Thanks for your frankness, mademoiselle," Don Torribio answered without the slightest emotion, "I shall not forget your words."
And after the customary compliments he retired.
"The capataz of San Julian, Don Blas Salazar wishes to speak with Señor Don Valentine Cardoso on important business."
"Let him come in," Don Valentine said to the servant who had announced the capataz in so lengthy a fashion. "Conchita, come and sit by my side on this sofa."
Don Torribio was extremely agitated when he left the house; he turned round and darted a viper glance at the windows of the drawing room, across which Doña Concha's light shadow flitted.
"Proud girl," he said in a hollow and terrible voice, "I shall punish you for your disdain."
Then, wrapping himself in his cloak, he went at a rapid pace to a house situated a short distance off, where he generally lived when at Carmen. He knocked twice; the gate opened and closed after him.
Twenty minutes later the gate opened again to let two horsemen pass out.
"Master, where are we going?" one asked.
"To the tree of Gualichu," the other replied; and added in a whisper, "to seek vengeance."
The two horsemen entered the darkness, and the furious gallop of their horses was soon lost in the silence of night.
CHAPTER IV.
THE TREE OF GUALICHU
As a general rule, the Southern natives have a divinity, or to speak more correctly, a genius, sometimes benevolent, but more frequently maleficent, and their worship is less veneration than fear. This genius is called Achellenat Kanet by the Patagonians, Quecuba by the Aucas, and Gualichu by the Puelches. And, as the latter have more especially traversed the country in which the sacred, tree stands, they have perpetuated the name of their evil genius by giving it to the tree, to which they attribute the same power.
The belief in Gualichu dates back to the most remote antiquity on the Pampas.
This wicked god is simply a stunted tree, which, if mingled with other trees, would not have attracted attention; but which alone, and as it were lost in the immensity of the plains, serves as a beacon to the traveller wearied by a long journey across these oceans of sand. It rises to a height of thirty-five or forty feet, all twisted and prickly, and its withered trunk is rounded into a large cavity, in which men and women lay their presents in tobacco, beads, and corn. It is several centuries old, and belongs to that species of the acacia family which the Hispano-Americans designate by the name of Algarobo.
The wandering hordes of Indians, doubtless struck by the solitude of this tree in the midst of the deserts, constituted it the object of their worship. In fact, its branches are covered with various offerings, many of some value: here a poncho, there a manta; farther on woollen or cotton ribbons; while on all sides garments, more or less injured and torn by the wind, are affixed to the thorns, which gives this sacred tree the appearance of an old clothes' shop. No Indian, whether Aucas, Patagonian, Puelche, or Tehuetche, would venture to pass it without leaving something; and the man who has nothing else cuts off his horse's mane and fastens it to the tree. The most precious offering in the sight of the Indians is that of their horse; and hence the great number of slaughtered horses round the tree attests the vitality of their faith.
The religion of the Southern natives, thoroughly primitive and spared by the conquest, does not take the moral being into account, and is only arrested by accidents of Nature, of which it makes gods. These people strive to make the deserts, where fatigue and thirst produce death, and the rivers that may swallow them up, favourable to them.
At the foot of the tree of Gualichu, a few hours after the events already narrated, a strange scene was taking place, rendered still more striking by the density of the darkness, and by the storm which was approaching. Heavy black clouds rolled athwart the sky; the wind blew in gusts with a shrill whistle, and large drops of rain fell on the sand.
Around the sacred tree the Indians had improvised a village composed of some forty toldos raised hastily and without regularity. Before each toldo crackled a bright fire, round which two or three Indian squaws were crouching to warm themselves, without taking their eye off the hobbled horses which were devouring their stock of alfalfa.
An immense fire, resembling a funereal pyre, flamed a few paces from the tree of Gualichu, and was surrounded by twenty Indians, who stood apathetic and contemplative, and whose grand war paint led to the supposition that they were preparing for an important ceremony of their worship.
Suddenly a shrill whistle cleft the air, and announced the arrival of two horsemen; one of them dismounted, and threw his horse's bridle to his comrade, and walked into the circle formed by the warriors. This man wore the uniform of an officer of the Chilian army.
"I salute my brothers," he said, looking round him, "may Gualichu protect them."
"Salutation to Pincheira," the Indians responded; "are all the chiefs assembled?" he continued.
"All," a voice replied, "with the exception of Nocobotha, the grand Toqui of the Aucas."
"He will not be long; let us wait."
The silence had been scarce established, ere a second whistle was heard, and two fresh horsemen entered the circle of light projected by the fires.
Only one man dismounted. He was tall and fierce-looking, and dressed in the costume of the Aucas warriors, the most civilized and intelligent Indian nation in the whole of South America. These were the men who, almost unarmed, repulsed Almagro and his cuirassed soldiers in 1555, who triumphed over the unhappy Valdivia, and who, though constantly fought by the Spaniards, were never vanquished. The Aucas offered an asylum to the Incas whom Pizarro hunted like wild beasts, and who, as a reward for their hospitality, introduced among these Indians their own advanced civilization. By degrees the two nations became fused, and their hatred of the Spaniards has been perpetuated up to our day.
The warrior who had first entered the circle of Indian chiefs, was one of the most perfect types of this indomitable race; all his features bore the distinctive character of the haughty Incas, who were so long masters of Peru. His costume, differing from that of the Patagonians, who employ the skins of beasts, was composed of woollen cloth striped with silver. A blue chaman covered his body from the waist, where it was fastened with a woollen girdle down to the knee; in this way exactly resembling the chilipa of the gauchos, who borrowed from the Indians this garment and the short blue and red striped poncho; his boots armed with silver spurs, and cleverly sewn with the tendons of animals, were made of the tanned hide of the guemul, a species of llama; his hair was divided at the back of the head into three tails, fastened together at the end with a tuft of wool, while in front the rest of his hair was raised and fastened with a blue ribbon, which, after three turns, fell on one side, and terminated in small pieces of rolled up silver. His brow was girt by a circle of massive gold, a species of diadem, three inches in width, and in the centre of which sparkled a sun composed of precious stones; a diamond of enormous value hung from each of his ears; his cloak of guanaco skins which fell down to the ground, was held on his shoulders by a silk cord, and was fastened with a diamond. Two six-chambered revolvers glistened in his waist belt; on his right hip hung a machete, or short sabre with a very wide blade, and he held in his hand a double-barrelled rifle.
This warrior, on his arrival, created a lively sensation among the chiefs; all bowed before him respectfully, while murmuring with delight —
"Nocobotha! Nocobotha!"
The warrior smiled proudly, and took his place in the first rank of the chiefs.
"The nacurulu (Bubo Magellanicus) has sung twice," he said; "the osprey of the Rio Negro has raised its melancholy cry; the night is drawing to a close; what have the chiefs of the great nations resolved?"
"It would be useful, I think," one of the Indians answered, "to implore the protection of Gualichu for the council."
"The advice of my brother, Metipan, is wise. Let the matchi be warned."
While a chief went off to fetch the matchi, or sorcerer, another chief quitted the circle, went up to Nocobotha, whispered something to him, and then returned to his place. The Toqui of the Aucas laid his hand on his machete, and shouted in a loud and menacing voice —
"A traitor is among us! Attention, brothers."
A shudder of passion ran through the ranks, and each Indian looked at his neighbour.
"He must die!" they shouted unanimously.
"It is well," Nocobotha answered.
These words, spoken in Indian, must reach the traitor's ear as a vain sound, for the Aucas dialect is not generally understood by the Spaniards.
Still, a man, clothed like the other chiefs, and protected by the darkness, suddenly bounded far out of the circle, and uttered three different times the hoarse croak of the urubús. He leant against the trunk of the tree of Gualichu, and with his legs far apart, and a pistol in each hand, waited. This man was Pedrito, the bombero.
A living wall, formed of hundreds of Indians, rose in arms before him, and menaced him from all sides. Pedrito, to whom flight was impossible, frowned, gnashed his teeth, and foamed with rage.
"I am waiting for you, dogs," he yelled.
"Forward! Forward!" the Indians shouted.
"Silence!" Nocobotha ordered in a rough voice. "I wish to question him."
"What good is it?" Pincheira remarked, with a hateful expression. "He is one of those rats of the Pampa, whom the Spaniards call bomberos. I recognize him. Let us kill him at once."
"A bombero," the Indians yelled anew. "Death to him, death."
"Silence," said Nocobotha, "who dares to interrupt?"
At the command of the master silence was reestablished.
"Who are you?" the Toqui asked the bombero; "Who are you?" Pedrito replied with a grin, and crossing his arms, though he did not let go his pistols.
"Answer, if you would not die; you are in my power."
"A brave man only belongs to himself. He has always the resource of letting himself be killed."
"Perhaps so."
"Try to take me."
"Surrender, and no harm will be done you."
"A bombero never surrenders."
"Why did you introduce yourself among us."
"¡Canario! I came to witness your Indian jugglery, and learn the object of this nocturnal meeting."
"You are frank, at any rate, and I will take that into consideration. Come! Resistance would be useless, so surrender."
"Are you mad, my master?"
"Forward!" Nocobotha, who was boiling with rage, shouted to the Indians.
The latter rushed on. Two pistol shots were fired, and two Indians writhed on the sand. While the others hesitated, Pedrito returned his pistols to his belt, and drew his machete.
"Make way," he shouted.
"Death!" the warriors repeated.
"Way, way!"
And Pedrito dashed at the Indians, hitting right and left, cutting and pointing. Nocobotha threw himself in his path, with the roar of a wounded lion.
"Ah, ah," said the bombero, "my worthy chief, with the diamond sun, it is our turn."
All at once three shots were fired behind the Indians, and three horsemen dashed upon them, scattering terror and death around. The Indians, not knowing how many enemies they had to contend with, believed, owing to the darkness and the number of dead, that a considerable reinforcement had arrived, and began dispersing in all directions, with the exception of the more resolute, who held their ground and continued to resist the assailants. Among these were Nocobotha, Pincheira, and a few renowned chiefs.
The three bomberos, summoned by the hoarse croaking of Pedrito, had hastened up to their brother; they helped him to get onto the saddle of the horse they had brought up for him.
"Ah!" they shouted, "Down with the Indian dogs!"
Nocobotha dealt the Spaniard a blow with the machete, to which he responded by a cut that scarred his adversary's face. The Toqui uttered a cry, not of pain but of rage.
"Eh," the bombero said to him, "I shall recognize you, if ever we meet again, for you bear my marks."
"Villain!" the chief said, as he fired a pistol at him.
"Ah!" Pedrito muttered in his turn, as he sank in his saddle.
He would have fallen had not his sword prevented him.
"He has killed me," the wounded man said, in a faint voice. "Courage, brothers, do not leave my corpse to them."
The three bomberos, supporting their brother, redoubled their ardour to get him away from inevitable destruction; but how were they to fly? The Indians, when the first moment of panic had passed, being able to count their enemies, returned to the charge and threatened to overwhelm them by their numbers. The position was horrible, and Pedrito, who had retained his coolness, understood that his brothers were about to ruin themselves for him, so, sacrificing his life to save them, he shouted —
"Fly! Leave me alone here; in a few minutes I shall be dead."
"No!" they replied, making their horses prance to ward off the blows, "We will all get away or perish together."
Pedrito, who knew his brothers, was not ignorant that their resolution was unbending.
The fight was going on at this moment, two yards at the most from the tree of Gualichu, Pedrito, while his brothers were defending themselves on all sides at once, slipped down to the ground, and when the bomberos turned round, they found his horse without its rider. Pedrito had disappeared.
"He is dead, what is to be done?"
"Obey him, as we were unable to save him," Juan answered.
"Forward, then!"
And all three, tearing up their horses' sides with their spurs, bounded into the thick of the Indians. The collision was terrible; still, a few seconds later, the bomberos, saved from danger by their incredible audacity, were flying, like the wind, in three different directions, while uttering cries of triumph.
