Last of the Incas: A Romance of the Pampas

"No!" Pedrito said.

"What do you mean by no?"

"I have just come from there, and should have seen him."

"Where is he?"

"That's the very point; I may say, like you, I do not know, or, if you prefer it, I am ignorant."

"Don Pedro, let us go to San Julian."

"I will carry you, then, at a walking pace; your head has not closed again yet, and a rapid ride would envenom the wound."

"No matter; I must go there with the speed of the wind."

"Then you want to kill yourself?"

"I do not care. I think you love Don Valentine Cardoso and his daughter."

"Caray! If I love them! I would lay down my life for them."

"The happiness, perhaps the life, of Doña Concha is at stake; you can see that mine is of no consequence."

"That is true," the bombero said, with an air of conviction.

"Then you consent?"

"I do."

"Thank you! One word more. If I die on the road, you will tell Doña Concha that the assassin – "

"That the assassin – " Pedrito repeated, finding the other hesitate.

"But, no," the capataz continued, "it is unnecessary. God will not permit me to die before I have seen her."

"As you please. Let us be off."

"At full speed; you promise that?"

"Like lightning."

He remounted, placed before him the capataz, who had no horse, and who, besides, was too weak to sit one, then relaxing the bridle, and digging in his spurs, he flew along with the velocity of the phantom horse in the German ballad.

Pedrito's horse, when it reached the gates of the estancia, slipped with all four feet at once, and fell dead. But the bombero, who had foreseen this accident, came down on his feet, and holding in his arms his friend the capataz, whom the shocks of this infernal ride had caused to faint for the second time.

Patito helped the bombero to carry poor Don Blas as far as the house.

Doña Concha, who had regained her senses, insisted, in spite of her father's entreaties, on remaining by the side of the wounded man. She lavished attentions on him, poured into his month a few drops of a powerful cordial, and awaited his return to life.

"Forgive me, señorita, forgive me," he said, as soon as he opened his eyes again and perceived her, "I could not save him; my strength deserted me."

"I have nothing to forgive you, Don Blas," the young lady answered, who had learnt the facts from Pedrito; "on the contrary, my friend, I thank you for your devotion. One word, however, when you fell was Don Sylvio still fighting by your side?"

"Yes, señorita."

"Then it was only after your fall that he succumbed to the numbers?"

"No; Don Sylvio is not dead."

"What makes you suppose that?"

"A very simple thing: had he been killed, his body would have been found lying by my side. What interest could the assassins have in concealing a corpse, when they left seven lying in the middle of the road? If they wished to hide their crimes, a hole is soon dug in the sand."

"That is true," Doña Concha murmured, "he still lives; but do you know the author of the crime?"

"Yes, señorita."

"And – "

The capataz looked at the persons who crowded the room. Doña Concha understood him, and dismissed them. Pedrito was about to follow with the rest.

"Remain," she said to him, "you can speak before Don Pedro, his sister, and my father. Who is the man that attacked you?"

"Permit me, señorita, I do not positively say that he was among the assassins, for I did not see him; but it is certainly he who let the cowards loose upon us, and directed them from a distance."

"Yes, Don Blas; he was the head, and these ten or twelve bandits were only the arms."

"The very thing. Among the dead I found the corpse of one of his confidants, the gaucho Corrocho, whom I surprised the other day conspiring with him against you."

A bitter smile for a moment curled the young lady's blanched lips.

"Will you tell me his name or no?" she exclaimed, stamping her foot passionately.

"Don Torribio Carvajal!"

"I knew it!" she said, with an accent of superb disdain. "Oh, Don Torribio, Don Torribio! Where is the man to be found at this hour; where is he? Oh, I would give my fortune, my life, to be face to face with him. Is it in order to assassinate his rivals with impunity that this mysterious man – "

She could not complete the sentence; she burst into tears, and fell into Don Valentine's arms, exclaiming with broken sobs —

"Father, father! who will avenge me?"

"Señorita," said Pedrito, "the man you refer to is difficult to reach."

"Do you know him, Don Pedro?" she asked with a start.

"Yes, señorita," he replied. "But do you know who he is?"

"He is said to be a rich Spaniard."