"Kill you? Nonsense," the hunter said, with a smile of contempt.

"Creatures of your kind are not killed. In the first flush of pa.s.sion we crush them under our boot heel, like venomous reptiles: but, on reflection, we prefer plucking out their teeth. That is what I have done, viper? Now bite if you dare!"

A fearful rage took possession of the Spanish girl; she raised her whip, and with a movement more rapid than thought struck Valentine across the face, merely hissing the word:

"Coward!"

At this insult the hunter lost his coolness. He drew a pistol and fired it point blank at this woman, who sat before him motionless, and smiling. But she had not lost one of the Frenchman's movements out of sight. She made her horse leap on one side, and the bullet whistled inoffensively past her ear.

At the sound of the firing, the hunters felt alarmed, and they galloped up to the spot, to inquire what had occurred. The shot had been scarce fired ere Pedro Sandoval, who had hitherto listened with apparent indifference to the conversation, dashed at Valentine, brandishing a long knife which he had managed to conceal.

The hunter, who had regained his presence of mind, awaited him firmly; and as the pirate came up to him, he stopped him short with a bullet through his body. The villain rolled on the ground with a yell of disappointed rage.

The Spanish girl looked around her disdainfully, made her horse bound, and started at an incredible pace amidst the bullets that whizzed round her from all sides, crying in a hoa.r.s.e voice:--

"We shall meet again, soon, Valentine. Till then, farewell."

The hunter would not allow her to be pursued, and she soon disappeared in the tall gra.s.s.

"Oh, oh, this scamp seems to me very ill," the general said, after dismounting. "What the deuce shall we do with him?"

"Hang him!" Valentine observed, drily.

"Well," the general continued, "that is not such a bad idea. In that way, we shall get rid of one of the villains, and, on reflection, that will prevent him feeling the pain of his wound."

"Let us finish with him," Don Miguel interrupted.

"_Caspita!_ what a hurry you are in, my friend," the general answered.

"Hum! I am certain he is not in such haste--are you, my good fellow?"

"Come," Valentine said, with that mocking expression he had through his Parisian birth, and which broke out at intervals--"our friend is in luck. He has fallen at the foot of a splendid tree, which will form an observatory whence he can admire the landscape at his ease. Curumilla, my worthy fellow, climb up the tree, and bend down that branch as much as you can."

Curumilla, according to his laudable habit, executed immediately the order given him, though without uttering a word.

"Now, my good fellow," the hunter continued, addressing the wounded man, "if you are not a thorough Pagan, and can recollect any prayer, I should recommend you to repeat it, for it will do you more good than ever it did."

And, raising Sandoval in his arms, who maintained a gloomy silence, he pa.s.sed the cord round his neck.

"One moment," Curumilla remarked, as he seized with his left hand the bandit's thick hair.

"That is true," said the hunter. "It is your right, chief, so make use of it."

The Indian did not wait for this to be repeated. In a second he had scalped the Spaniard, who looked at him with flashing eyes, and coldly placed the dripping scalp in his girdle. Valentine turned away his head in disgust at this hideous sight, but the Spaniard did not give vent to a groan.

As soon as he had placed the running noose round the bandit's neck, Valentine threw the cord to Curumilla, who attached it firmly to the branch, and then came down again.

"Now that justice is done, let us go," said Valentine.

The witnesses of the execution remounted. The branch which had been held down flew back, bearing with it the body of the pirate.

Pedro Sandoval remained alone, quivering in the last convulsions of death.

So soon as Valentine and his comrades were out of sight, several Apaches, at the head of whom were Red Cedar and the White Gazelle, started out of a thicket. An Indian climbed up the tree, cut the rope, and the body of the Spaniard was gently laid on the ground. He did not give a sign of existence.

The girl and Red Cedar hastened to give him help, in order to recall life, were it possible, to this poor and fearfully mutilated body; but all their efforts seemed futile. Pedro Sandoval remained cold and inert in the arms of his friends. In vain had they removed the slip knot which pressed his throat--his swollen and blue veins would not diminish in size, or his blood circulate. All seemed over.

As a last chance, an Apache took a skinful of water, and poured the contents on the bare and bleeding skull of the Spaniard. At the contact of this cold shower, his whole body trembled, a deep sigh burst with an effort from his oppressed chest, and the dying man painfully opened his eyes, fixing a sad and languishing glance on those who surrounded him.

"Heaven be praised!" said the girl; "He is not dead."

The bandit looked at the girl with that gla.s.sy and wandering stare which is the infallible sign of a speedy death; a smile played round his violet lips, and he muttered in a low and inarticulate voice:

"No, I am not dead, but I shall soon be so."

Then he closed his eyes again, and fell back, apparently in his former state of insensibility. The spectators anxiously followed the progress of this frightful agony: White Gazelle frowned, and, bending over the dying man, put her mouth to his ear.

"Do you hear me, Sandoval?" she said to him.

The bandit suddenly quivered, as if he had received an electric shock.

He turned toward the speaker, and partially opened his eyes.

"Who is near me?" he asked.

"I, Pedro. Do you not recognise me, old comrade?" Red Cedar said.

"Yes," the Pirate said, peevishly, "I recognise you; but it was not you I wished to see."

"Whom do you mean?"

"The Nina. Has she abandoned me too--she, for whom I am dying!"

"No, I have not abandoned you," the girl quickly interrupted him; "your reproach is unjust--for it was I who succoured you. Here I am, father."

"Ah," he said, with a sigh of satisfaction, "you are there, Nina; all the better. G.o.d, if there be a G.o.d, will reward you for what you have done."

"Do not speak of that, but tell me why you asked for me, father."

"Do not give me that name," the bandit said violently; "I am not your father!"

There was a moment's silence; at length the Pirate continued, in an almost indistinct voice, and as if speaking to himself--

"The hand of G.o.d is in this--it was He who decreed that at the last moment the daughter of the victim should see one of the princ.i.p.al a.s.sa.s.sins die."

He shook his head piteously, sighed and added, mournfully--

"That is the hand of G.o.d."

His hearers looked at each other silently; an instinctive fear, a species of superst.i.tious terror had seized upon them, and they did not dare question this man. A few minutes elapsed.