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Updated: May 23, 2025
Bois-Rose followed with great gigantic strides, loading his rifle as he went. When he had finished, he again stopped. Pedro Diaz, devoted to the last, rushed towards the gun which had fallen from Don Estevan's hands, picked it up, and returned it to him. "Let us defend ourselves to the last!" cried he, drawing his long knife.
It is true, he said to himself, I shall neither be a count, marquis, or duke of any kind, but to my thinking, half a million of money is worth more than a title, and will multiply my pleasures considerably. This fatal event will besides hasten the period of my marriage. Perhaps after all Don Estevan's death is not a misfortune. "Poor Don Estevan," he continued aloud, "what an unexpected blow!"
But her heightened colour and the fire in her large dark eyes completely belied her efforts. "Ah!" cried Don Augustin, "if these three brave men had been under Don Estevan's command, the fate of the expedition might have been far different." "I am of the same opinion," replied Gayferos, "but God had ordained it otherwise.
When he shall have established the fact that Don Estevan's return is impossible and as young girls do not readily meet with Senators in the heart of the desert nor do the latter often find there girls whose marriage portion is worth two hundred thousand piastres " "Carramba! that is a high figure."
"Continue!" said the haciendado; "but, in your recital, which is deeply interesting to a man who was himself during six months held captive by the Indians, I seek in vain for any details relative to poor Don Estevan's death." "I am ignorant of them," continued Gayferos, "and I can only repeat the words spoken by the youngest of the three hunters, when I questioned him upon the subject."
At the same time Don Estevan's tent was struck, and a calm succeeded to the tumult. The desert was silent also; the moon no longer shone on the Indians, who had all disappeared like a bad dream chased away by the return of morning. It was a dead silence the precursor of the storm and there seemed in this silence something fearful.
There was so much truth in the manner with which Fabian pronounced these words, that, for an instant, Don Estevan's countenance lost its expression of gloomy defiance, and was even lit up by a ray of hope, for the Duke de Armada recollected that he stood face to face with the heir for whom, in his pride, he had once mourned. It was therefore in a less severe tone that he asked
"Yes; and by what chance are you so far from the camp?" The wounded man recounted how, by Don Estevan's orders, he had set off to seek for their lost guide, and that his evil star had brought him in contact with the Indians as they were hunting the wild horses. "What is the name of your guide?" "Cuchillo." Fabian and Bois-Rose glanced at each other.
When Don Augustin Pena returned, he found his daughter alone, and still kneeling; he waited until her prayer was finished. The news of Don Estevan's death so entirely occupied the haciendado's mind that he naturally attributed Dona Rosarita's pious action to another motive than the true one.
As Diaz ceased speaking, the Spanish nobleman, armed with the pride which never deserted him, approached the pyramid with a firm step. Pepe had rejoined his two companions. Don Estevan's looks, as he advanced, displayed a dauntless composure equally removed from bravado or weakness which won a glance of admiration from his three enemies all of them excellent judges of courage.
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