s.'

"`God alone knows who this man was,' said Tiburcio, `he alone knows
him.'

"`He only!' cried the dying woman, with an air of disdain. `Is this the
language of a man? When the Indians come to steal his cattle from the
vaquero, does he sit still and say: _God only can prevent them_? No!--
with his eye bent, and his hand ready, he follows upon their traces,
till he has recovered his herds, or perished in the attempt. Go you and
do as the vaquero! Track out the assassin of your father. That is the
last wish of her who nourished you, and has never failed in her
affection.'

"`I shall obey you, my mother,' answered the young man, in a firm voice.

"`Listen, then, to what I have got to say!' continued the widow. `The
murder of Arellanos is no longer a supposition, but a reality. I have
it from a herdsman who came from the country beyond Tubac. Some days
before, he had met two travellers. One was your father Marcos; the
other was a stranger to him. The herdsman was travelling on the same
route, and followed them at some distance behind. At a place where
certain signs showed that the two travellers had made their bivouac, the
herdsman had found the traces of a terrible struggle. The grass was
bent down, and saturated with blood. There were tracks of blood leading
to a precipice that hung over a stream of water; and most likely over
this the victim was precipitated. This victim must have been Marcos;
for the herdsman was able to follow the trail of the murderer by the
tracks of his horse; and a little further on he noticed where the horse
had stumbled on the left fore-leg. The assassin himself must have been
wounded in the struggle, for the herdsman could tell by his tracks
leading to the precipice that he had limped on one leg.'"

Don Augustin listened with attention to this account--proving the
wonderful sagacity of his countrymen, of which he had almost every day
some new proof. The monk went on with his narration.

"`Swear then, Tiburcio, to avenge your father!' continued the dying
woman. `Swear it, and I promise to make you as rich as the proudest in
the land; rich enough to bend to your wishes the most powerful--even the
daughter of Augustin Pena, for whom your passion has not escaped me.
This day you may aspire to her hand without being deemed foolish; for I
tell you, you are as rich as her own father. Swear, then, to pursue to
the death the murderer of Arellanos?'

"`I swear it,' rejoined T