are fully of the opinion that the man should
be got rid of? Let me tell you, then, that this man is no other than
Tiburcio Arellanos."

"Tiburcio!" exclaimed the two acolytes.

"Himself--and although, since he is one of my dearest friends, it goes
sadly against my heart, I declare to you that his life may render
abortive all the plans of our expedition."

"But," interposed Baraja, "why may he not lose it?--to-morrow in this
hunt of wild horses there will be a thousand opportunities of his losing
it?"

"True enough," said Cuchillo, in a solemn voice. "It is of great
importance he should not return from this hunt. Can I rely upon you,
gentlemen?"

"Blindly!" replied the two adventurers.

The storm was gathering over the head of poor Tiburcio, but danger
threatened him from still another quarter; and long before the expected
hunt, that danger would be at its height.

The three adventurers continued their conversation, and were entering
more particularly into the details of their design, when a knocking at
the outer door interrupted their sinister councils.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

TIBURCIO IN DANGER.

Cuchillo opened the door, outside of which appeared one of the
attendants of Don Estevan. Without entering the man communicated his
message--which was to Cuchillo himself--to the effect that Don Estevan
awaited him in the garden. The outlaw, without reply, followed the
servant, who conducted him to an alley between two rows of granadines,
where a man wrapped in his cloak was pacing to and fro, apparently
buried in a deep meditation. It was Don Estevan himself.

The approach of Cuchillo interrupted his reverie, and a change passed
over his countenance. Had Cuchillo not been preoccupied with his own
thoughts and purposes of vengeance, he might have observed on the
features of the Spaniard an expression of disdainful raillery, that
evidently concerned himself.

"You have sent for me?" said he to Don Estevan.

"You cannot otherwise than approve of my discretion," began the
Spaniard, without making answer. "I have allowed you time enough to
sound this young fellow--you know whom I mean. Well! no doubt you have
penetrated to the bottom and know all--you, whose perspicacity is only
equalled by the tenderness of your conscience?"

There was an ascerbity in this speech which caused the outlaw to feel
ill at ease, for it re-opened the wounds of his self-esteem.

"Well," continued Don Estevan, "what have y