grets. He was mounted
on the war-horse presented to him by Don Augustin Pena. From his left
hand hung by the sword-knot a long Toledo rapier, with the Spanish
device:

Do not draw me without cause,
Or sheathe me without honour.

The blade was red with blood. Diaz shaded his eyes with his right hand,
and tried to pierce the distant obscurity. All at once he perceived at
the end of the luminous zone projected by the fires, the man he was
seeking. He was making furious evolutions on his horse, and uttering
shouts of defiance. Diaz remembered the speech of the haciendado about
the horse he had given him--"The Indian whom you pursue must be mounted
on the wings of the wind if you do not catch him," and he resolved to
make the attempt. The noble animal, excited by the spur, leaped over
the intrenchments overthrown by the Indians, and the two were soon side
by side. The Indian brandished his hatchet, Diaz his sword, and for
some seconds there was a trial of agility, courage, and address. Each
sustained his country's reputation, but the Indian's hatchet broke to
pieces the sword of the Mexican. The two combatants then seized one
another round the body and tried to drag each other from their horses,
but like centaurs, each seemed to form a part of the animal he bestrode.

At last Diaz disengaged himself from his adversary's clasp, and backed
his horse, still facing the Indian. Then, when he was a little way off,
he caused his horse to rear so furiously that the animal seemed for a
moment to be raised over the Indian. At the same moment Diaz lifted his
right leg, and with a blow from the large heavy iron-bound stirrup,
broke his adversary's skull, whom his horse carried away dead from the
spot.

This last magnificent exploit seemed to end the battle; some arrows flew
harmlessly around Diaz, who was welcomed back with shouts of triumph by
his companions.

"Poor Benito!" cried Baraja; "may God rest his soul, I regret even his
terrific histories."

"What is still more to be regretted," interrupted Oroche, "is the death
of the illustrious Cuchillo, the guide of the expedition."

"Your ideas are still confused from the blow you received on your head,"
said Diaz, as he tried the flexibility of a new sword. "But for the
illustrious Cuchillo, as you call him, we should not have lost to-night
at least twenty brave comrades. Cuchillo unluckily died a day too late,
and I cannot say `God rest _his_ soul.'"

Meanw