"The sand whirls down there, but it is only the wind that is stirring
it. They are alone, and now they stop and look about them."

So saying, Bois-Rose rose slowly, like the eagle who agitates before
completely unfolding his wings--those powerful wings the rapid flight of
which will soon bring him down to the plain.

"Senor Don Estevan," said Pedro Diaz, "I think we should return to the
camp."

Don Antonio hesitated a moment. The counsel was good, but it was too
late to follow it.

From the top of the rock the three hunters watched their every movement.

"It is time," said Bois-Rose.

"I must take Don Antonio alive," said Fabian. "Arrange that, and I care
for nothing else."

Bois-Rose now rose to his fall height, and uttered a cry which struck on
the ears of the new-comers. They uttered an exclamation of surprise,
which surprise was still further increased at sight of the gigantic
Canadian upon the rock.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" cried a voice, which Fabian
recognised as that of Don Antonio.

"I shall tell you," replied the hunter; "it will recall to you a truth--
never contested either in my country or in the desert--that the ground
belongs to the first occupants; we were here before you, and are the
sole masters of this place. We therefore wish one of you to retire with
a good grace, and the other to surrender himself, that we may teach him
a second law of the desert, `blood for blood.'"

"It is some anchorite whose brain is turned by solitude," said Pedro
Diaz; "I shall terminate the conference with a bullet from my rifle."

"No!" cried Don Estevan, stopping him, "let us see first how far this
folly will go. And which of us is it, friend," continued he, with an
ironical air, "to whom you wish to teach this law?"

"To you," cried Fabian, rising.

"What! you here!" cried Don Estevan with mingled rage and surprise.

Fabian bowed.

"And here am I, who have been following you for the last fortnight,"
said Pepe, "and who thanks God for the opportunity of paying off a debt
of twenty years' standing."

"Who are you?" asked Don Estevan, trying to remember who it was, for
years and difference of costume had altered the aspect of the old
coast-guardsman.

"Pepe the Sleeper, who has not forgotten his residence at Ceuta."

At this name, which explained Fabian's words at the bridge of Salto de
Agua, Don Estevan lost his air of contempt. A sudden presentiment
seemed to warn him that his f