arcely a movement of his lips:

"Keep steady in your stirrups, have your horse ready, and let me act."

Don Estevan made signs with his hand as though to demand a truce; but he
had taken a desperate determination.

"Bend down, Fabian; he is going to fire," cried Bois-Rose.

"Before my mother's murderer? Never!" cried Fabian. Quick as thought,
the hand of the Canadian giant on his shoulder, forced him down. Don
Estevan vainly sought for an aim for his double-barrelled piece. He
could see nothing but the formidable rifle of Bois-Rose directed towards
him, although in obedience to Fabian's wishes, Bois-Rose would not
finish the combat by striking his foe to the ground.

With as much courage as agility, Diaz now jumped up behind Don Estevan
on his horse, and throwing his arms around him to steady him after the
shock, seized the bridle, turned the animal round, and galloped off,
covering with his body, as with a buckler, the chief whose life he was
willing to save at the expense of his own. While Fabian and Pepe rushed
down the rock, at the risk of breaking their necks, Bois-Rose followed
the movements of the horse glancing along the barrel of his rifle.

The two men appeared to make but one body: the back of the horse and the
shoulders of Diaz were the only objects at which Bois-Rose could aim;
only now and then the head of the animal was visible. To sacrifice Diaz
would be a useless murder; and Don Estevan would still escape. A moment
more and the fugitives would be out of range; but the Canadian was of
that class of marksmen who lodge a ball in the eye of a beaver, that he
may not injure its skin; and it was the horse he wished to aim at. For
a single moment the head of the noble animal showed itself entirely--but
that moment was sufficient; a shot was heard, and the two men and the
death-stricken horse rolled over together on the ground.

Bruised by the violence of their fall, both men rose with difficulty;
while, their poignards in their teeth, and their rifles in their hands,
Fabian and Pepe advanced upon them. 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.

Don Estevan steadied himself and raised his piece, undecided for