he
hounds; but he endeavoured by a great show of assurance to make the best
of a position which was more than precarious.

The old hunter alone glanced towards Fabian, as though to ask what
motive this man, with his impudent and sinister manner, and his beard
covered with greenish mud, could offer for thus intruding himself upon
them.

"It is Cuchillo," said Fabian, answering Bois-Rose's look.

"Cuchillo, your unworthy servant," continued the bandit, "who has been a
witness to your prowess, most worthy hunter of tigers. Decidedly,"
thought Cuchillo, "my presence, is not so obnoxious to them as I should
have supposed."

Then feeling his assurance redoubled at the reception he had met with,
which though cold and silent as that with which every new-comer is
received in the house of death, still gave him courage to say, observing
the severe expression on every face:

"Pardon me, gentlemen! I observe you have business in hand, and I am
perhaps intruding; I will retire. There are moments when one does not
like to be disturbed: I know it by experience."

Saying these words, Cuchillo showed his intention of crossing a second
time the green inclosure of the valley of gold, when Bois-Rose's rough
voice arrested him.

"Stay here, as you value the salvation of your soul, master Cuchillo,"
said the hunter.

"The giant may have heard of my intellectual resources," thought
Cuchillo. "They have need of me. After all, I would rather go shares
with them than get nothing; but without doubt this Golden Valley is
bewitched. You allow, master hunter," he continued, addressing the
Canadian, and feigning a surprise he did not feel at the aspect of his
chief, "I have a--"

An imperious gesture from Fabian cut short Cuchillo's demand.

"Silence!" he said, "do not distract the last thought of a Christian who
is about to die."

We have said that a poignard planted in the ground no longer cast a
shadow.

"My lord of Mediana," added Fabian, "I ask you once again, by the name
we bear, by your honour, and the salvation of your soul, are you
innocent of my mother's murder?"

To this lofty interrogation, Don Antonio replied without relaxing his
haughty demeanour--

"I have nothing to say, to my peers alone I allow the right of judgment.
Let my fate and yours be accomplished."

"God sees and hears me," said Fabian. Then taking Cuchillo aside: "A
solemn sentence has been passed upon this man," said he to him. "We, as
the inst