at you should hear all.
I have been witness to many things yonder; and the desert does not
conceal so many secrets as one might suppose."

The young girl trembled slightly, while she fixed upon the man of the
red handkerchief, a deep and searching glance.

"Go on, friend," said she, in her melodious voice, "we shall have
courage to hear all."

"What do you know of Don Estevan?" resumed the haciendado.

"He is dead, Senor."

A sigh of grief escaped Don Augustin, and he rested his head upon his
hands.

"Who killed him?" he asked.

"I know not, but he is dead."

"And Pedro Diaz--that man of such noble and disinterested feeling?"

"He, like Don Estevan, is no more of this world."

"And his friends Cuchillo, Oroche, and Baraja?"

"Dead as well as Pedro Diaz, all dead except--but with your leave,
Senor, I shall commence my narrative at an earlier period. It is
necessary that you should know all."

"We shall listen to you patiently."

"I need not detail," resumed the narrator, "the dangers of every kind,
nor the various combats in which we were engaged since our departure.
Headed by a chief who inspired us with boundless confidence, we shared
his perils cheerfully."

"Poor Don Estevan!" murmured the haciendado.

"During the last halt in which I was present, a report spread through
the camp that we were in the vicinity of an immense treasure of gold.
Cuchillo, our guide, deserted us; he was absent two days. It was
doubtless God's will that I should be saved, since it inspired Don
Estevan with the idea of sending me in search of him. He therefore
commanded me to scour the country in the environs of the camp.

"I obeyed him, notwithstanding the danger of the mission, and went in
search of our guide's footsteps. After some time I was fortunate enough
to find his traces; when all at once I perceived in the distance a party
of Apaches engaged in a hunt of wild horses. I turned my horse's head
round as quickly as possible, but the ferocious yells which burst out on
every side told me that I was discovered."

The stranger, in whom the reader has doubtless recognised Gayferos, the
unfortunate man who had been scalped, paused an instant as though
overcome by horrible recollections. Then in continuation, he related
the manner in which he was captured by the Indians, his anguish when he
thought of the torments they were preparing for him, the desperate
struggle by which he kept up in his race against them with