d her there was none. She whispered a few words to her husband,
who kissed her hand, and repeated his request to be of our party--this
time without any opposition on his wife's part.

Supper over, we put on our shooting coats, took our guns, and mounted
the horses that had been prepared for us. Six negroes with pitch-pans,
and a couple of dogs, had gone on before. The clock struck ten as we set
out. It was a dark sultry night; towards the south distant thunder was
heard, betokening the approach of one of those storms that occur almost
daily at that season and in that country. During the first twenty
minutes of our ride, the atmosphere became stiflingly oppressive; then
suddenly a strong wind rushed amongst the trees and bushes, the thunder
drew nearer, and from time to time a flash of forked lightning
momentarily illumined the forest. Again a flash, more vivid than the
preceding ones, and a clap, compared to which our northern thunder would
sound like the mere roll of a drum; the dogs began to whine, and kept as
near to the horses as they could. We pushed onward, and were close to a
laurel thicket, when the leading hound suddenly came to a stand, and
pricked up his ears. We dismounted, and walked forward--the negroes
preceding us with the pitch-pans. Some twenty pace before us we
perceived four small stars, that glittered like diminutive
fire-balls--they were the eyes of two stags that awaited our approach,
in astonishment at the unusual spectacle offered to them. We took
aim--the Creole and myself at one, two Mexicans at the other. "_Feu!_"
cried Menou. There was the crack of the four rifles, then a crashing
noise amongst the branches, and the clatter of hoofs, succeeded by cries
of _Sacre!_ and Damn ye! and _Diabolo!_ and _San Jago!_ The six
pitch-pans lay smoking and flaring on the ground; the Creole and I had
sprung on one side, the negroes had thrown themselves on their faces in
great terror, and the two Dons lay beside them, overthrown by the rush
of one of the stags.

"_Santa Virgen!_" shouted Don Pablo, mightily alarmed and angry;
"_Maldito bobo, Senor don Manuel!_"

And scrambling to his feet, he proceeded in desperate haste to raise his
companion from the ground, on which he lay motionless, and apparently
much hurt.

"_Maldito sea el dia! Nuestro Libertador! Santa Anna! Ay de mi!_"

"_Calla te_--hold your tongue!" said Silveira to his alarmed adherent.

On the first appearance of danger, M. Menou had jum