elp himself, and was lying where
he had been thrown.

My attention was called away from this incident by an exclamation of
Chane.

"Och! blood, turf, and murther! If there isn't that Frinch scoundhrel
Dubrosc!"

I looked up. The man was standing over us.

"Ah, Monsieur le Capitaine!" cried he, in a sneering voice, "_comment
vous portez-vous_? You came up dove-hunting--_eh_? The birds, you see,
are not in the cot."

Had there been only a thread around my body, I could not have moved at
that moment. I felt cold and rigid as marble. A thousand agonising
thoughts crowded upon me at once--my doubts, my fears on _her_ account,
drowning all ideas of personal danger. I could have died at that
moment, and without a groan, to have ensured her safety.

There was something so fiendish in the character of this man--a polished
brutality, too--that caused me to fear the worst.

"Oh, heaven!" I muttered, "in the power of such a man!"

"Ho!" cried Dubrosc, advancing a pace or two, and seizing my horse by
the bridle, "a splendid mount! An Arab, as I live! Look here, Yanez!"
he continued, addressing a guerillero who accompanied him, "I claim
this, if you have no objection."

"Take him," said the other, who was evidently the leader of the party.

"Thank you. And you, Monsieur le Capitaine," he added ironically,
turning to me, "thank you for this handsome present. He will just
replace my brave mustang, for whose loss I expect I am indebted to you,
you great brute!--_sacre_!"

The last words were addressed to Lincoln; and, as though maddened by the
memory of La Virgen, he approached the latter, and kicked him fiercely
in the side.

The wanton foot had scarcely touched his ribs, when the hunter sprang
up, as if by galvanic action, _the thongs flying from his body_ in fifty
spiral fragments. With a bound he leaped to his rifle; and, clutching
it--he knew it was empty--struck the astonished Frenchman a blow upon
the head. The latter fell heavily to the earth. In an instant a dozen
knives and swords were aimed at the hunter's throat. Sweeping his rifle
around him, he cleared an opening, and, dashing past his foes with a
wild yell, bounded off through the shrubbery. The guerilleros followed,
screaming with rage; and we could hear an occasional shot, as they
continued the pursuit into the distant woods. Dubrosc was carried back
into the rancho, apparently lifeless.

We were still wondering how our comrade had unt