without appearing to listen to the fulsome
flattery of his associate, "go and interrogate once more the prisoner we
have taken. Find out if possible what errand he was on--"

"The bird still sings the same tune," responded the woman; "he repeats
that he is in the service of Don Mariano de Silva; and that he is the
bearer of a message to that mad Colonel, as you call him, Don Rafael
Tres-Villas."

At this hated name the shade deepened upon the brow of the bandit.

"Have you found out what this message is?" he inquired.

"The fellow insists upon it that it is of no importance. What do you
suppose I found in his pockets, when we were searching him?"

"A vial of poison, perhaps?"

"No; but something equally droll. A packet carefully put up, enclosing
a small cambric handkerchief, sweetly scented with perfume, and inside
this a tress of hair--a woman's hair, long and beautiful, by my faith!"

"Indeed!" exclaimed Bocardo, in a significant tone; "and what have you
done with it, Madame Arroyo?"

"What should I have done with it?" said the virago, with a disdainful
toss of her head--"what but fling it back in the face of the messenger--
the worthless thing. No doubt it is a love-token sent to this colonel
of the devil."

"The messenger took it back then?"

"Ah, indeed--with as much eagerness as if it had been a chain of gold."

"So much the better," said Bocardo, with a significant gesture. "I have
an idea," he continued, "if I am not mistaken--a superb idea! With this
messenger and this love-token, we can give the Colonel Tres-Villas a
rendezvous, where, instead of meeting his sweetheart, he may tumble into
the middle of a score of our fellows, who may take him alive without the
slightest difficulty. The thing's as good as done. Only put me in
communication with this messenger, and I'll answer for the rest. What
say you, Arroyo? What shall we do with the Colonel Tres-Villas?"

"Burn him over a slow fire--roast him alive!" responded the guerillero,
with an expression of ferocious joy.

"But your wife will intercede for him?" ironically added Bocardo.

"_Carrambo_! Yes!" exclaimed the hag, "to burn him over the slow fire,
and roast him alive--that I shall."

And with a hideous laugh she walked out of the tent to give place to
Gaspacho, who the next moment entered.

The courier thus named had all the appearance of an original character.
He was tall and thin as the blade of a rapier, with a cynical expr