brigands, the lazo was unloosened from around his arms,
and he was ordered to accompany his captors to the hacienda. This he
did willingly enough: for the presence of Gaspacho told him that he was
in the hands of the guerilleros of Arroyo.

"Can I see the Captain?" he inquired.

"What Captain?"

"Arroyo."

"Ah! you wish to see him?" responded Gaspacho. "That rather surprises
me. You shall have the pleasure of seeing him soon enough, I fancy.
Come along!"

The guerilleros continued on to the house, conducting their prisoner
along with them.

As they drew near to the walls, the attention of Don Cornelio was again
attracted to the singular lights that seemed to be burning within the
house. It could not be the flame of a conflagration, else the building
would long since have been consumed.

A few minutes brought them up to the gate. It was shut, and one of the
men knocked against it with the hilt of his sabre, at the same time
giving utterance to a password, which Don Cornelio did not understand.
What he did comprehend was, that the moment had come when, _bon gre mal
gre_, he was called upon to acquit himself of the commission with which
Morelos had entrusted him.

It often happens that danger in prospective is more dreaded than when it
is present; and so was it in this instance: for, on his arrival at the
gate, Don Cornelio felt less embarrassed with apprehensions than he had
been ever since his departure from the camp at Huajapam.

The huge door turned upon its heavy hinges to admit the horsemen--in the
midst of whom the prisoner was carried into a large, paved courtyard,
illuminated by the flames of several fires that burned in the open air.
Around these fires could be distinguished the forms of men--to the
number of one hundred or more--grouped in different attitudes, or lying
asleep upon the pavement. Along the walls stood as many horses,
completely equipped for the road. The bridles only were off, and
hanging suspended over the saddle-bow--in order that the animals might
consume their rations of maize, served to them in wooden troughs. Here
and there, stacks of carbines, lances, and sabres, glanced under the
light of the fires, and Don Cornelio could not help shivering with
terror as he looked upon these fierce bandits, in the midst of their
picturesque accoutrements.

Most of them remained as they were, without offering to stir. The sight
of a fresh prisoner was nothing new to them. One only c