breathing, he saw one of these shadowy forms step out
from among the rest and advance towards him. As the man came nearer, he
recognised the ferocious captain of the bandits, who, licking his
blood-stained lips like a jaguar after leaving its prey, cried out in a
hoarse voice, "Bring me that spy! I can examine him while the coyote is
coming to himself."

"Here he is," replied Bocardo, seizing Don Cornelio by the shoulder, and
pushing him forward into the presence of his associate.

"My good friend," muttered Bocardo, addressing himself to Don Cornelio,
"it's your turn now. Of course the lash will make you confess that you
are a spy, and of course your head will be taken off immediately after.
I would, therefore, advise you not to waste time about it but
acknowledge your guilt at once."

While Bocardo was giving this fearful counsel, his associate stood
regarding Don Cornelio with eyes that expressed a villainous pleasure,
at the idea of having another victim to satisfy his bloodthirsty
instincts.

"Confess quickly!" he cried, "and let that end it. I am tired, and
shan't be kept waiting."

"Senor Arroyo!" replied Lantejas, "I am a captain in the insurgent army,
and am sent by General Morelos to tell you--"

Don Cornelio paused. He was hesitating as to whether he dare proclaim
his real errand.

"Your proofs?" demanded Arroyo.

"My papers have been taken from me," said Lantejas.

"A fig for your papers! Hola! wife!" continued Arroyo, turning to the
hag who still stood by the fainting victim, "here's a little work for
you, as I am somewhat fatigued. I charge you with making this spy
confess who sent him here, and what design he had in coming. Make him
speak out whatever way you please."

"By and by," answered the virago, "but not yet. This coyote has come
round again, and better still, has come to his right senses at last: he
is about to confess."

"Bring him here, then!" commanded Arroyo.

Several men hastened to execute the order, and, detaching the victim
from the place where he had been bound, half dragged, half carried him
across the floor. Don Cornelio saw that the unfortunate individual was
a young man--of less than thirty, of noble aspect, though his features
expressed at the moment the terrible agony he was enduring.

"Now, _Gachupino_!" exclaimed the woman, "where is your money hid?"

"Where is your wife?" cried Arroyo. On hearing this question so
pointedly put, the hideous companion