is bronzed skin and staggered
until I thought that he would have fallen. He stared upon me, with
terror in his eye, to see as he believed a common sight enough, that of
an Indian chief rejoicing at the death of one of his oppressors.

'What devil are you,' he said hoarsely, 'sent from hell to torment me at
the last?'

'Remember the dying prayer of Isabella de Siguenza, whom you struck and
cursed,' I answered mocking. 'Seek not to know whence I am, but remember
this only, now and for ever.'

For a moment he stood still, heedless of the urgings of his tormentors.
Then his courage came to him again, and he cried with a great voice:
'Get thee behind me, Satan, what have I to fear from thee? I remember
that dead sinner well--may her soul have peace--and her curse has fallen
upon me. I rejoice that it should be so, for on the further side of
yonder stone the gates of heaven open to my sight. Get thee behind me,
Satan, what have I to fear from thee?'

Crying thus he staggered forward saying, 'O God, into Thy hand I commend
my spirit!' May his soul have peace also, for if he was cruel, at least
he was brave, and did not shrink beneath those torments which he had
inflicted on many others.

Now this was a little matter, but its results were large. Had I saved
Father Pedro from the hands of the pabas of the Otomie, it is likely
enough that I should not to-day be writing this history here in the
valley of the Waveney. I do not know if I could have saved him, I only
know that I did not try, and that because of his death great sorrows
came upon me. Whether I was right or wrong, who can say? Those who judge
my story may think that in this as in other matters I was wrong; had
they seen Isabella de Siguenza die within her living tomb, certainly
they would hold that I was right. But for good or ill, matters came
about as I have written.

And it came about also, that the new viceroy sent from Spain was stirred
to anger at the murder of the friar by the rebellious and heathen people
of the Otomie, and set himself to take vengeance on the tribe that
wrought the deed.

Soon tidings reached me that a great force of Tlascalan and other
Indians were being collected to put an end to us, root and branch, and
that with them marched more than a hundred Spaniards, the expedition
being under the command of none other than the Captain Bernal Diaz, that
same soldier whom I had spared in the slaughter of the noche triste, and
whose sword to t