nows the other
would be more than his match, with both his own arms sound and at their
best, for they have been already locked in deadly strife with those of
the gaucho, who could have taken his life, but generously forebore. Not
for the world would Rufino Valdez again engage in single combat with
Caspar Mendez, and soon as setting eyes on the latter he draws bridle so
abruptly that his horse starts back as if he had trodden upon a
rattlesnake.

Quieting the animal with some whispered words, he places himself behind
a thick bush, and there stays all of a tremble, the only thing stedfast
about him being his gaze, fixed upon the forms of the departing
travellers. So carefully does he screen himself, that from the front
nothing is visible to indicate the presence of anyone there, save the
point of a spear, with dry blood upon the blade, projecting above the
bushes, and just touching the fronds of a palm-tree, its ensanguined hue
in vivid contrast with the green of the leaves, as guilt and death in
the midst of innocence and life!

Not till they have passed almost out of his sight, their heads gradually
going down behind the culms of the tall pampas grass, does Rufino Valdez
breathe freely. Then his nerves becoming braced by the anger which
burns within--a fierce rage, from the old hatred of jealousy,
interrupted by this new and bitter disappointment, the thwarting of a
scheme, so far successful, but still only half accomplished--he gives
utterance to a string of blasphemous anathemas, with threats, in
correspondence.

"_Carajo_!" he cries, winding up with the mildest of his profane
exclamations. "Ride on, senores, and get soon home! While there, be
happy as you best may. Ha, ha! there won't be much merriment in that
nest now, with the young chick out of it--pet bird of the flock; nor
long before the whole brood be called upon to forsake it. Soon as I can
get to Assuncion and back with a dozen of our _quarteleros_, ah! won't
there be a wiping out of old scores then? If that young fool,
Naraguana's son, hadn't shown so chicken-hearted, I might have settled
them now; gone home with captives, too, instead of empty-handed. Well,
it won't be so long to wait. Let me see. Three days will take me to
Assuncion--less if this animal under me wasn't so near worn out; three
more to return with the troop. Say a week in all; at the end of which,
if there be a man named Caspar Mendez in the land of the living, it
won't be h