y! Died of old age, no doubt. Well," he continues, in
graver tone, "by whatever way he may have come to his end, no greater
misfortune could have befallen us. _Carrai_! it's Satan's own luck!"

Having thus delivered himself, he stands for a while on the platform,
but no longer looking at the corpse, nor any of the relics around it.
Instead, his eyes are turned towards the tree, under whose shadow his
youthful comrades are reclining, and as he supposes asleep. On that
side is the moon, and as her light falls over his face, there can be
seen upon it an expression of great anxiety and pain--greater than any
that has marked it since that moment, when in the _sumac_ grove he bent
over the dead body of his murdered master.

But the troubled look now overspreading his features springs not from
grief, nor has anger aught to do with it. Instead, it is all
apprehension. For now, as though a curtain had been suddenly lifted
before his eyes, he sees beyond it, there perceiving for himself and his
companions danger such as they had not yet been called upon to
encounter. All along the route their thoughts were turned to Naraguana,
and on him rested their hopes. Naraguana can do nothing for them now.

"No!" reflects the gaucho, despairingly; "we can expect no help from
him. And who else is there to give it? Who, besides, would have the
power to serve us, even if the will be not wanting? No one, I fear.
_Mil Diablos_! it's a black look-out, now--the very blackest!"

Again facing round to the corpse, and fixing his eyes upon the still
uncovered face, he seems to examine it as though it were a trail upon
the pampas, in order to discover what tale it may tell. And just for a
like purpose does he now scrutinise the features of the dead _cacique_,
as appears by his soliloquy succeeding.

"Yes; I understand it all now--everything. He's been dead some time--at
least two or three weeks. That explains their leaving the other town in
such haste, and coming on here. Dead, or deadly sick, before he left
it, the old chief would have himself to think of, and so sent no word to
us at the _estancia_. No blame to him for not doing so. And now that
the young one's in power, with a fool's head and a wolf's heart, what
may we expect from him? Ah, what? In a matter like this, neither grace
nor mercy. I know he loves the _muchachita_, with such love as a savage
may--passionately, madly. All the worse for her, poor thing! And all
th