"Try this one then!"
"No, sir!... it didn't hit.... If I had ten men with me how you would all scatter, you lapdogs!"
"Do what you please, boys!... Kill that whelp!" cried the lieutenant at the height of irritation.
The soldiers broke for the mountain, and began to climb it with the agility of wildcats. The rage which possessed them redoubled their powers. But at the same time the lieutenant, snatching a musket from one of the soldiers, levelled at Don César and brought him down.
"That'll do, boys!... Come back!... the hawk is winged at last," he cried in triumphant accents.
"It only wounded my leg; ... my bill is whole yet," replied the ringleader, with hoarse voice.
And in truth, though his hip was shot through, he managed to raise himself up and load his musket, which he instantly fired at those who were coming up against him. They roared with rage as they pulled themselves up by the ferns, or dug their fingers into the moss to climb faster.
"Come, come, you cowards," screamed Don César, likewise maddened with rage. "Come and learn how to fight!... You see how a Carlist officer makes war!... You see how he is equal to fifty republicans!... To-morrow tell your exploit to General Bum Bum who sent you!... Let 'em give you the laurel wreath, you heroes! Now here goes a shot for Don Carlos!... Ah! I know how you are taking off a girl as prisoner, you brave warriors of the republic!... Here goes another for Doña Margarita!... Did the pill taste bad, eh, fellow?... Oh, how glad I am to see you! ¡Viva Carlos! ..."
He was not allowed to finish. A soldier who had reached the summit put the muzzle of his gun to his forehead and blew off his head, saying,—
"Die, you hog!"