The man on the ground moved and groaned.
"I had to do it!" whispered Del Norte.
The torch was going out. The man on the ground lay stretched squarely across the floor of the cave, which was not more than eight feet wide at that point. In order to reach the torch it would be absolutely necessary to step over him.
Del Norte started and then stopped. His teeth were chattering, and his cheeks were fully as pale as those of the poor wretch at his feet.
The torch burned dimmer.
At last the Mexican summoned all his courage and stepped over the body, catching up the torch. He swung it until it blazed up brightly.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Ridgeway; but you forced me!"
He stepped back over the body and turned with the torch in his hand to take a last look. The eyes of the stricken man were staring straight up at the rocky ceiling, and there was on his face a strangely altered expression, at which Del Norte wondered. In truth, his look was one of peace and happiness, and he smiled a little. His lips moved, and faintly he whispered:
"Mother—it is—your boy—Jack!"
Then those lips were hushed forever.