Rosendo could bear the taunt no longer. “Caramba!” he cried, “what would you?” He leaped to the sitting man and at a stroke severed his bonds. Diego got slowly to his feet.
“Bien, spew of the vampire! you have now a chance!”
Diego extended his empty hands, palms up. He smiled significantly. Rosendo caught the insinuation.
“Caramba! take the knife! Hombre! but I will kill you with my bare hands!” He threw the long knife to Diego, who stooped and picked it up.
Stepping quickly back, holding the weapon firmly clenched before him, the priest slowly circled Rosendo, as if looking for an opening. An evil smile played constantly over his heavy face, and his little eyes glittered like diamonds. Rosendo stood like a rock, his long arms hanging at his side.
Then, with a shrill, taunting laugh, Diego turned suddenly 272 and plunged into the newly-cut trail toward the lake. In an instant he was lost in the fog.
For a moment Rosendo stood dumb with amazement. Then he sprang after the priest. But it was too late. Diego had reached the canoe, leaped quickly in, and pushed off. Rosendo saw the mist swallow him. He was left a prisoner, without a boat, and with two miles of shrouded water stretching between him and the town!
A low moan burst from him. He had been tricked, outwitted; and the evil genius which for years had menaced his happiness was heading straight toward the town, where his accomplice, Ricardo, awaited. What would they do, now that he was out of the way? The thought seared his brain. Great beads of water, distilled from his agony, burst through his pores. The Juncal river lay off to the west, and at a much less distance than Simití. He might swim to it and secure a canoe at the village. But––the lake was alive with crocodiles!
Chagrin and apprehension overwhelmed him, and he burst into a flood of bitter tears. He threw himself upon the ground, and tossed and moaned in despair. The fog thickened. A twilight darkness settled over the waters. Nature––God himself––seemed to conspire with Diego.
Rosendo suddenly rose to his feet. He drew the new medal scapulary around in front of him and kissed it, reverently crossing himself. “Santa Virgen,” he prayed, “help me––it is for the child!” Then, taking between his teeth the knife which Diego had dropped, he rushed into the water and struck out for the distant village of Juncal.