But Diego paid no seeming heed to the show of rage. Maintaining his kneeling position for a while longer, he replied quietly—
"Yes, it once owed its life to me, and now it owes its death to me, and better so than it should have been the innocent cause of suffering to one of our human brethren, for whom the cross rose on Calvary."
And then he rose from beside the dog's dead body, and turned slowly away with a saddened face. In spite of its ferocious nature, the animal had always been most docile with him; and besides, it had been that oft-felt link with his mother's home. How long ago now seemed that first day of parting from his country, when Rachel de Diego's slender fingers had rested for a few moments on the animal's head. Her son would far rather have a second time undergone some peril to save its life, than have had to destroy it for the prevention of a crime.
"Ah, Señor," murmured Bautista, as he crept out on to the verandah after him a few minutes later. "Ah, Señor, you have saved poor Guatchi's limbs from being mangled; but I doubt me you have made an enemy for yourself."
"You were willing to do the same in the same cause, Bautista," was the answer with a grave smile of approval. "I knew not that thou wast so staunchly ranged on the side of justice and mercy. Henceforth we are friends."
The boy sprang forward to clasp the hand held out to him, and said eagerly—
"To follow in your steps, Señor, I began to remind myself that the Indians' flesh had feelings like our own, but my past month in the mines has been a black lesson in horror that I would not repeat to escape the pains of purgatory. These Indians are tenfold weaker than we are, and their sufferings are tenfold more, for they have learnt nothing of manhood to sustain them. You have seen them die here in the plantations, Señor, and that has roused your pity; but in those mines it is not that some die, but that none survive. A few days of that dismal work beneath cuffs and lashes, and their strength is spent—"
"And then?" came the short query.
"And then," ended the boy with a sort of gasp for breath, "they sink to the ground, and the brutal kick given to rouse them up to continued labour, is the accompaniment of their last breath. It is little wonder, Señor, that I should wish poor Guatchi to get away free, now that he has escaped such toil alive."
The whole fervour of the boy's susceptible nature was aroused, and Montoro felt more than ever convinced that he was in the presence of one whose spirit was akin to his own.