"¡Caspita!" one of the bandits remarked, "Here is a young gentleman who is very ill; what will the master say?"
"What would you have him say, Señor Panchito?" another objected. "He defended himself like a maddened panther; it is his own fault; he ought to have been more polite to us. We have lost four men."
"A fine loss, on my word—those scamps!" Panchito said, with a shrug of his shoulders; "I should have preferred his killing six and being in a better condition himself."
"Hang it," the bandit muttered, "that is kind towards us."
"Present parties excepted," Panchito added with a laugh; "but quick, bind up his wounds and let us be off. This is not a proper place for us, and besides the master is waiting for us."
Don Sylvio's wounds were bathed and bound up somehow or another; and, without troubling themselves whether he was dead or alive, they laid him across the horse of Panchito, the leader of this expedition. The dead remained on the spot as a prey for the wild beasts. The other masked men set out at a gallop, and at the expiration of two hours halted in front of the Cave of the Cougars, where Nocobotha and Pincheira were waiting for them.
"Well," the former shouted to them as soon as he saw them.
"The job is done," Panchito answered laconically, as he got off his horse, and laid Don Sylvio on a bed of leaves.
"Is he dead?" Nocobotha asked, turning pale.
"Not much better," the gaucho answered, with a shake of his head.