"Courage!"
This time it was not echo that answered him. Courage! That one word reached him on the wings of the wind, though faint as a sigh. Like the giant Antaeus, Don Torribio, drawing himself up, seemed to regain his strength and recover that life which was already slipping from him. He redoubled his blows at his innumerable enemies.
Several horses were galloping in the distance; shots lit up the darkness with their transient gleams, and men, or rather demons, dashed suddenly into the thick of the wild beasts, and produced a fearful carnage.
Suddenly Don Torribio, attacked by two tiger cats, rolled on the platform, struggling with them.
The wild beasts had fled before the newcomers, who hastened to light fires to keep them at bay during the rest of the night. Two of these men, holding lighted torches, began seeking the hunter, whose cries of distress had besought their help. He was lying senseless on the platform, surrounded by ten or a dozen dead wild cats, and holding in his stiffened fingers the neck of a strangled pajiro.
"Well, Pepe," a voice said, "have you found him?"
"Yes," was the reply; "but he appears to be dead."
"Caray! That would be a pity," Pedrito continued, "for he is a fine fellow. Where is he?
"On this rock."
"Can you bring him down with the help of Lopez?"