"Nothing easier."
"Make haste, in Heaven's name!" Pedrito said. "Each minute's delay is, perhaps, a year's life slipping from him."
Lopez and Pepe raised Don Torribio by the head and feet, and with infinite precautions transported him from the improvised fortress where he had so long fought, and laid him on a bed of leaves Juan had got ready near one of the fires.
"Canario!" Pedrito exclaimed, on seeing the gory man's miserable appearance; "Poor devil! How they have served him out! It was high time to help him."
"Do you think he will recover?" Lopez asked eagerly.
"There is always hope," Pedrito answered sententiously, "where life is not extinct. Let us have a look at him."
He bent over Don Torribio's body, drew his glistening knife, and placed the blade between his lips.
"Not the slightest breath," Pedrito said, shaking his head.
"Are his wounds serious?" Lopez asked.
"I do not think so. He has been worn out by fatigue and emotion, but he will soon open his eyes again, and in a quarter of an hour, if he think proper, he can get into the saddle again. It is surely he," Pedrito added, in a low voice.