"Of what importance is the life of this man to us?" he said. "Was he not your enemy?"
"The very reason why I do not wish him to die."
"I do not understand you."
"I have devoted my life to the accomplishment of an idea; therefore I no longer belong to myself, and am bound to offer up my hate and friendship to my idea."
"I admit that, up to a certain point: but how is it, then, that you have laid a trap for this man, who, according to your own account, is a traitor."
"Are men always to be harshly judged, even by those who are most intimate with them?" said the old chief, with a bitter smile. "What is it to me that the man may be a traitor? By putting him out of the way, without touching his life, I should have gained the end I had before me when I sought your alliance. After keeping him a prisoner for a few days, to prevent his counteracting your plans, and hindering your marriage with Doña Hermosa, I should have restored him to freedom. Unluckily, it is too late now: what is done cannot be undone. The death of this man, obscurely slain in ambuscade, will do more to frustrate my plans than you imagine. His blood be upon your head! It is you who ordered this murder."
"I!" replied Don Torribio. "You are mad!"
The Tigercat looked at his new ally with a stare of surprise, shrugged his shoulders, and whistled a Mexican seguidilla. It was evident that Don Torribio had not understood a word of what had been uttered by this singular man, whose sole delight had hitherto been in slaughter.
"Pooh!" said he; "What does one, more or less, signify?"
The Indian chief stooped over the body of the wounded man, and examined it carefully. The eyes were closed, and the features had the paleness and rigidity of death. Two or three vaqueros, aided by Carlocho, rubbed his temples and chest incessantly with rum.