THE PRISONER.
We must now explain to our readers what happened after the fall of Don Fernando Carril, when he was made the victim of an ambuscade.
When his hand was no longer able to raise his sword, and he had fallen by the side of his companion, the men in masks—who had been chary of approaching too near him, out of respect for the blade he wielded so well, as proved by the bodies of four bandits lying on the sand beside him? rushed all at once upon him.
Don Fernando Carril lay on his back showing no signs of life. A deadly, pallor overspread his noble features; his half-opened lips disclosed his clenched teeth; blood was flowing in torrents from the many wounds he had received; and his hand still clasped the weapon with which he had so long held his assailants at bay.
"¡Caspita!" cried one, looking at him attentively; "Here is a young gentleman who is seriously hurt. What will the master say?"
"What would you have him say, Señor Carlocho?" said another; "He defended himself like a lion. It is his own fault. He ought to have let himself be taken nicely, and all this would not have happened. Look! we have lost four men."
"A pretty loss indeed, those four fellows there! I would rather he had killed six than be in the state he is now."
"The devil!" muttered the other bandit; "That is no compliment to us, you know."
"That will do; that will do. Help me to bind up his wounds as well as we can, and lose no time about it. This is no wholesome place for us; besides we are expected elsewhere; so be quick."