Two days had elapsed since the atrocious attack made by Don Rufino on Don Rodolfo de Moguer. The Papazos had captured the hacienda without a blow, as the gates were opened to them; for the stupor and terror of the Mexicans at this horrible crime were so great, that they forgot all precautions. But we must do the Redskins the justice of stating that, contrary to their habits, they committed no excesses in the hacienda, either by virtue of superior orders, or in consequence of the sorrow which the wound of their great sachem caused them. Doña Esperanza had arrived with Padre Serapio at the same time as the Indian warriors, and she and Doña Marianna did not leave the wounded man's bed.
Don Hernando was inconsolable, and the colonel could not forgive himself for having supposed for a moment that the senator was an honest man. The whole hacienda was plunged into sorrow, and Don Rodolfo alone watched death approach with a calm brow. Fray Serapio dressed his wound: his night was tolerably quiet, and in the morning the monk entered the wounded man's room. At a sign from Don Rodolfo his wife and niece, who had watched the whole night through by his bedside, withdrew.
"Now, padre," he said, when they left the room, "it is our turn."
And he helped him to remove the bandages. The monk frowned.
"I am condemned, am I not?" said Don Rodolfo, who attentively followed in the monk's face the feelings that agitated him.
"God can perform a miracle," the Franciscan stammered, in a faint voice.
The sachem smiled softly.
"I understand you," he replied; "answer me, therefore, frankly and sincerely. How many hours have I still to live?"
"What good is that, my dear, good master?" the monk murmured.
"Padre Serapio," the chief interrupted him, in a firm voice, "I want to know, in order that I may settle my affairs on earth, before I appear in the presence of God."