The pirates rapidly approached, talking together in that medley of English, French, Spanish and Indian which is employed throughout the Far West.
"Hum!" said a hoarse and panting voice; "What a gazelle! At one moment I really thought she would escape us."
"Yes, yes," the other answered, shaking his head and tapping the barrel of his rifle with his right hand; "but I always felt certain of bringing her down when I thought proper."
"Yes, and you did not miss her, caray! Although it was a long shot, and your hand must have trembled after such a chase."
"Habit, compadre! Habit!" the bandit answered, with a modest smile.
While talking thus, the two bandits had reached the spot where the body of the girl lay. One of them knelt down, doubtless to assure himself of the death of their victim; while the other, the one who had fired, looked on carelessly, leaning on his rifle.
The traveller then drew himself up, raised his piece, and fired. The bandit, struck in the centre of the breast, sank down like a sack, and did not stir. He was dead.
His companion had started and laid his hand on his machete; but not leaving him time to employ it, the traveller rushed on him, and with a powerful blow of the butt end on his head, sent him to join his comrade on the ground, where he rolled, half killed.
The traveller, taking the bandit's reata, then firmly bound his hands and feet; and, easy in mind on this point, he eagerly approached the maiden. The poor girl gave no sign of life, but, for all that, was not dead; her wound, indeed, was slight, as the pirate's bullet had merely grazed her arm. Terror alone had produced her fainting fit.
The stranger carefully bandaged the wound, slightly moistened her lips and temples, and, after a comparatively short period, had the satisfaction of seeing her open her eyes again.