The spy was struck with mute despair.
"You have heard, companions and friends, how this man confesses his own crimes; for the last time, what punishment does he deserve for having sold his brothers?"
"Death!" replied the Dark-Hearts, without hesitation.
"In the name of the Dark-Hearts, of whom I am king, I condemn you, Don Pedro Saldillo, to death, for treachery and felony towards your brethren. You have five minutes to make your peace with Heaven," Don Tadeo said, sternly.
He placed his watch upon the table, and drawing a pistol from his belt, cocked it deliberately. The sharp noise of the hammer made the condemned man shudder with fear. A profound silence prevailed in the vault; the hearts of these implacable men might be heard beating in their breasts. The spy cast around wild, despairing glances, but beheld nothing but angry eyes gleaming upon him through hideous masks. Over the vault, in the chingana, they continued dancing, and faint puffs of sambacuejas penetrated, at intervals, mixed with uproarious bursts of laughter, even to the awful scene beneath. The contrast of this riotous mirth with the terrible act of justice which was being carried out, had something appalling in it.
"The five minutes are past," said Don Tadeo, in a firm voice.
"A few minutes more! a few minutes, my lord!" the spy implored, wringing his hands in despair. "I am not prepared; you cannot kill me thus! In the name of all you hold most dear, let me live!"
Without appearing to hear him, Don Tadeo lifted his pistol, and the miserable culprit rolled upon the ground, with his brains scattered around him.
"Oh!" he cried, as the pistol was aimed, "be accursed, ye assassins!" His death prevented the utterance of more.
The conspirators stood cold, impassive spectators of the scene. As soon as the stern act of justice was completed, at a signal from the chief, several men opened a trap in the floor which covered a hole half filled with quick lime; the body was thrown into it, and the trap closed again.