"I do not understand you, señor," replied the stranger, with astonishment. "Do not all men owe mutual assistance to each other?"
"In the civilised world it may be so," said the unknown, with a sneer; "but in the wilderness, the sight of a man always forebodes danger: we are savages here."
The stranger recoiled in astonishment.
"And thus," said be, "you would leave your fellow creatures to perish in these horrible solitudes without stretching forth a hand to help them?"
"My fellow creatures!" cried the unknown, with biting irony; "My fellow creatures are the wild beasts of the prairie. What have I in common with you men of towns and cities, natural enemies of every being that breathes the pure air of liberty? There is nothing in common between you and me. Begone, and weary me no more."
"Be it so," was the stranger's haughty answer. "I would not importune you much longer; were it only a question of myself, I would not have uttered a single prayer to you. Life is not so dear to me, that I should seek to prolong it on terms repugnant to my honour; but it is not a question of myself alone; here is a female, still almost a child, my daughter who is in want of prompt assistance, and will die if it is not rendered."
The unknown made no reply; he had turned away, as if reluctant to carry on any further conversation.
The stranger slowly rejoined his companions, who had halted at the edge of the forest.
"Well?" he asked uneasily.
"The señorita has fainted," sorrowfully replied one of the men.