"What was the omen, then?"
"Do not laugh at me, Captain; several passages of Scripture itself prove that GOD is often pleased to grant men salutary warnings, to which unhappily," he added with a sigh, "they are not wise enough to give credence."
"That is true," the Captain muttered in the style of an interjection.
"Well," the arriero continued, flattered by this approval from a man like the one he was talking with; "my mules were saddled, the recua was waiting for me in the corral, guarded by the peons, and I was on the point of starting. Still, as I did not like separating from my wife, for a long time probably, without saying a last good bye, I proceeded toward the house to give her a parting kiss, when, on reaching the threshold, I mechanically raised my eyes, and saw two owls sitting on the azotea, who fixed their eyes on me with infernal steadiness. At this unexpected apparition, I shuddered involuntarily and turned my eyes away. At this very moment, a dying man, carried by two soldiers on a litter, came down the street, escorted by a monk who was reciting the Penitential Psalms, and preparing him to die like an honest and worthy Christian; but the wounded man made no other answer than laughing ironically at the monk. All at once this man half rose on the litter, his eyes grew brilliant, he turned to me, gave me a glance full of sarcasm, and fell back, muttering these two words evidently addressed to me:—
"Hasta luego (we shall meet soon)."
"Hum!" the Captain said.
"The species of rendezvous this individual gave me, had nothing very flattering about it, I fancy!" the arriero continued. "I was deeply affected by the words, and I rushed toward him with the intention of reproaching him, as I thought was proper—but he was dead."
"Who was the man—did you learn?"
"Yes, he was a Salteador, who had been mortally wounded in a row with the citizens, and was being carried to the steps of the Cathedral, to die there."
"Is that all?" the Captain asked.