The adventurers and the Comanche warriors, who arrived so fortunately for them, hastily removed, as far as was possible, the traces of the combat. The bodies of those who had fallen were piled up in a retired corner of the patio, and covered with straw. Comanche sentries guarded some twenty Apache prisoners, and the adventurers were busy, some bandaging their wounds, others digging wide trenches to inter the dead.
Under the saguon of the horses, two men and a woman had been laid on trusses of straw, covered with zarapés. The woman was dead; it was Doña Luisa. The poor child, whose life had only been one long self denial and continued devotion, was killed by Don Estevan, at the moment she blew out the brains of Addick, who was carrying off Doña Laura. The two men were Don Mariano and Brighteye. Don Miguel and Laura were standing on either side of the old gentleman, anxiously watching for the moment when he should open his eyes.
Marksman, sad, and with a pale brow, was bending over his old comrade, who was on the point of death.
"Courage!" he said to him; "courage, brother, it is nothing."
The Canadian tried to smile. "Hum! I know what it is," he said in a broken voice; "I have ten minutes left at the most, and after that—"
He was silent for a moment, and seemed to be reflecting. "Tell me, Marksman," he went on, "do you believe God will pardon me?"
"Yes, my worthy friend; for you were a brave and good creature."
"I have always acted in accordance with my heart. Well, it is said that the mercy of God is infinite; I put my trust in Him."
"Hope, my friend, hope!"
"No matter. I was sure the Indians would never kill me; it was Don Estevan, look ye, who wounded me, but I split his skull open. The villain! I ought to have let him die in his pit, like a trapped wolf."