"Now that justice is done, let us go," said Valentine.
The witnesses of the execution remounted. The branch which had been held down flew back, bearing with it the body of the pirate.
Pedro Sandoval remained alone, quivering in the last convulsions of death.
So soon as Valentine and his comrades were out of sight, several Apaches, at the head of whom were Red Cedar and the White Gazelle, started out of a thicket. An Indian climbed up the tree, cut the rope, and the body of the Spaniard was gently laid on the ground. He did not give a sign of existence.
The girl and Red Cedar hastened to give him help, in order to recall life, were it possible, to this poor and fearfully mutilated body; but all their efforts seemed futile. Pedro Sandoval remained cold and inert in the arms of his friends. In vain had they removed the slip knot which pressed his throat—his swollen and blue veins would not diminish in size, or his blood circulate. All seemed over.
As a last chance, an Apache took a skinful of water, and poured the contents on the bare and bleeding skull of the Spaniard. At the contact of this cold shower, his whole body trembled, a deep sigh burst with an effort from his oppressed chest, and the dying man painfully opened his eyes, fixing a sad and languishing glance on those who surrounded him.
"Heaven be praised!" said the girl; "He is not dead."
The bandit looked at the girl with that glassy and wandering stare which is the infallible sign of a speedy death; a smile played round his violet lips, and he muttered in a low and inarticulate voice:
"No, I am not dead, but I shall soon be so."
Then he closed his eyes again, and fell back, apparently in his former state of insensibility. The spectators anxiously followed the progress of this frightful agony: White Gazelle frowned, and, bending over the dying man, put her mouth to his ear.