"Very good," he went on; "now, retire all of you; I have to speak with the Niña."
Red Cedar could not conceal his dissatisfaction.
"Why weary yourself?" he said; "it would be better for you to let us pay you that attention your condition demands."
"Oh!" the bandit said, with a grin, "I understand you; you would sooner see me die like a dog, without uttering a syllable, for you suspect what I am about to say—well, I feel sorry for you, gossip, but I must and will speak."
The squatter shrugged his shoulders.
"What do I care for your wanderings?" he said; "It is only the interest I feel in you that—"
"Enough!" Sandoval interrupted him, sharply. "Silence! I will speak! no human power can force me in my dying hours to keep the secret longer; it has been rankling in my bosom too long already."
"My good father—" the girl murmured.
"Peace," the bandit went on authoritatively, "do not oppose my will, Niña. You must learn from me certain things before I render my accounts to Him who sees everything."
Red Cedar fixed a burning glance on the dying man, as he convulsively clutched the butt of a pistol; but he suddenly loosed his hold, and smiled ironically.