"That is not your business."
"We shall see."
But the bandits had forgotten Father Seraphin. The missionary, aroused by the unusual noise he heard in the hacienda, had hastily risen. He had heard the few words exchanged between the accomplices, and they were sufficient to make him guess the fearful treachery they meditated. Only listening to his heart, the missionary glided out into the corral, saddled a horse, and opening a door, of which he had a key, so that he could enter or leave the hacienda as his duties required, he started at full speed in the direction which he supposed the hunters must follow in returning to the hacienda. Unfortunately, Father Seraphin had been unable to effect his flight unheard by the squatter's practised ear.
"Malediction!" Red Cedar shouted, as he rushed, rifle in hand, toward a window, which he dashed out with his fist, "We are betrayed."
The bandits rushed in disorder into the corral where their horses were tied up, and leaped into their saddles. At this moment a shadow flitted across the plain in front of the squatter, who rapidly shouldered his rifle and fired. Then he went out: a stifled cry reached his ear, but the person the bandit had fired at still went on.
"No matter," the squatter muttered; "that fine bird has lead in its wing. Sharp, sharp, my men, on the trail!"
And all the bandits rushed off in pursuit of the fugitive.
Father Seraphin had fallen in a fainting condition at Valentine's feet.
"Good heavens!" the hunter exclaimed in despair, "what can have happened?"
And he gently carried the missionary into a ditch that ran by the side of the road. Father Seraphin had his shoulder fractured, and the blood poured in a stream from the wound. The hunter looked around him; but at this moment a confused sound could be heard like the rolling of distant thunder.