"Silence," Red Cedar said to her, in a threatening voice, as he placed the point of his knife on her chest, "one cry more, and I kill you like a dog."
The maiden, trembling with fright, looked pitifully at the bandit; but Red Cedar's face wore such an expression of cruelty, that she understood how little she had to hope from this man. She addressed a silent prayer to Heaven, and resigned herself to her fate. The bandit gagged the poor child with the rebozo that lay on the bed, threw her over his shoulder, and clambered out of the window again. So soon as he put foot on the ground, he whistled lightly for his comrades to rejoin him, which they did immediately, and, still carrying his burthen, he proceeded with them in the direction of the Rancho del Coyote.
During the walk, which was not a long one, the bandits did not meet a soul. Andrés opened the door and lit a candle; the ruffians entered, and the door was carefully bolted again. Thus, after only a few hours of liberty, the wretched girl had fallen once more into the hands of her ravishers, and placed again by them in the wretched room where she had spent so many days in prayer and weeping. Red Cedar carried Doña Clara, who was in a half-fainting state, to her room, removed the rebozo, and then returned to the bar.
"There;" he said, with satisfaction, "that is all right; the sheep has returned to the fold. What do you say, reverend father? This time let us hope she will not escape us."
The monk smiled.
"We shall do well in not remaining here long," he said.
"Why so?"
"Because this hiding place is known and will soon be visited."
The squatter shrugged his shoulders.
"Listen! Fray Ambrosio," he said, with a sinister grimace, which he intended for a smile. "I predict that, rogue as you are, you run a great chance of dying in a fool's skin, if you are not flayed beforehand, which may easily be the case."