Andrés Garote opened his eyes and recognised Red Cedar, and his son. "Ah!" he said in a hollow voice, "Is that you, old squatter? Where the deuce do you come from? If I expected anybody, it was certainly not you, though I am delighted with you."
"I know that voice," exclaimed Red Cedar.
"It is Andrés Garote, the gambusino," Sutter replied.
"Yes, it is I, my good Sutter," the Mexican said. "Oh! oh! How I suffer!"
"What's the matter with you, and how did you come here?"
"You're all right, I see," the other replied savagely. "Cuerpo de Cristo! Things have gone with me from bad to worse since I left my rancho to come in this accursed prairie."
"Will you answer yes or no?" Red Cedar said angrily, dashing his rifle butt on the ground, and giving him a suspicious glance.
"Well, I am wounded, that, is easy to see; I have a bullet in my arm, and am all over bruises. Santa Maria, how I suffer! But no matter, the brigand who attacked me will never injure anybody again."
"Have you killed him?" the squatter asked eagerly.
"I did my best; look over the precipice—you will see his body."