“What has chanced to our son?” I asked.
“Dead, dead!” she answered in a whisper that seemed to pierce my marrow.
I said nothing, for my heart told me what had happened, but Diaz asked, “Dead—why, what has killed him?”
“De Garcia! I saw him go,” replied Otomie; then she tossed her arms high, and without another sound fell backwards to the earth.
In that moment I think that my heart broke—at least I know that nothing has had the power to move me greatly since, though this memory moves me day by day and hour by hour, till I die and go to seek my son.
“Say, Bernal Diaz,” I cried, with a hoarse laugh, “did I lie to you concerning this comrade of yours?”
Then, springing over Otomie’s body I left the chamber, followed by Bernal Diaz and the others.
Without the door I turned to the left towards the camp. I had not gone a hundred paces when, in the moonlight, I saw a small troop of horsemen riding towards us. It was de Garcia and his servants, and they headed towards the mountain pass on their road to Mexico. I was not too late.
“Halt!” cried Bernal Diaz.
“Who commands me to halt?” said the voice of de Garcia.