But the bell tinkled on, and, in despair, he flung it away and threw himself on the ground. But Henry, following the sound of his enemy’s fall, lowered the rifle and pulled trigger. The Jefe yelled out in sharp pain as the bullet perforated his shoulder, rose to his feet, cursed, sprawled back on the ground, and lay there cursing.
Again in the cave, with the mestiza beside him at his knee, the Blind Brigand gave judgment.
“This man who is wounded and who talks much of the law of the tierra caliente, shall now learn Cordilleras law. By the test of the Snake and the Bird has he been proven guilty. For his life a ransom of ten thousand dollars gold shall be paid, or else shall he remain here, a hewer of wood and a carrier of water, for the remainder of the time God shall grant him to draw breath on earth. I have spoken, and I know that my voice is God’s voice, and I know that God will not grant him long to draw breath if the ransom be not forthcoming.”
A long silence obtained, during which even Henry, who could slay a foe in the heat of combat, advertised that such cold-blooded promise of murder was repugnant to him.
“The law is pitiless,” said the Cruel Just One; and again silence fell.
“Let him die for want of a ransom,” spoke one of the haciendados. “He has proved a treacherous dog. Let him die a dog’s death.”
“What say you?” the Blind Brigand asked solemnly. “What say you, peon of the many beatings, man new-born this day, half-Maya that you are and lover of the woman wonderful? Shall this man die the dog’s death for want of a ransom?”
“This man is a hard man,” spoke the peon. “Yet is my heart strangely soft this day. Had I ten thousand gold I would pay his ransom myself. Yea, O Holy One and Just, and had I two hundred and fifty pesos, even would I pay off my debt to the haciendado of which I am absolved.”
The old man’s blind face lighted up to transfiguration.