"A thousand dollars, if you save my poor girl, shall be yours!" exclaimed the old man, weeping.
"Are you sure that——"
"I can pay you? Eh, eh. O Dios mio! she will drown before my eyes while this wretch chaffers for her life. Oh, my Ignez! my Ignez!"
"Save her, if you can swim, I command you!" cried the full, deep voice of the Padre Eizagiuerro, who rushed forward. "Quick, senor! he who implores you to save his child—his only child—is the wealthy Moreno, the richest merchant in the city of Santiago."
"Too late!—too late!—she sinks! Pray to God for her!" cried a hundred voices.
"In, in!" exclaimed the Padres Ugarte and Eizagiuerro together, for her father was almost speechless with despair; "in, if you are a swimmer—two thousand dollars if you save her!"
"Half my fortune—yea, all, if you will but save her!" groaned the unhappy father.
"Shame! shame!" muttered the crowd.
"Two thousand will do—presto! here goes!" said Pedro, as he cast his sombrero, poncho, gaudy jacket and vest, his knife and revolver, to the care of old Moreno, and plunged into the water amid the joyous yells of the negroes, and the loud "Vivas!" of the white and yellow spectators, many of whom were already stripping as if to anticipate him.
Pedro's head of black curly hair was soon seen to rise above the water as he swam, unerringly as a Newfoundland dog, to where the man was gesticulating frantically on the keel of the capsized boat, and to where the poor girl had sunk.