"Carajo! Quien vive? Amigos ó enemigos?" he repeated, the sonorous tones of his voice reechoing in the dingles of the wood, and arousing the fierce growling of some dogs near at hand.
"This is one of the villains, senor, bedecked in all his ill-gotten finery."
"We must dispatch him," answered Ronald in a fierce whisper, his natural impetuosity becoming roused; "we must rid ourselves of him, but how?"
"Quietly, senor,—leave him to me. Every man lost to the enemy is one gained to us,—so says Murillo, and he—"
"Pshaw! never mind Murillo. This fellow must be settled warily, if we would steal upon the rest. What would you advise? He certainly hears us, and should he fire in this direction, one of us may be knocked on the head. I will rush on him, and disarm or cut him down in a twinkling."
"Nay, noble senor; his outcry would be as mischievous as the discharge of his musquet: the ruins of the chapel are close at hand, remember. Leave him to me," was Pedro's answer, while he coolly displayed the blade of a long Spanish knife, which flashed as he drew it, and, gliding from Ronald's side, advanced softly towards the brigand under the shadow of the trees.
The challenge of the bandit again sounded through the lonely wood.
"Cuidado, amigos mios; cuidado?" he added in a voice of taunt and warning, but evidently while he was uncertain whether or not any one had approached his post. He drew his thumbnail cautiously across the sharp edge of his flint, he raised his musquet to his shoulder, and was about to fire in the direction of the place where Ronald and Evan stood concealed. Another second would perhaps have sealed the fate of one of them, when the stiletto of the dragoon glittered near him in the pale moonlight,—a heavy blow was given, and a deep groan succeeded: the robber fell dying upon the sward, while his musquet only flashed in the pan, and fell rattling from his grasp without doing damage. Ronald rushed towards the spot, and found the bloodthirsty sargento wiping his deadly weapon with scrupulous accuracy, while he kept his foot upon the yet warm, though breathless corpse of the man he had destroyed. The light of the moon fell with a cold and ghastly lustre on the pale and rigid, yet very fine features of the dead man, becoming contracted and fierce with the recent death-struggle. His white and up-turned eyes shone with a terrible glare, as the moon-beams fell on them, and altogether there was something sad and appalling in the sudden manner in which this desperado had been hurled into eternity, with all his unrepented and manifold sins upon his head.
"Awfu' work this, sir!" said Evan with a shudder, while he surveyed the stark and bold features of the slain, around whom a black pool formed by his blood lay increasing. "A dour-looking chield he is, wi' a gloom on his brow that would suit Rob Roy himsel."
"I would to Heaven, Gomez," observed the equally excited Stuart, "you had found some other mode of silencing him than this; there is somewhat in it at which I revolt."