"Cuidado was ever my motto," said he; "a dead man tells no tales."
Grasping and compressing Ronald's throat with his left hand, he flourished aloft his right, which held his stiletto, a sharp short dagger, with a round blade like that instrument known as a butcher's steel. "Now, valiente senor, compound for death, and not for life? I may prolong your tortures, giving a hundred stabs instead of one; but your dying moment shall be easy, if the lining of your pockets is tolerable. A stab for every duro! hah! hah!"
That instinctive feeling which causes every man to struggle to the utmost to preserve life, arose powerfully in the breast of Ronald Stuart at that instant, when he saw the deadly blade of the ruthless assassin gleaming above him in the moonlight. He felt that his last moment was come, and yet he resolved not to die without another gallant struggle. Exerting every energy—straining every muscle and fibre, by one desperate effort he hurled the robber violently backwards; but before he could rise, his merciless assailant again sprung upon him with renewed ferocity, and striking blindly with his stiletto, buried it twice in the turf close by Ronald's ear. There can be little doubt that this new attack would have terminated fatally for him, had not two officers, muffled to the eyes in their cloaks ridden hastily up, upon which the robber, without attempting to strike another blow, snatched up his rifle and fled,—but not unscathed.
"A death-hunter! He shall die, by heavens!" exclaimed one of the strangers, snatching a pistol from his holsters and firing after Cifuentes, who was seen bounding with the speed of a greyhound over the encumbered field, and the moon shone full upon him. A sharp howl of pain followed the report of the shot.
"Your shot has told, my lord," said the other officer. "These rascals deserve no mercy."
"The fellow is leaping along yet. I would again fire, but for the waste of powder."
"He was struggling with some one here."
"Your arrival has been very fortunate," said Ronald, in a voice which faltered from weariness and excitement. "I have had a protracted and desperate struggle with the ruffian, and must have perished under his hands at last, as I am weak with loss of blood, and totally incapable of defending myself."
"Put this to your mouth," said the first speaker, "and take a hearty pull. 'Tis cold whisky-toddy,—a beverage not often got so near the Pyrenees."
"Thanks, sir!" said Ronald, as he put the flask to his lips, and drank gratefully of the contents. "So we have gained the day."