The moon, about to sink behind the summit of the enchanted hill, cast oblique rays along the level shore of the lake. There he could make out a confused group of men and horses, some of the former dismounted and flinging long shadows over the plain. What was passing in the middle of this group? Some terrible scene, no doubt, was there being enacted—to judge from the hurried movements of the men, and the angry intonation of their voices.
At that moment a frightful cry rose upon the air, and, borne upon the still breeze, was distinctly heard by Don Mariano and the people around him. It was the agonised cry of a wretch begging for mercy. The voice even could be distinguished by Don Mariano, by Costal, by Clara, and the domestics. All knew it was the voice of Arroyo.
The cry was significant. Beyond doubt Don Rafael was the victor, and was now executing upon the murderer of his father the act of merciless justice he had promised before the walls of Las Palmas.
Don Mariano hesitated no longer; but, giving the order to his attendants, advanced towards the scene of vengeance.
Chapter Eighty.
Matlacuezc a Mortal.
The shores of the Lake Ostuta, hitherto so solitary and silent, appeared upon this night to have become a general rendezvous for all the world. The litera of Gertrudis had scarce moved from the spot which Don Mariano had chosen for his bivouac, when another litera was seen entering the glade, and moving onward through it. This, however, was borne by men, and preceded by some half-dozen Indian peons with blazing torches of ocote wood carried in their hands.
On reaching the shore of the lake, the second litera with its escort made halt, while the Indians bearing the torches commenced searching for something among the reeds.