Some time elapsed before the old servant opened his eyes; but one of Don Mariano’s people at that moment came up, carrying a flask of aguardiente. A few drops were poured down his throat. Some of the liquid was sprinkled over his temples, and this had the effect of momentarily reviving him.
Opening his eyes, he beheld his young master bending over him. He had not seen Don Rafael since childhood, but he knew he was in the neighbourhood, and that the young officer must be he.
“It is I, Rodriguez,” said Don Rafael, speaking close to his ear. “I—Rafael Tres-Villas. You have a message from my father? Why has he sent you?”
“Blessed be God that He has sent you,” said the old man, speaking with difficulty. “Oh! Señor Don Rafael, I bring fearful news. The hacienda Del Valle—”
“Is burnt?”
The wounded man made a sign in the negative.
“Besieged, then?”
“Yes,” replied Rodriguez in a feeble voice.
“And my father?” inquired the officer with a look of anguish.
“He lives. He sent me to you—to Don Mariano’s—to ask assistance. I—pursued by the brigands—a bullet—here! Do not stay with me. Hasten to your father. If any misfortune happen—Antonio Valdez—Remember—Antonio Valdez—miscreant—taking vengeance for—oh, young master! Don Rafael—pray for poor old Rodriguez—who nursed you when a child—pray—”