“Twenty-four,” answered Tiburcio, and then proceeded with his narrative. “I came very near sharing the fate of my poor horse; and when, about two hours after, you saw me at La Poza, I had just arrived there—having been saved by the party in whose company you found me. But what motive those gentlemen could have, first to rescue me from death, and then afterwards attempt to take my life, is what I am unable to comprehend.”
“Perhaps some rivalry in love?” suggested the Canadian, with a smile; “it is usually the history of young men.”
“I acknowledge,” rejoined Tiburcio, with an air of embarrassment, “there is something of that; but there is also another motive, I believe. Possibly it is to secure to themselves the sole possession of an important secret which I share with them. Certain it is, that there are three men whom my life appears to discommode; there is one of them against whom I have myself sworn vengeance, and although I am but one against three I must accomplish the vow which I made at the death-bed of a person who was very dear to me.”
The three men whom Tiburcio meant—and whose names he repeated to Bois-Rose—were Cuchillo, who had attempted to assassinate him; the Senator, his rival: and Don Estevan, whom Tiburcio now believed to be the murderer of Marcos Arellanos.
Bois-Rose tacitly applauded this exhibition of youthful ardour and reckless courage.
“But you have not yet told me your name?” said he, interrogatively, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Tiburcio Arellanos,” was the reply.
At the mention of the name the Canadian could not restrain a gesture that expressed disappointment. There was nothing in the name to recall the slightest souvenir. He had never heard it before.
The young man, however, observed the gesture.
“You have heard the name before?” he asked abruptly. “Perhaps you knew my father, Marcos Arellanos? He has often been through the wildest parts of the country where you may have met him. He was the most celebrated gambusino in the province.”