“No, no—my friend—my father!” cried Fabian, flinging himself into the trapper’s arms, as if they had just met after a long separation.
“Oh, Pepé!” cried the Canadian, his eyes filling with tears, as he pressed Fabian convulsively against his great bosom, and then held him at a distance as if to get a better view of him. “Is he not grand? Is he not beautiful? He—once my little Fabian—oh!”
“Pepé has told me all,” said Fabian. “Among these men is the murderer of my mother.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Pepé; “and by the Virgin of Atocha let us not delay here. There is no time for sentiment—the villain must not escape us. Justice, so long evaded, must now have its due.”
“As God wills!” rejoined Fabian.
The three friends now held a rapid council as to what course was best to be taken. It was concluded by their resolving to follow the horsemen as rapidly as possible along the road which these had taken—the road to Tubac.