“As certain as I am that I shall one day appear before God. Poor Don Estevan related to me how the existence and position of the treasure became known to Cuchillo; it was in assassinating his associate who had first discovered it.
“And now if you decide that this man who has twice attempted your life deserves exemplary punishment, you have only to determine upon it.”
As he finished these words, Pedro Diaz tightened his horse’s girths, and prepared to depart.
“One word more!” cried Fabian, “has Cuchillo long possessed this grey horse, which, as you may be aware, has a habit of stumbling?”
“More than two years, from what I have heard.”
This last scene had escaped the bandit’s observation, the thicket of cotton-trees concealing it from his sight; besides, he was too much absorbed in the contemplation of his treasures to turn his eyes away from them.
Seated upon the sand, he was crouched down amidst the innumerable pieces of gold which surrounded him, and he had already begun to pile up upon his serapé all those he had chosen, when Diaz finished his terrible revelation.
“Ah! it is a fearful and fatal day,” said Fabian, in whose mind the latter part of this revelation left no room for doubt. “What ought I do with this man? You, who both know what he has done with my adopted father, Pepé—Bois-Rose—advise me, for my strength and resolution are coming to an end. I have experienced too many emotions for one day.”
“Does the vile wretch, who cut your father’s throat, deserve more consideration than the noble gentleman, who murdered your mother, my son?” answered the Canadian, resolutely.
“Whether it be your adopted father or any others who have been his victims, this brigand is worthy of death,” added Diaz, as he mounted upon his saddle, “and I abandon him to your justice.”