“It is with regret that I see you depart,” said Bois-Rose to the adventurer, “a man who like yourself is a bitter enemy to the Indians, would have been a companion whose society I should have appreciated.”
“My duty recalls me to the camp, which I quitted under the influence of Don Estevan’s unhappy star,” replied the adventurer, “but there are two things I shall never forget; they are, the conduct of generous enemies; and the oath I have taken never to reveal to a living creature the existence of this Golden Valley.”
As he finished these words, the loyal Diaz quickly withdrew, reflecting upon the means of reconciling his respect for his word, with the care and safety of the expedition entrusted to him by its leader, previous to his death.
The three friends speedily lost sight of him.
The sun shone out, and, glancing down from the Golden Valley, discovered Cuchillo, greedily bending over his treasures, and the three hunters holding council amongst themselves respecting him.
Fabian had listened in silence to Bois-Rose’s advice, as well as that given by Diaz previous to his departure; and he only waited the counsel of the old carabinier.
“You have taken,” said the latter, in his turn, “a vow, from which nothing ought to release you; the wife of Arellanos received it from you on her death-bed; you have her husband’s murderer in your power; there is nothing here to deny it.”
Then, observing a look of anxious indecision in Fabian’s countenance, he added, with that bitter irony which formed a part of his character; “But after all, if this duty is so repugnant to you, I shall undertake it; for not having the least ill will against Cuchillo, I can bang him without a scruple. You will see, Fabian, that the knave will not testify any surprise at what I am going to tell him. Fellows who have such a face as Cuchillo’s expect to be hung every day.”
As he concluded this judicious reflection, Pepé approached the green hedge, which separated them from the outlaw.
The latter, unconscious of all that had taken place around him—dazzled, blinded, by the golden rays, which reflected the sun’s light over the surface of the valley—had heard and seen nothing.