“You did kill him; you cut his throat near to our common country; you threw his corpse into the river; the earth revealed it to me—since I noticed the defect in the horse you rode, as well as the wound in your leg, which you received in the struggle.”
“Pardon, Don Tiburcio?” cried Cuchillo, overwhelmed by the sudden revelation of these facts, to which God alone had been witness. “Take back all the gold you gave me, but spare my life; and to show my gratitude, I will kill all your enemies everywhere, and always at a sign from you—for nothing—even my father, if you command me; but in the name of the all-powerful God, spare my life—spare me my life!” he continued, crawling forward and clutching at Fabian’s knees.
“Arellanos also craved for mercy; did you listen to him?” said Fabian, turning away.
“But when I killed him, it was that I might possess all this gold myself. Now I restore it all for my life—what can you want more?” he continued, while he resisted Pepé’s efforts, who was trying to prevent him from kissing Fabian’s feet.
With features distorted by excess of terror, a whitish foam upon his lips, his eyes starting from his head, yet seeing nothing, Cuchillo still sued for mercy, as he endeavoured to crawl towards Fabian. He had by continued efforts reached the edge of the platform. Behind his head, the sheet of water fell foaming downwards.
“Mercy, mercy!” he cried, “in the name of your mother—for Doña Rosarita’s sake, who loves you, for I know that she loves you—I heard—”
“What?” cried Fabian, in his turn rushing towards Cuchillo, but the question expired upon his lips.
Spurned along the earth by the carabinier’s foot Cuchillo with head and arms stretched back was hurled into the abyss!
“What have you done, Pepé?” exclaimed Fabian.
“The wretch,” said the ex-carabinier, “was not worth the cord which might have hung him, nor the bullet that would have sent him out of the world.”