When the hat was removed, however, the darkness, which had suddenly increased, rendered it impossible to distinguish his features.
“Although it is not exactly your speciality, Señor Cuchillo,” said Don Estevan, addressing himself to the outlaw, “if you will do an act of humanity in trying to save the life of this poor devil, you shall have half an ounce of gold if you succeed.”
“Cospita! Señor Don Estevan,” cried Cuchillo, “you surely mistake my character. I am the most humane of mortals—that is,” continued he in an undertone, “when it is my interest to be so. You may ride forward then; and it will not be my fault, if I don’t bring this poor fellow safe to our halting-place at La Poza.”
In saying these words Cuchillo dismounted, and laying his hands upon the neck of his horse, cried out:
“Now, good Tordilla, don’t budge an inch from this spot till I call for you.”
The animal, pawing the sand, and champing his bit, appeared to comprehend the words of his master, and remained in the place where he had been left.
“Shall we leave one of the servants to assist you?” inquired the Senator, as they were riding off.
“No, thank you, Señor Don Vicente,” responded Cuchillo, fearing that if any one was left he might expect some share in the promised demi-onza; “it will not be necessary.”
And the cavalcade riding off, left the outlaw alone with the recumbent body.