“Remember, to-morrow I return.”
So saying, the guerilla flung his carbine over his shoulder, and with an angry look strode from the cottage.
The young girls watched for a moment in silence his retreating form. When he had passed from their sight Remedios bent toward her sister, and in a half whisper asked,
“What does he mean when he says that he must die to night? Do you think he has some plot laid to assassinate Don Santiago?”
“No, to-night they are to attack the picket at the garita. You know that this is the day of Don Santiago’s guard. I overheard one of the guerillus talk of their plan as I came from the church.”
All that night Remedios was unhappy. She slept but little, thinking of the threat which had been uttered by the jealous Pepe, and with painful suspense she awaited the approach of day.
At an early hour the sisters, with their basket filled with the work of yesterday, and a profusion of beautiful flowers, started for Puebla.
Shortly after leaving the village they met an Indian woman coming from the direction of the city, driving an ass. This woman informed the sisters that there had been a severe skirmish near the garita between the guerillus and the guard, in which the former had been defeated and scattered. The guard had got information by some means of the intended attack, and had sent to Puebla for a reinforcement of mounted men, which had arrived just in time and by a circuitous route, and had attacked the guerillus in the rear, so that only a few of them escaped from either death or capture.
The sisters had scarcely bid adieu to the Indian woman, when on reaching a turn in the road they came upon one of the guerillus, seated upon a stone.
A handkerchief was bound around his head—his face, pale and haggard, was spotted with blood, and there was a look of wild revenge in his eye as he recognized the approach of the two girls.