The rancher stood by helplessly while the bandit sped away, holding Celinda down on the saddle-tree.... Then he concentrated all his will on the hand that held his revolver. He must kill the bandit’s horse.
And the man trembled with emotion. Not all his combats with men and wild beasts had prepared him for this. How could he, to whom a horse was like a child of his flesh, shoot one down in cold blood?... But there, growing smaller in the increasing distance, was Celinda, struggling, crying out!
He was, as a rule, a sure shot. But he fired without effect; and again he fired. The gaucho still sped on, and don Carlos raised his revolver for the last shot. Suddenly Manos Duras’s horse staggered, slowed down and plunged to the ground, raising a cloud of dust in a last frenzied kick.
Rojas ran forward; but before he reached the struggling group Manos Duras had already extricated himself from the saddle, and, still holding Celinda, stood waiting for him, his second revolver drawn.
Don Carlos went a few steps further; but the shot that rang out passed so near his cheek that for a moment he thought it must have caught him. He dropped to the ground in order to offer the marksman a smaller target, and dragged himself along, keeping his revolver in his left hand. The gaucho, unaware that his enemy had but one shot left, thought it was don Carlos’ intention to draw nearer so as to make sure of the effect of his bullets, and he went on firing, holding Celinda in front of him the while as a shield against her father’s shots. But the girl’s struggles to free herself from the grip of that sinewy arm shook his hand and spoiled the bandit’s aim.
“If you try one more shot, old man, I kill your daughter!”
This warning, added to the knowledge that he had but one more bullet in his cartridge chamber, forced don Carlos to content himself with slowly crawling forward over the sand, seeking the shelter of the hummocks on its surface.
But meanwhile Manos Duras became instinctively aware of the presence of a new danger. He looked about attempting to discover it; but the one menacing him from in front soon called for all his attention.
The invisible enemy recently arrived was Watson, who, when he heard shots, dismounted, and under cover of the rough desert brush, advanced Indian-fashion towards the scene of the revolver duel.
For a moment he felt tempted to fire from the back at Manos Duras; but there was danger of his wounding Celinda whose movements could not be counted on. So he returned to his horse and detached from the saddle the lassoo that the señorita de Rojas had given him. Holding it in his right hand, he circled about through the matorrales until he was directly behind the bandit.