smart skirmish now began. All was smoke, noise, and confusion. The
Count rode up to his cousin, who was on the right of his men.

"Let us retire," said he. "No advantage is to be gained by this idle
skirmishing. Infantry may be at hand, and delay will endanger our
retreat."

"Not so fast," replied Baltasar; "we will empty a few saddles before we
go."

"The escort was sent for my safety," said the Count, haughtily. "You are
not doing your duty in thus risking it."

"I have not been twenty years a soldier to learn my duty from you, sir,"
said Baltasar, fiercely. "Aim at the officers, men. A doubloon for him
who picks off the captain."

Stimulated by the promised reward, several of the Carlists directed
their fire at Herrera, who was on the left of the dragoons, exactly
opposite to, and within sixty paces of, Don Baltasar. The bullets flew
thick around Luis, but none touched him, and Baltasar himself drew a
pistol from his holster to take aim at his opponent. Disgusted at his
cousin's intemperate speech and imprudent conduct, the Count
contemptuously turned his back upon him and approached the stream,
regardless that by so doing he brought himself into a cross fire of
friends and foes.

"This is useless, Herrera," said he, "draw off your men."

The words had scarcely left his lips, when his hand relinquished its
hold of the bridle, by a convulsive movement he threw himself back in
the saddle, and fell heavily to the ground, struck by a ball. A cry of
horror from Luis was echoed by one of consternation from the Carlists,
on witnessing the fall of a man whom they all loved and respected.

"Where can we cross the stream?" demanded Herrera of one of his men, who
knew the country.

"To our left there is a ford, but at some distance."

"Cease firing," cried Herrera. The trumpet sounded the necessary call,
the Christinos hastily formed up and started at a gallop in the
direction of the ford. Don Baltasar advanced to the spot where his
cousin lay prostrate. Count Villabuena was lying on his back, his teeth
set, his eyes wide open and fixed, his clenched hands full of earth and
grass. Baltasar turned away with a slight shudder.

"He is dead," said he to the subaltern of the escort. "To take the body
with us would but impede our retreat, already difficult enough. The
living must not be endangered for the sake of the dead. Forward, men!"

And, without further delay, the Carlists set off at a brisk pace towards
the mou