After having followed Don Estevan, at the invitation of the latter,
inside the hovel, Cuchillo closed behind him the wattle of bamboos that
served as a door. He did this with great care--as if he feared that the
least noise should be heard without--and then he stood waiting for the
Spaniard to initiate the conversation.

The latter had seated himself on the side of his camp-bedstead, and
Cuchillo also sat down, using for his seat the skull of a bullock,--
which chanced to be in the house. It is the ordinary stool of this part
of the country, where the luxury of chairs is still unknown--at least in
the houses of the poor.

"I suppose," said Arechiza, breaking silence, "that you have a thousand
reasons why I should know you by no other than your present name. I,
with motives very different from yours, no doubt, desire to be here
nothing more than _Don Estevan Arechiza_. Now! Senor Cuchillo,"
continued the speaker with a certain affectation of mockery; "let us
have this grand secret that is to make your fortune and mine!"

"A word first, Senor Don Estevan de Arechiza," replied Cuchillo, in the
same tone; "one word, and then you shall have it."

"I listen to you; but observe, sir, say nothing of the past--no more
perfidy. We are here in a country where there are _trees_, and you know
how I punish traitors."

At this allusion to some past event--no doubt some mysterious souvenir--
the face of the outlaw became livid.

"Yes," replied he, "I remember that it is not your fault that I was not
hung to a tree. It may be more prudent not to recall old wrongs--
especially as you are no longer in a conquered country, but in one of
forests--forests both sombre and dumb."

There was in this response of the outlaw such an evident air of menace,
that, joined with his character and sinister antecedents, it required a
firm heart on the part of Don Estevan not to regret having recalled the
souvenir. With a cold smile he replied:

"Ha! another time I shall entrust the execution of a traitor in the
hands of no human being. I shall perform that office myself," continued
he, fixing upon Cuchillo a glance which caused the latter to lower his
head. "As to your threats, reserve them for people of your own kind;
and never forget, that between my breast and your dagger there is an
insurmountable barrier."

"Who knows?" muttered Cuchillo, dissembling the anger which was
devouring him. Then in a different tone, he continued: "But