_onza_ to save his life. To-day I have different views
regarding him; and I promise to give you twenty _onzas_ when I am
assured that he is no longer alive."

"Agreed, Don Estevan; and in to-morrow's hunt of these wild horses, it
will be strange if Tiburcio Arellanos don't knock his brains out against
either a rock or the trunk of a tree, or at least get himself into some
corner, where he won't be able to find his way out again. The only
regret I have is, that I shall have to share these twenty onzas with my
friends, Baraja and Oroche."

"To-morrow!" exclaimed Don Estevan; "and who knows but that to-morrow
may be too late? Is the night not better for your purpose? Are you not
three to one? Who is to assure you that to-morrow I may not change my
mind?"

This threat seriously alarmed Cuchillo.

"Carramba! your excellency is quick to decide; you are not one of those
who leave for to-morrow what should be done to-day. _Pues_--then--I
shall try my best. In fact, it is very quiet here--I wonder the cries
of this young woman have not startled the whole house. There's not a
creature about."

Such was in reality the case. Notwithstanding the noise of the struggle
between Tiburcio and his assailants, and later still, the cries of
Rosarita, no one had been awakened. The vast extent of the building
prevented these sounds from being heard, particularly as all the
domestics of the hacienda, as well as the proprietor himself, were
buried in a profound slumber.

Cuchillo now directed himself toward the apartment where he had left his
comrades; Don Estevan returning at the same time to his own chamber.
The moon once more poured her soft, silvery light upon the grove of
oranges, as if no crime had ever been attempted in that tranquil spot.

Don Estevan did not go to rest; but for a long time paced to and fro
across his ample chamber, with the air of one accustomed to watch over
ambitious projects while others were asleep.

After a lapse of time, Cuchillo was heard knocking softly at his door;
and as soon as it was opened, the hired assassin stepped in. His
confused looks caused Don Estevan to tremble. Was the deed already
done? He wished it, yet feared to ask the question. Cuchillo relieved
him from his embarrassment by speaking first.

"My twenty onzas are gone to the devil!" said he, in a lugubrious tone.

"How?" hastily inquired Don Estevan.

"The bird has flown: the young man is no longer about the place."