nce the sound had come.

Another report that now reached him added to the anguish of his
suspense; for this time, like the last, it was not the well-known crack
of his comrade's rifle.

Almost at the same instant, however, he heard Pepe's voice calling out:

"Come back, Fabian! come back! What is the use of--"

A third detonation seemed to cut short the speech of the
ex-coast-guard--as if he had fallen by the bullet--while no voice of
Fabian was heard to make reply. A profound and frightful silence
followed the last shot, which was broken only by the voice of the
mock-bird, who appeared imperfectly to imitate the words that had been
spoken, and then commenced chanting a plaintive song--as if mourning the
death of those who had fallen by the shots.

The Canadian ran on for some moments, until--unable longer to restrain
himself--he paused, and cried out, at the risk of exposing himself to
some ambushed enemy:

"Hola! Pepe!--where are you?"

"Here!" answered the voice of the ex-carabinier. "We are here, straight
before you--Don Fabian and myself. Come on!"

A cry of joy was all the response the Canadian could give; and the next
moment another joyous shout, as he came upon the ground and perceived
that both his companions were still in safety.

"The skunk ought to be wounded," said he; "my shot caused him to tumble
out of his saddle. You were perhaps more fortunate than I? I heard
your piece speak--have you throwed him, Pepe?"

Pepe shook his head in the negative.

"If you mean the fellow in the yellow jacket," said he, "I fancy the
devil has _him_ under his protection; for I had a fair sight on him--and
yet he's off! He's not alone, however; there are four other horsemen
along with him; and in one of these gentleman I have recognised him whom
they here call Don Estevan de Arechiza, but who is no other than--"

"I have seen only the fellow in the leather jacket," interrupted the
Canadian; "and here is his gun, Fabian, for you. But are you quite
safe?" continued he, in an anxious tone. "You are sure you are not
wounded?"

"No, no--my friend--my father!" cried Fabian, flinging himself into the
trapper's arms, as if they had just met after a long separation.

"Oh, Pepe!" cried the Canadian, his eyes filling with tears, as he
pressed Fabian convulsively against his great bosom, and then held him
at a distance as if to get a better view of him. "Is he not grand? Is
he not beautiful? He--once my litt