ortunes were waning, and he cast around him
an anxious glance. The high rocks, which on one side shut in the
valley, might protect him from the fire of his enemies; a short space
only separated him from their foot, and prudence counselled him to fly
there, but his pride forbade him.

"Well then!" cried he proudly after a pause, "revenge yourself on an
enemy who disdains to fly."

"Have we not said that we wish to take you alive?" replied Pepe, coldly.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

THE KING-MAKER A CAPTIVE.

In the whole course of his adventurous life, Don Estevan had never been
in such danger. The plain offered him no protection against the rifles
of his enemies--two at least of whom had an infallible eye and steady
aim--and who had also the advantage of an impregnable position, and
turrets of rock behind which to intrench themselves. Don Estevan did
not conceal from himself the extent of his danger; but neither did his
courage give way.

"Let us have done with this trifling," cried the sonorous voice of
Bois-Rose, whose generosity made him averse to profit by his advantages,
and who scrupled always to shed blood if he could avoid it. "You have
heard that we wish no harm to any but your chief, and you must make up
your mind to let us take him. Retire then willingly, if you do not wish
us to treat you as we intend to treat him."

"Never!" cried Diaz, "shall I commit such a cowardice? You are the
first comers; so be it; we will yield the ground to you, but Don Estevan
must be allowed to go with me."

"_We_ refuse," cried Pepe; "we particularly want the man you call Don
Estevan."

"Do not oppose the justice of God," added Fabian; "your cause is only
that of man. We give you five minutes to reflect, after which our
rifles and our good cause shall decide between us."

"You have but two minutes to decide," said Bois-Rose; "listen to me and
avoid needless bloodshed."

Mediana kept silence and preserved his haughty air. Unshakable in his
notions of chivalric honour, Pedro Diaz resolved to die with the chief,
whose life he believed to be so precious to his country. He consulted
Don Estevan by a look.

"Return to the camp," said the latter; "abandon to his fate a man
henceforth useless to your cause, and come back to avenge my death."

Diaz was not to be moved, but gradually drew his horse close to Don
Estevan, and when their knees touched, with his face still turned toward
his enemies, he murmured, with sc