o the door. The next moment
he rushed back, shouting out:

"I told yer so!" And, dashing his huge body against the back of the
rancho, he broke through the cane pickets with a crash.

We were hastening to follow him when the frail structure gave way; and
we found ourselves buried, along with our host and his women, under a
heavy thatch of saplings and palm-leaves.

We heard the crack of our comrade's rifle without--the scream of a
victim--the reports of pistols and escopettes--the yelling of savage
men; and then the roof was raised again, and we were pulled out and
dragged down among the trees, and tied to their trunks and taunted and
goaded, and kicked and cuffed, by the most villainous-looking set of
desperadoes it has ever been my misfortune to fall among. They seemed
to take delight in abusing us--yelling all the while like so many demons
let loose.

Our late acquaintance--the cure--was among them; and it was plain that
he had brought the party on us. His "reverence" looked high and low for
Lincoln; but, to his great mortification, the hunter had escaped.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1. Rinconada. Literally _corner_; here it means a village.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

PADRE JARAUTA.

We were not long in learning into whose hands we had fallen; for the
name "Jarauta" was on every tongue. _They were the dreaded "Jarochos"
of the bandit priest_.

"We're in for it now," said Raoul, deeply mortified at the part he had
taken in the affair with the cure. "It's a wonder they have kept us so
long. Perhaps _he's_ not here himself, and they're waiting for him."

As Raoul said this the clatter of hoofs sounded along the narrow road;
and a horseman came galloping up to the rancho, riding over everything
and everybody with a perfect recklessness.

"That's Jarauta," whispered Raoul. "If he sees _me_--but it don't
matter much," he added, in a lower tone: "we'll have a quick shrift all
the same: he can't more than _hang_--and that he'll be sure to do."

"Where are these Yankees?" cried Jarauta, leaping out of his saddle.

"Here, Captain," answered one of the Jarochos, a hideous-looking griffe
[Note 1] dressed in a scarlet uniform, and apparently the lieutenant of
the band.

"How many?"

"Four, Captain."

"Very well--what are you waiting for?"

"To know whether I shall _hang_ or _shoot_ them."

"Shoot them, by all means! _Carambo_! we have no time f