him, like the gallant gentleman
he was.

"The beacon, Gerard! You will light it?"

"Have you flint and steel?"

"It is here!"

"Then I will light it to-night."

"I die happy to hear you say so. They shot me, Gerard. But you will tell
the Marshal that I did my best."

"And Cortex?"

"He was less fortunate. He fell into their hands and died horribly. If
you see that you cannot get away, Gerard, put a bullet into your own
heart. Don't die as Cortex did."

I could see that his breath was failing, and I bent low to catch his
words.

"Can you tell me anything which can help me in my task?" I asked.

"Yes, yes; de Pombal. He will help you. Trust de Pombal." With the words
his head fell back and he was dead.

"Trust de Pombal. It is good advice." To my amazement a man was standing
at the very side of me.

So absorbed had I been in my comrade's words and intent on his advice
that he had crept up without my observing him. Now I sprang to my feet
and faced him. He was a tall, dark fellow, black-haired, black-eyed,
black-bearded, with a long, sad face. In his hand he had a wine-bottle
and over his shoulder was slung one of the trabucos or blunderbusses
which these fellows bear. He made no effort to unsling it, and I
understood that this was the man to whom my dead friend had commended
me.

"Alas, he is gone!" said he, bending over Duplessis.

"He fled into the wood after he was shot, but I was fortunate enough
to find where he had fallen and to make his last hours more easy. This
couch was my making, and I had brought this wine to slake his thirst."

"Sir," said I, "in the name of France I thank you. I am but a colonel
of light cavalry, but I am Etienne Gerard, and the name stands for
something in the French army. May I ask----"

"Yes, sir, I am Aloysius de Pombal, younger brother of the famous
nobleman of that name. At present I am the first lieutenant in the band
of the guerilla chief who is usually known as Manuelo, 'The Smiler.'"

My word, I clapped my hand to the place where my pistol should have
been, but the man only smiled at the gesture.

"I am his first lieutenant, but I am also his deadly enemy," said he.
He slipped off his jacket and pulled up his shirt as he spoke. "Look at
this!" he cried, and he turned upon me a back which was all scored and
lacerated with red and purple weals. "This is what 'The Smiler' has done
to me, a man with the noblest blood of Portugal in my veins. What I will
do to