hing of the man who was in pursuit of him; and,
glancing over his shoulder, he saw the head of the animal he had termed
the horse of the Apocalypse--almost on a level with the croup of his
saddle.

In another moment, a vigorous hand seized him by the collar, that
lifting him out of his stirrups, dragged him backward, till he felt that
he was lying across the pummel of his adversary's saddle.

Don Cornelio now saw a poignard raised to strike, which flashed before
his sight like the sword of an archangel. He closed his eyes, believing
his last hour had come; when all at once the arm fell, and a voice cried
out--

"_Tomal_ Why it is Don Cornelio Lantejas!"

The ex-student reopened his eyes; and, looking up, recognised the young
officer in whose company he had journeyed, on his way to San Salvador,
whom he had afterwards met at the hacienda Las Palmas.

CHAPTER FIFTY.

A SPLENDID STROKE.

Surrounded by his staff, Morelos still continued to watch the progress
of events. From the commanding position which he held, almost every
incident of the battle could be observed. Even those occurring at the
most distant point of the field were observable through the medium of
the telescope. Among other objects that had attracted his notice was a
horseman going at full gallop along the crossroad, which led from the
field of maize to the Royalist encampment.

"Ha!" exclaimed he to an officer of his staff; "if I'm not mistaken, it
is our Captain Lantejas who is galloping down yonder. Where can he be
going? No doubt he is about to strike one of those improvised, decisive
blows in which he excels--as when at Cuautla, he dashed his horse full
tilt against the gigantic Spanish cuirassier, and received the sabre
stroke that might else have fallen upon my own skull. Fortunately his
sword turned in the hand of the Spaniard, and Don Cornelio was struck by
the flat side of the blade, which only knocked him out of his saddle,
without doing him any great injury."

"Senor General," remarked the officer, with some show of hesitation;
"there are evil-disposed persons, who pretend to say that--that--"

"What do they pretend to say?" demanded Morelos.

"Why, that on the occasion of which your Excellency speaks, the horse of
Senor Lantejas was running away with him."

"An odious calumny!" pronounced Morelos, in a severe tone. "Envy is
always the proof of merit."

At this moment, Don Cornelio disappeared from off the crossroad; an