he wanted to get inside! A soldier was
endeavouring to drive him off.

Vizcarra looked mechanically as directed. He saw the dog. He saw the
soldier too; but dared not make a signal to him. The keen blade was
gleaming before his eyes. The question of the cibolero was repeated.

"Why is that?"

"I--I--know not--"

"Liar again! She has gone in by that door. Where is she now? Quick,
tell me!"

"I declare, I know not. Believe me--"

"False villain! she is here. I have tracked you through all your
paths--your tricks have not served you. Deny her once more, and this to
your heart. She is here!--Where--where--I say?"

"Oh! do not murder me. I shall tell all. She--she--is--here. I swear
I have not wronged her; I swear I have not--"

"Here, ruffian--stand at this point--close to the wall here.--Quick!"

The cibolero had indicated a spot from which part of the patio, or
courtyard, was visible. His command was instantly obeyed, for the
craven Comandante saw that certain death was the alternative.

"Now give orders that she be brought forth! You know to whom she is
intrusted. Be cool and calm, do you hear? Any sign to your minions,
either word or gesture, and this knife will pass through your ribs!
Now!"

"O my God!--my God!--it would ruin me--all would know--ruin--ruin--I
pray you--have mercy--have patience!--She shall be restored to you--I
swear it--this very night!"

"This very moment, villain! Quick--proceed--all those who know--let her
be brought forth!--quick--I am on fire--one moment more--"

"O Heaven! you will murder me--a moment--Stay!--Ha!"

The last exclamation was in a different tone from the rest. It was a
shout of exultation--of triumph!

The face of the Comandante was turned towards the escalera by which
Carlos had ascended, while that of the latter looked in the opposite
direction. Carlos, therefore, did not perceive that a third person had
reached the roof, until he felt his upraised right arm grasped by a
strong hand, and held back! He wrenched his arm free--turning as he did
so--when he found himself face to face with a man whom he recognised as
the Lieutenant Garcia.

"I have no quarrel with _you_," cried the cibolero; "keep away from me."

The officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and was
levelling it at his head. Carlos rushed upon him.

The report rang, and for a moment the smoke shrouded both Garcia and the
cibolero. One was heard to fall heavily