ed. But it shall not go unpunished. Spirit of my mother, hear
me! _It shall not_. Your death shall be avenged--your torture shall
have full retribution. Rejoice, you ruffian crew! feast, and be merry,
for your time of sorrow will soon come--sooner than you think for! I
go, but to return. Have patience--you shall see me again. Yes! once
more you shall stand face to face with Carlos the cibolero!"

He raised his right arm, and held it outstretched in a menacing
attitude, while a gleam of vengeful triumph passed over his countenance.
His horse, as if actuated by a similar impulse, neighed wildly; and
then wheeling round at a signal from his rider, galloped away from the
cliff!

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

After having witnessed the disgusting ceremony in the Plaza, the
officers returned to their quarters at the Presidio.

As already stated, they did not return alone. The principal men of the
place had been invited to dine with them--cura, padres, alcalde, and
all. The capture of the outlaw was a theme of public gratulation and
rejoicing; and the Comandante and his captain--to whom was due the
credit--were determined to rejoice. To that end the banquet was spread
in the Presidio.

It was not thought worth while to remove Carlos to the soldiers' prison.
He could remain all night in the Calabozo. Fast bound and well guarded
as he was, there was not the slightest danger of him making his escape.

To-morrow would be the last day of his life. To-morrow his foes should
have the pleasure of seeing him die--to-morrow the Comandante and
Roblado would enjoy their full measure of vengeance.

Even that day Vizcarra had enjoyed part of his. For the scorn with
which he had been treated he had revenged himself--though it was he who
from the centre of the Plaza had cried "_Basta_!" It was not mercy that
had caused him to interfere. His words were not prompted by motives of
humanity--far otherwise.

His designs were vile and brutal. To-morrow the brother would be put
out of the way, and then--

The wine--the music--the jest--the loud laugh--all could not drown some
bitter reflections. Ever and anon the mirror upon the wall threw back
his dark face spoiled and distorted. His success had been dearly
purchased--his was a sorry triumph.

It prospered better with Roblado. Don Ambrosio was one of the guests,
and sat beside him.

The wine had loosened the heart-strings of the miner. He was
communicative and liberal