he had so audaciously plunged at the moment when the sun, quitting the horizon, had left the earth to darkness – darkness rendered still denser in the covert, in which the light even at midday could only struggle in at intervals through the tufted branches.
Bending a little forward, eye and ear on the watch, the unknown advanced as rapidly as the nature of the ground under his horse's hoofs would let him, following unhesitatingly the capricious deviations of a wild animal's path, whose traces were scarcely discoverable amidst the tall grasses which strove continually to efface it.
He had already ridden for several hours without having slackened the pace of his horse, plunging deeper and deeper into the forest.
He had forded several rivers, scaled many a steep ravine, hearing at a short distance, on right and left, the hoarse growlings of the jaguar and the mocking wailing of the tiger cat, which seemed to follow him with their menacing yells.
Taking no heed of roar or tumult, he continued his route, although the forest assumed a more dreary aspect at every step.
The bushes and trees of low growth had disappeared, to make room for gigantic mahogany trees, century old cork trees, and the acajou, whose sombre branches formed a vaulted roof of green eighty feet above his head. The path had grown wider, and stretched, in a gentle incline, towards a hillock of moderate height, entirely free from trees.
Arrived at the base of the hillock, the stranger halted; then, without dismounting, cast a searching glance on all around.
The stillness of death pervaded everything; the howling of the wild beasts was lost in the distance; no noise was audible, save that caused by a slender stream of water, which, trickling through the crevices of a rock, fell from a height of three or four yards into a natural basin.
The sky, of the deepest blue, was spangled with an infinite number of brilliant stars; and the moon, sailing amidst a sea of whitish clouds, cast her silvery rays in profusion on the hillock, whose sides, fantastically lighted up, formed a striking contrast with the rest of the landscape, merged, as it was, in the deepest obscurity.
During several minutes the unknown remained motionless as a statue, listening to the faintest sound, ready to fire at the slightest appearance of danger.
Convinced, at last, that all around was peaceful, and that nothing unusual disturbed the silence of the solitude, he prepared to dismount, when suddenly his horse threw up his head, laid back his ears, and snorted loudly.
A moment more, and a violent crashing was heard among the underwood; a noble moose deer rose from amidst the bushes, and, bounding to within a short distance from the cavalier, rapidly traversed the path, tossing his antlers in terror, and vanished in the darkness.
For a time the noise of its headlong course resounded over the dry leaves, crushed under its feet in the constantly increasing speed of its flight.
The cavalier, with a scarcely perceptible motion of the hand, backed his horse gradually to the foot of the hillock, with his head always turned in the direction of the forest, like a vidette who retires before a superior force.
As soon as he reached the spot he had selected, the unknown leaped lightly to the ground; and, making a rampart of his horse's body, levelled his rifle, steadied the barrel across the saddle, and waited patiently.
He had not to wait long: after a while the tread of several persons was heard approaching his place of ambush.
Most likely the unknown had already divined who these persons might be, even before he saw them; for he quitted his temporary shelter, passed his arm through his horse's reins, and, uncocking his rifle, let the butt drop on the ground, with every symptom of complete security, while a smile of indefinable expression played about his lips.
At last the branches parted, and five persons appeared on the scene.
Of these five persons, four were men; two of them supported the tottering form of a woman, whom they almost carried in their arms. And, what was most wonderful in these regions, the strangers, whom it was easy to recognise as white men by their dress and the colour of their skin, had no horses with them.
They continued to advance without being aware of the presence of the unknown, who, still motionless, marked their approach with mingled pity and sadness.
Suddenly one of the strangers happened to lift his eyes.
"Praise be to God!" cried he, in Mexican, with lively satisfaction; "We are saved. Here is a human being at last."
The five stopped. The one who had first observed the unknown came rapidly towards him, and exclaimed, with a graceful inclination:
"Caballero, I entreat you to grant, what is seldom refused in the wilderness, aid and protection."
The unknown, before he replied, threw a searching look at the speaker.
The latter was a man of some fifty years; his manner was polished, his features noble, although his hair was growing white about his temples; his figure, upright and compact, had no more bent an inch, nor his black eyes lost a particle of their fire, than if he had been only thirty. His rich dress and the ease of his manner clearly proved him to belong to the highest grade of Mexican society.
"You have committed two grave errors in as many minutes, caballero," answered the unknown: "the first, in approaching me without precaution; the second, in demanding aid and protection without knowing who I am."
"I do not understand you, señor," replied the stranger, with astonishment. "Do not all men owe mutual assistance to each other?"
"In the civilised world it may be so," said the unknown, with a sneer; "but in the wilderness, the sight of a man always forebodes danger: we are savages here."
The stranger recoiled in astonishment.
"And thus," said be, "you would leave your fellow creatures to perish in these horrible solitudes without stretching forth a hand to help them?"
"My fellow creatures!" cried the unknown, with biting irony; "My fellow creatures are the wild beasts of the prairie. What have I in common with you men of towns and cities, natural enemies of every being that breathes the pure air of liberty? There is nothing in common between you and me. Begone, and weary me no more."
"Be it so," was the stranger's haughty answer. "I would not importune you much longer; were it only a question of myself, I would not have uttered a single prayer to you. Life is not so dear to me, that I should seek to prolong it on terms repugnant to my honour; but it is not a question of myself alone; here is a female, still almost a child, my daughter who is in want of prompt assistance, and will die if it is not rendered."
The unknown made no reply; he had turned away, as if reluctant to carry on any further conversation.
The stranger slowly rejoined his companions, who had halted at the edge of the forest.
"Well?" he asked uneasily.
"The señorita has fainted," sorrowfully replied one of the men.
The stranger uttered an exclamation of grief. He remained for some moments fixing his eyes on the girl, with an indescribable expression of despair.
All of a sudden he turned abruptly, and rushed towards the unknown.
The latter had mounted, and was on the point of retiring.
"Stop!" called the stranger.
"What
