Then came a double flash of flame from the bushes and one of the riders fell, while another uttered the cry of a wounded man.

Two more were killed before the panic-stricken horsemen were borne beyond range.

Those who remained unhurt left the road and fled for their lives down the bed of a little stream that crossed it at the foot of the hill.

The wounded man was despatched by del Concha where he lay, before Ridge could interpose a word in his behalf.
"And why not ?" asked the Cuban, as he coolly wiped his machete on the grass.

"Can the blood-debt that I owe them ever be paid?
Are they not adding to it every day?
Even now, does not she who is dearest of all the world to me lie wounded at their hands ?" "But, I thought you were in their service, and that they trusted you." "So they do trust me, and to their sorrow," replied del Concha, with a bitter laugh.