"Were you paid for assassinating Marcos Arellanos?"
At this astounding accusation a livid paleness overspread Cuchillo's
features.
He could no longer disguise from himself the fate that awaited him.
The bandage which covered his eyes fell suddenly; and to the flattering
delusions with which he had deceived himself succeeded a formidable
reality.
"Marcos Arellanos!" he stammered out in a weak voice, "who told you
that? I did not kill him!"
Fabian smiled bitterly.
"Who tells the shepherd," he cried, "where the den of the jaguar is to
be found that devours his sheep?
"Who tells the vaquero where the horse that he pursues has taken refuge?
"To the Indian, the enemy he seeks?
"To the gold-seeker the ore, concealed by God?
"The surface of the lake only does not preserve the trace of the bird
which flies over its waters, nor the form of the cloud which it
reflects; but the earth, with its herbs and mosses, reveals to us sons
of the desert, the print of the jaguar's foot as well as the horse's
hoof and the Indian's track; do you not know it, even as I do?"
"I did not kill Arellanos," repeated the assassin.
"You did kill him; you cut his throat near to our common country; you
threw his corpse into the river; the earth revealed it to me--since I
noticed the defect in the horse you rode, as well as the wound in your
leg, which you received in the struggle."
"Pardon, Don Tiburcio?" cried Cuchillo, overwhelmed by the sudden
revelation of these facts, to which God alone had been witness. "Take
back all the gold you gave me, but spare my life; and to show my
gratitude, I will kill all your enemies everywhere, and always at a sign
from you--for nothing--even my father, if you command me; but in the
name of the all-powerful God, spare my life--spare me my life!" he
continued, crawling forward and clutching at Fabian's knees.
"Arellanos also craved for mercy; did you listen to him?" said Fabian,
turning away.
"But when I killed him, it was that I might possess all this gold
myself. Now I restore it all for my life--what can you want more?" he
continued, while he resisted Pepe's efforts, who was trying to prevent
him from kissing Fabian's feet.
With features distorted by excess of terror, a whitish foam upon his
lips, his eyes starting from his head, yet seeing nothing, Cuchillo
still sued for mercy, as he endeavoured to crawl towards Fabian. He had
by continued efforts reached the edge of the platform. Behind his head,
the sheet of water fell foaming downwards.
"Mercy, mercy!" he cried, "in the name of your mother--for Dona
Rosarita's sake, who loves you, for I know that she loves you--I
heard--"
"What?" cried Fabian, in his turn rushing towards Cuchillo, but the
question expired upon his lips.
Spurned along the earth by the carabinier's foot Cuchillo with head and
arms stretched back was hurled into the abyss!
"What have you done, Pepe?" exclaimed Fabian.
"The wretch," said the ex-carabinier, "was not worth the cord which
might have hung him, nor the bullet that would have sent him out of the
world."
A piercing cry,--a cry which rose from the abyss--which drowned their
voices and was heard above the roar of the cascade, caused Fabian to
stretch his head forward and withdraw it again in horror. Hanging to
the branches of a shrub which bent beneath his weight, and which scarce
adhering to the sides of the rock, was fast giving way, Cuchillo hung
over the abyss, howling forth his terror and anguish.
"Help!" he shouted, in a voice despairing as the damned. "Help! if you
are human beings--help!"
The three friends exchanged a glance of unutterable meaning, as each one
wiped the sweat from his brow.
Suddenly the bandit's voice grew faint, and amidst horrible bursts of
laughter, like the shrieks of a lunatic, were heard the last
inarticulate words that escaped his lips.
A moment after, and the noise of the cascade alone broke the silence of
the desert. The abyss had swallowed up him whose life had been a long
tissue of crime.