Part 45 (1/2)
”Oh, how I suffer!” he suddenly muttered; ”my head is a red-hot furnace--give me drink.”
Water was quickly brought him, but he repulsed it, saying--
”No, not water--I want to regain my strength.”
”What will you have, then?” Red Cedar asked him.
”Give me aguardiente.”
”Oh!” the girl said imploringly; ”do not drink spirits--they will kill you.”
The bandit grinned horribly.
”Kill me?” he said, ”Why, am I not a dead man already, poor fool?”
The White Gazelle gave Red Cedar a glance.
”Let us do what he wishes,” the latter whispered; ”he is a lost man.”
”Aguardiente,” the sufferer said again; ”make haste, if you do not wish me to die ere I have spoken.”
Red Cedar seized his gourd, and in spite of the girl's entreaties, thrust the neck between the pirate's lips. Sandoval drank deeply.
”Ah!” he said, with a sigh of satisfaction; ”at present I feel strong. I did not believe that it was so difficult to die. Well, if there be a G.o.d, may His will be done. Red Cedar, give me one of your pistols, and leave me your gourd.”
The squatter did as his comrade requested.
”Very good,” he went on; ”now, retire all of you; I have to speak with the Nina.”
Red Cedar could not conceal his dissatisfaction.
”Why weary yourself?” he said; ”it would be better for you to let us pay you that attention your condition demands.”
”Oh!” the bandit said, with a grin, ”I understand you; you would sooner see me die like a dog, without uttering a syllable, for you suspect what I am about to say--well, I feel sorry for you, gossip, but I must and will speak.”
The squatter shrugged his shoulders.
”What do I care for your wanderings?” he said; ”It is only the interest I feel in you that--”
”Enough!” Sandoval interrupted him, sharply. ”Silence! I will speak! no human power can force me in my dying hours to keep the secret longer; it has been rankling in my bosom too long already.”
”My good father--” the girl murmured.
”Peace,” the bandit went on authoritatively, ”do not oppose my will, Nina. You must learn from me certain things before I render my accounts to Him who sees everything.”
Red Cedar fixed a burning glance on the dying man, as he convulsively clutched the b.u.t.t of a pistol; but he suddenly loosed his hold, and smiled ironically.
”What do I care?” he said; ”It is too late now.”
Sandoval heard him.