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260 animals that were standing in groups round the leading mule, whose bell had disappeared. Several mules were bleeding from large wounds: two soldiers, very likely hit by the balls of their comrades, were bandaging their legs with their pocket-handkerchiefs. In a shallow ravine, which the torches reddened with a melancholy glow, a poor muleteer lay writhing in the death agony. This was the man who had recognized Victoriano; he had expiated the fault of having seen too well. The arriero, torch in hand, walked from one mule to another, tearing his hair the while, and wiping off the sweat, which, in spite of the coldness of the night, dropped profusely from his face. "I am lost—ruined!" cried the poor devil, who appeared scarcely to have sufficient courage to ascertain his precise loss with exactness. He commenced, however. Don Blas, who seemed very pale even by the reddish glare of the torches, sat motionless in his saddle. I scrutinized his features as I thought over Cecil's words, but nothing in his countenance betrayed the painful emotion of a man who, by negligence or misfortune, had failed in the execution of his duty.

"Don't you think," said I to him, "that it would be no bad thing to pursue the robbers who have carried off their booty, and who are every moment increasing their distance from us?"

Don Blas seemed to wake out of his reverie.

"Doubtless," he cried, roughly; "but who told you that they have carried off any thing?"

"Heaven help this poor man!" said I, pointing to the muleteer, who uttered a doleful cry.

"May God pity me!" cried he, "for I shall never survive it. Five, Señor Captain! five are gone!" he continued, in a choking voice. "I have lost in one