in vain for death to deliver him from his agony; but he had yet to endure more, though not forelong. Toward daylight the party came to a halt among the precipitous and stony darrancas of Huehuetlan, a small Indian vilage; here, it was decided, would be a safe hidingplace for the captives.
When Don Cirilo recovered consciousness, he found himself on a rude campbed in a wretched hovel, at the entrance of which stood a sentry—masked, but armed to the teeth. By degrees the captive realized his position, and made an effort to rise; but his utter inability to move told him how severély wounded he must be, and again he sighed for death. Slight though his movement had been, it had not escaped the eye of the sentry, who at once communicated with his chief. Bravo then appeared, and asked the old man how he felt; no answer. Same question, same result. Chafing inwardly, the Captain then asked if his prisoner wished for any thing; but still met with the same stubborn silence. On a sign, a cup of afole gruel was brought in; but Gil had fainted, and lay, to all appearance, dead. Alarmed lest Death should rob them of their prize, the robbers now held a council of war, the result of which was the sending off to Matamoras for a doctor, who was quietly kidnaped and brought to Huehuetlan. On examining the patient, it was found that the ball which struck him had passed so close to the brain, that it seemed a miracle it had not touched it; add to this the hideous nightride and mental agony, what wonder that brain-fever seemed imminent, and most likely would prove fatal? Such was the Doctor's view of the case; and not being in accordance with the wishes of the setores plagiarios, it was greeted by curses and threats of death. Tremblingly, the poor man offered to do his best, and was allowed to dress the wounds; but the men were not satisfied —he was
sent off and another brought, also by force, to try his skill. He gave precisely the same opinion as his predecessor—that the prisoner would die —but Bravo was not a man to be trifled with. He wished Gil to live; so, coolly taking out his pistol and cocking it, he asked the Doctor to reconsider his opinion. Terrified at seeing his life thus suddenly threatened, the quaking medico said that, with proper treatment, medicines, food, etc., Gil might recover. "You shall have all your patient needs," was Bravo's answer; "you have but to ask:" and sure enough, the prescriptions were taken to Matamoras and made up, while broths and dainties were prepared for the prisoner; but he could not be prevailed upon to take them, and was evidently sinking, slowly but surely. In this extremity, Noriega thought of a cunning plan, which he was not slow in communicating to his comrades, and which was adopted after much stormy discussion. Pepe was brought before a council of the chiefs, (the reader may remember he had been but stunned) and the following proposition was made to him: he was to start for home at once, and bring back immediately a sum of $50,000, as ransom for his father and himself —any delay to be the signal for the old man's death. Pepe argued long, and with true Mexican obstinacy: he maintained that his family did not possess that amount of money, and that it would take long to borrow piecemeal from friends. No, the bandits must have $50,000, or he and his father should die. "Zsté bueno," ("It is well") was the quiet answer, and he was led back to the hole which served as his prison. It was hoped that a few days would make him alter his determination, but he remained firm; and, finally, by Noriega's influence, a fresh plan was decided on. Pepe was asked what he would give; he answered that he could not pledge himself to get more than $20,000—which sum the brigands,
