after much debating, agreed to take. They had not intended allowing an interview between the father and son; but Pepe protesting he did not know where the money was hidden, he was conducted to his father's presence, and a most heart-rending meeting took place: Don Cirilo had fondly imagined that Pepe had escaped, and Pepe had no idea that he was to find his father on the brink of the grave. A few moments only were allowed them, but Don Cirilo found time to say: "Pepe, go home; you are now the head of the family. I intrust it to your care, but mark one thing: I know I am dying; so do not bring these scoundrels a single cenfavo, or you will incur your old father's dying malediction, instead of his blessing. Promise." It was a hard struggle —leaving an honored father in the hands of these men, who knew not what was mercy or pity— but so it had to be: Pepe promised, kissed the old man tenderly a last time, and departed.
Two days after, Don Cirilo died, and was buried like a dog on the hill-side; and then the bandits saw the mistake they had made in letting Pepe get out of their clutches. Hoping against hope, they waited a few days, but only heard the unwelcome news that large parties were scouring the country in search of them in all directions; and it became
necessary to separate. But ere breaking up, discord had crept into the camp. It was evident the men had lost faith in their leaders: two prizes —such prizes! —and no booty! Bravo saw the coming storm; and to keep up his own popularity, he began openly to upbraid Noriega for having proposed to send Pepe Gil away. The match thus lit, the train quickly fired. The men jumped at the idea of having somebody on whom to wreak their vengeance; and a courtmartial was held, with Bravo as President. This mockery of a court declared Paulino Noriega a traitor. He was condemned and shot, and buried alongside of poor Gil, whom he had helped to kill. Such are the decrees of Destiny! Bravo and his band were actively followed up; and when last heard c., this daring chief, with eight or ten followers only, was still skulking in the hills, hunted down like a wild beast, and being reduced to great extremities. By this time, let us hope, he has met his deserts. The body of poor Gil, though searched for, had not been found, but his sons did not despair of success. They hoped to have at least the melancholy satisfaction of giving Christian burial to the remains of an excellent father and—strange qualities in one of pure Indian blood—an honest, hard-working ranchero, who was esteemed by all who knew him.
