The traitor died by Casimiro’s own hand. He had been wounded by the first discharge of firearms. He leaped to his feet when the avenging party reached the raft and faced them, knife in hand. The chief was in the van. He motioned to the others to stand back and, himself a picture of vengeance, rejuvenated and implacable, sprang upon the doomed man. The defiance of the wretch at bay seemed at the last moment to change to terror. He cringed. The yellow heap which was to have been the prize of his treachery was literally the pillow upon which he drew his last breath. It was not a fight but a slaughter. In five minutes it was over. Not one of the invaders remained alive. Casimiro for the first time missed the Scotchman. He looked quickly from one to another of the prostrated forms upon the beach and raft, and then ran swiftly to a figure lying upon the sand, where the volley from the raft had met the charging Patagonians. The Scotchman lay upon his face. Casimiro turned him. A groan relieved the worst fears, and he sought to revive the wounded man. Fraser regained consciousness presently, but shook his head in answer to the look in the chief’s face. A ball had passed through his body just below the breast-bone, and the injured man knew his case was hopeless. He protested against being moved, and the Indians brought skins for a softer couch and tried to ease his sufferings where he lay. The dying man gave little thought to himself. He asked eagerly about the result of the short battle. He suggested sending to reconnoiter at once in order to ascertain whence the invaders came and whether there were more of them. Casimiro told him a small ship lay anchored in the harbor, but she seemed to be deserted. Then the sufferer advised the removal of all the gold in the cove to the hiding-place on the opposite side of the river. He reminded Casimiro of his promise to carry out the agreement with Brent in case of his own misfortune, and urged the thorough execution of the original plan as the only safeguard against such tragedies as they had just witnessed. Casimiro acquiesced sadly in all the dying man said, and when the end came rather suddenly at the last, he closed the eyes of his stanch ally and friend with a grief as deep as he would have felt for any of his own kindred. “Tell the lad,” said Fraser just before the end, “that his responsibility will be greater than mine--greater than I could have borne--greater than any man bears to-day. I love the lad. He will be true.”