Rather, it should be said, the one hoped-for victim, for the Indians would have rather preferred to spare Don had it been possible. But the animal, obeying its instincts, sprang forward on seeing the strangers, and received three out of the six arrows in its own body. The others fell harmless, for Montoro, on seeing the unexpected adversaries, had obeyed his natural human instincts, and sprung on one side. In so springing he involuntarily followed Fernando's example, and rolled down the bank. Had he then and there set off swimming back to his friends, he would in all probability have got off uninjured; but the help Master Sancho, the merchant, had many a time in El Cuevo seen him render to those more helpless than himself he was ready with now, almost as much as a matter of instinct as the actions that preceded the unselfish act. As he disappeared down the bank the Veraguans uttered yells of disappointed rage; but through those sounds there fell upon his ears, with an accent of bitter disappointment, a most piteous moan. Poor Don had given his body as a shield for his companion, and now that he lay suffering, perhaps dying, his companion was forsaking him. Don felt that to be very hard lines, and so he howled out his sorrow. He certainly would not have treated his friend so, and though his friend was only a human being, and not a faithful dog, he had imagined this especial human being to be different to most. It seemed he was mistaken, and so he howled for his disappointment. And Montoro heard the mournful howl, and understood all it said as well as if it had been the very longest and most comprehensive German word that even Bret Harte ever got hold of. Ten seconds later the spectators on board the ship saw the lad remounting the bank with a wild bound, actually returning towards his enemies--one unarmed, defenceless boy against half-a-dozen fierce warriors. "And all for the sake of a dog," said Alaminos to him some time later with a touch of anger. "All for the sake of a creature that cried to me for aid," was the reply. "And ere I cease to care for such, I trust that I may no longer cumber the earth." But during those present moments, while Montoro was climbing the bank, the pilot was standing with wide eyes gazing across at him, and wondering greatly as to the motives for his strange proceeding. He had forgotten about the dog, or thought it was dead and done for. Poor old Don himself knew better. He was lying there helpless, with three arrows in his faithful side; but he was not yet too dead or done for to be able to give vent to an ecstatic weak squeak of a bark when he caught sight again of his beloved master.