The insects hummed on, the wind moaned in the leaves, the rustlings came from one point and another in the brush, but Tigre did not appear. The black night lightened and the moon rose. Muella now distinctly saw Augustine--disheveled and ragged, white and stern and wild, with his curved blade bright in the moonlight. Then the gray mist crept up to obscure the white stars and the moon, and at last the blue vault. The rustlings ceased to sound in the brush. From far off rasped the cough of a _tigre_. It appeared to come from the same place as when first heard. Hope had new birth in Muella’s heart. Moments like hours passed; the insects ceased to hum and the wind to moan. The gray shadows fled before a rosy dawn. Augustine hewed a lane through the dense thicket that had stopped him, and presently he came upon a trail. He hurried back to Muella with words of cheer. Strength born of hope returned to her, and she essayed to get up. Helping her to her feet, he half led and half carried her into the trail. They went on for a hundred paces, to find that the path suddenly opened into a wide clearing. To Muella it had a familiar look, and Augustine’s exclamation assured her that he had seen the place before. Then she recognized a ruined corral, some old palm-thatched huts, and a water hole as belonging to the clearing through which they had long before passed. “We’ve traveled back in a circle!” exclaimed Augustine. “We’re near the hacienda--your home!” Muella leaned against him and wept. First of all was the joy of deliverance. “Muella, you are saved,” Augustine went on. “The distance is short--I can carry you. Bernardo will forgive--you know how he flies into a passion, and then how he repents.” “Yes, yes. I’ll go back to him--tell him the truth--ask his mercy!” From the center of the clearing came a rustling of dry leaves, then a loud purr, almost a cough. Augustine stiffened, and Muella clutched frantically at him. For a long moment they stood, dark eyes staring into dark eyes, waiting, listening. Then Augustine, releasing his hold on the trembling girl, cautiously stepped upon a log and peered over the low palms. Almost instantly he plunged down with arms uplifted. “_Santa Maria!_ Tigre! He’s there!” he whispered. “He’s there, beside the body of something he’s killed. He’s been there all night. He was there when we first heard him. We thought he was trailing. Muella, I must see closer. Stay back--you must not follow!” But as he crept under the low palms she followed him. They came to the open clearing. Tigre lay across the trail, his beautiful yellow and black body stretched in lax grace, his terrible sightless eyes riveted on a dead man beside him. “Muella--stay back--I fear--I fear!” said Augustine. He crept yet a little farther, and returned with pale face and quivering jaw.