"Ay Dios, senor! You know everything! That is the name. I heard it from one of his followers, who spoke to him as they hurried off in the darkness. The robber-chief who has done this foul deed is the noted captain _Carrasco! Pobres ninas_!" CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. SAD BUT SWEET. I waited for no further explanation on the part of the Franciscan. I fancied I now understood the _situation_, as well as he--perhaps better. With the thought of Dolores in the keeping of common brigands, I should have been, if not content, certainly less tortured. It was a different thing to think of her in the keeping of _Torreano Carrasco_! Vividly flashed before me the taunting in the Cathedral--the scenes in the "Street of the Sparrows." "Make ready, men! Look to your rifles and revolvers! Sergeant! form in single file, for a march up the mountain-path!" As he of the triple chevron hastened to execute the order, I turned towards Francisco Moreno. With an indescribable emotion, I bent down over the wounded man. At a glance I could see that he had been badly abused. In addition to several stabs from sword or poignard, the bullet of an _escopette_ had traversed his left thigh--the purple spot appearing right over the femoral artery! I had myself received just such a shot at the storming of Chapultepec-- creasing, but, fortunately, without cutting the vein; and I knew, that if this had been opened in the thigh of Francisco Moreno it was his life-blood I saw upon the floor. Its quantity, and the deathlike paleness of his face, were points for a sad prognosis. In a double sense the spectacle gave me pain. In the finely-chiselled features--more perfect in their pallor--I saw that which had deprived me of Dolores Villa-Senor. No wonder she loved him! But he was going from this world, and my jealousy should go with him. It went at once, hastened by thoughts of Carrasco; and my first friendship for Francisco Moreno was restored in all its strength. I looked around the room. There was no furniture, except such as appeared to have been transported thither for the occasion. I stepped into a small chamber adjoining. In this I discovered a _catre_, or camp-bedstead of leather, stretched upon trestles. Some shawls, scarfs, and other articles of female apparel thrown over it, told of its intended occupancy. It was to have been the _bridal bed_! I had the bridegroom placed upon it; to receive the embrace, not of Dolores, but Death! After a cursory examination of his wounds, I conceived a more hopeful opinion of them. The haemorrhage had been profuse. Still the main artery did not appear to be touched. He was feeble as a child; and stood in need of some restorative. I could think only of that which, under circumstances strangely analogous, had given support to myself--a draught of _Catalan_. My flask was full of _refino_--the best that could be obtained in the Capital. I placed it between his lips; and poured down a portion of its contents.