This was all known about this individual at the moment when we brought him on the stage in so singular a fashion. The assistance he had given the monk was so contrary to all his habits, that he must have been suffering at the moment from one of his best attacks, to have consented not only to give such eager attention to one of his fellows, but also to waste so much time in listening to his lamentations and entreaties. To finish the information we have to give about this person, we will add that no one knew whether he had a permanent abode; he was not known to have any woman to love, or any follower; he had ever been seen alone; and during the ten years he had roamed the desert in every direction, his countenance had undergone no change; he had ever the same appearance of old age and strength, the same long and white beard, and the same wrinkled face. As we have said, the scalper rushed into the chaparral to discover who had given the signal that startled him; his researches were minute, but they produced no other result than that of enabling him to discover that he was not mistaken, and that a spy hidden in the bushes had really seen all that took place in the clearing, and heard all that was said. Blue-fox, after summoning his comrades, cautiously retired, convinced that if he fell into the hands of the Scalper, he would be lost in spite of all his courage. The latter returned thoughtfully to the side of the monk, whose praying still went on, and had assumed such proportions that it threatened to become interminable. The Scalper looked for a moment at the Fray, an ironical smile playing round his pale lips the while, and then gave him a hearty blow with the butt of his rifle between the shoulders. "Get up!" he said, roughly. The monk fell on his hands, and remained motionless. Believing that the other intended to kill him, he resigned himself to his fate, and awaited the death-blow which, in his opinion, he must speedily receive. "Come, get up, you devil of a monk!" the Scalper went on; "Have you not mumbled paternosters enough?" Fray Ambrosio gently raised his head; a gleam of hope returned to him. "Forgive me, Excellency," he replied; "I have finished; I am now at your orders; what do you desire of me?" And he quickly sprung up, for there was something in the other's eye which told him that disobedience would lead to unpleasant results. "That is well, scoundrel! You seem to me as fit to pull a trigger as to say a prayer. Load your rifle, for the moment has arrived for you to fight like a man, unless you wish to be killed like a dog." The monk took a frightened glance around. "Excellency," he stammered, with great hesitation, "is it necessary that I should fight?" "Yes, if you wish to keep a whole skin; if you do not, why, you can remain quiet." "But perhaps there is another mode?" "What is it?" "Flight, for instance," he said, insinuatingly. "Try it," the other replied, with a grin.