It was such a journey as that we have just described that at this moment was maintained, shall we say, by the two horses, for their horsemen, impelled by their implacable hatred, saw nothing and thought of nothing. Malco Diaz redoubled his efforts to regain the ground he had lost, but in vain. He was alone, and his horse had attained the extreme limit of his speed. Woods succeeded to woods; hills to hills. Diogo was still invisible; he appeared to have been suddenly engulphed, so wonderful was his rapid disappearance. If the half-caste was well mounted, the captain also had an excellent horse. Finally, after three hours of a desperate course, Malco Diaz arrived at the summit of a little hill which he had ascended at a gallop, and perceived far before him a cloud of dust which seemed to fly before the hurricane. He guessed it was his enemy, and afresh urged his horse, whose efforts were already prodigious. By degrees, whether it was that the horse that Diogo rode was more fatigued than that of the half-caste, by reason of his long journey on the previous night, or whether that of Malco Diaz was naturally swifter, the latter perceived that he gained on his enemy. The mameluco uttered a cry of joy, like the howl of a wild beast, and seized his carbine. Meanwhile, the journey was still continued, and afar off in the distant horizon might be seen the hill on the summit of which the Brazilians had encamped. No doubt, the sentinels of the whites posted on the trees could distinguish, although indistinctly, the strange actors in this extraordinary struggle. It was necessary, then, to bring it to an end, so much the more as, strange to say, the Guaycurus remained invisible, and thus allowed it to be supposed that they had discovered the uselessness of a longer blockade. The solitude and abandonment on the part of his allies disquieted the half-caste. At last the distance between the two travellers became so little that they would soon find themselves within pistol shot of each other. Malco Diaz charged his carbine, shouldered it, and without slackening his horse, fired. Diogo's horse, struck in the body made a prodigious bound in advance, reared convulsively on his hind legs, uttered a neigh of grief, and fell backward, dragging his rider with him in his fall. Malco slung his carbine and darted like a shot, with a cry of triumph, on his enemy. Leaping immediately to the ground, he darted towards him with a bound like a tiger, and raised his poignard to finish him, in case he was not quite dead. But his arm fell powerless by his side, and he started back with a howl of disappointment and rage. At the same moment he was vigorously seized from behind, and stretched upon the grass before he had even had the time to attempt to resist. "Eh, eh, companion," said Diogo to him in a railing voice; "how do you like that? It is well done, is it not?" This is what had happened:--