"That is true," the Canadian said, and added a moment later, "I am very much afraid that our fancied sleeper is simply a dead man." "Do you think so?" the peon said. "Hang it, I do not know exactly, but he has not made the slightest movement since we first perceived him. If he be not dead, as I expect, he must be a very sound sleeper not to have heard the sound of our horses." "I will inform the Señor Conde," the peon replied, as he turned back and rejoined his master. The latter listened to his servant's report with, some surprise, for no assassination had occurred for a long time on this road, which was greatly frequented by travellers of every description. He spurred his horse, and joined the adventurer, who had pulled up to wait for him. "What do you think about it?" he asked him. "Nothing good," the latter replied; "still I think that we had better make sure. With your permission I will push on, and find out what it all means." "We will all go," the count answered; "if the pretended corpse concealed a trap, there would be enough of us to foil it." "Let us push on then," the Canadian said, as he slacked his rein, and his horse started with the speed of lightning. The others followed him, and they soon reached the sumach; the man had not stirred. The count and the adventurer dismounted, and walked up to the body, which still lay motionless, and bent over it. "It is a white man," said the Canadian. "Yes," the count added, after a moment of attentive examination; "I know him. His name is Don Melchior. I saw him at the Hacienda del Barrio during my last visit. Don Aníbal de Saldibar is sincerely attached to him. How is it that he is here, and in such a hapless condition?" "That is a question which himself alone could answer, and for the moment I fear that it is impossible for him to do so. Let us first make sure whether he be dead or alive." Like all the wood rangers, who, through the chances of their adventurous life, run a risk of being wounded at any moment, the Canadian, though no great doctor, possessed some practical knowledge of medicine, or, to speak more correctly, of surgery. He bent over the young man, raised him with one hand, and held him up in a sitting position, while he held to his mouth the bright blade of his knife. A moment later he looked at it; it was slightly tarnished. "Thank heaven!" he said, "He is not dead, though not much better off; he has fainted." "The poor boy appears to me very ill," the count remarked, sorrowfully. "That is true; but he is young and strong, and so long as the soul clings to the body there is a chance." "How can we help him? We must not leave him in this pitiable state." "Of course not, for that would be certain death. Diego López, give me your flask if there is any liquor in it." "It is quite full," the peon said, handing it to him.