Eager to leave the field behind him, Stuart hurried forward as well as he was able, until, stumbling over a dead cavalry horse, he fell violently to the earth, and his wound bursting out afresh, the light faded from his eyes, and he lay in a sort of stupor across the corse of a French soldier, in whose breast a twelve-pound shot was buried. While lying there he became tortured with an intense thirst, which he found it impossible to alleviate, until a drizzling rain began to descend, and after exercising his patience, he caught enough in the hollow of his hand to moisten his parched lips. The sound of voices close by recalled him to himself fully, and he found that he was in imminent danger. A file of Portuguese soldiers approached, bearing a lantern to assist them in effectually plundering the dead. The knapsacks of soldiers were ripped open, and the contents carefully scanned; and the epaulets, lace, stars, &c. were torn away from the uniforms of the officers. Stuart’s blood boiled up within him to behold brother-soldiers, men in arms, engaged in an occupation so truly despicable; but well aware of the danger incurred by encountering or threatening people so unscrupulous as death-hunters[*] he only grasped the hilt of his dirk, and lay perfectly still until they had passed by, which they luckily did without observing him. [*] Death-hunters,—a name given by soldiers to those who follow armies to strip the dead after a battle. Scarcely were they gone when another wretch appeared, bent on the same disgraceful errand. He was either a robber or guerilla, and carried on the hollow of his left arm a musquet, from which dangled a long leather sling. A pewter crucifix glittered on the band of his broad-leaved hat, and the polished brass hilts of the double daggers and pistols in his sash gleamed in the light of the moon, which at that moment shone forth with peculiar brilliancy. A new pair of large epaulets, which Stuart had put on a few days before, attracted this worthy’s attention, and he came straight towards the wearer to possess himself of them. What were the feelings of the young Highlander to behold in the robber the abhorred Narvaez Cifuentes, the destroyer of the noble and beautiful Catalina! An electric shock seemed to pass over every fibre, and again his heart beat violently. He grasped tighter the thistle-hilt of his short weapon, and watched with an eagle eye the motions of the robber. Narvaez knew him the moment their eyes met, and uttering a short but emphatic oath, he sprung forward and leaped upon Ronald with his whole weight, and pressing a knee upon each arm, perfectly incapacitated him from making any defence, especially in his weak and wounded state. "How now, my gay _senor soldado_!" said Narvaez with a chuckling laugh, after they had glared at each other in silence for a few seconds. "Methinks we have met at last, under circumstances somewhat disadvantageous to your safety."