"Mother! mother!" he broke forth, in a voice hoarse with grief. "Oh! that those eyes could see--that those ears could hear!--if but for a moment--one short moment--that you might bear witness to my vow! Here do I swear that you shall be revenged! From this hour I yield up my strength, my time, my soul and body, to the accomplishment of vengeance. Vengeance! why do I use the word? It is not vengeance, but justice-- justice upon the perpetrators of the foulest murder the world has ever recorded. But it shall not go unpunished. Spirit of my mother, hear me! _It shall not_. Your death shall be avenged--your torture shall have full retribution. Rejoice, you ruffian crew! feast, and be merry, for your time of sorrow will soon come--sooner than you think for! I go, but to return. Have patience--you shall see me again. Yes! once more you shall stand face to face with Carlos the cibolero!" He raised his right arm, and held it outstretched in a menacing attitude, while a gleam of vengeful triumph passed over his countenance. His horse, as if actuated by a similar impulse, neighed wildly; and then wheeling round at a signal from his rider, galloped away from the cliff! CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT. After having witnessed the disgusting ceremony in the Plaza, the officers returned to their quarters at the Presidio. As already stated, they did not return alone. The principal men of the place had been invited to dine with them--cura, padres, alcalde, and all. The capture of the outlaw was a theme of public gratulation and rejoicing; and the Comandante and his captain--to whom was due the credit--were determined to rejoice. To that end the banquet was spread in the Presidio. It was not thought worth while to remove Carlos to the soldiers' prison. He could remain all night in the Calabozo. Fast bound and well guarded as he was, there was not the slightest danger of him making his escape. To-morrow would be the last day of his life. To-morrow his foes should have the pleasure of seeing him die--to-morrow the Comandante and Roblado would enjoy their full measure of vengeance. Even that day Vizcarra had enjoyed part of his. For the scorn with which he had been treated he had revenged himself--though it was he who from the centre of the Plaza had cried "_Basta_!" It was not mercy that had caused him to interfere. His words were not prompted by motives of humanity--far otherwise. His designs were vile and brutal. To-morrow the brother would be put out of the way, and then-- The wine--the music--the jest--the loud laugh--all could not drown some bitter reflections. Ever and anon the mirror upon the wall threw back his dark face spoiled and distorted. His success had been dearly purchased--his was a sorry triumph. It prospered better with Roblado. Don Ambrosio was one of the guests, and sat beside him.