"She had ventured too far into the mountains, where I had chanced to be at the time. I heard her voice calling for help. I ran through the rocks, and came up, just as a huge bear was springing upon her. I was a good shot, and my bullet brought down the monster--stretching him lifeless at her feet. Gabriella thanked me with sweet words--with smiles that were far sweeter, and told me still more. From that hour I knew that she was mine. Shortly after she consented to marry me." "You were married, then?" "Married--but only for an hour." "Only for an hour!" "Ah! _senor_; just so. One hour of wedded life, and then we were parted for ever. Death parted us. Death to her--to me worse than death; despair that has never left me--no--never will." The voice of the speaker trembled in sorrowful tone. It was manifestly a sorrow that defied any efforts I might have made at consolation. I made none; but in silence and with eager attention awaited to hear the denouement of a drama, whose prologue promised such a tragical ending. "_Puez, senor_," proceeded the narrator, after a short silence, "Gabriella, as I have said, consented to marry me, and we were married. It was the day of our wedding. We had parted from the church; and with our friends had gone out into the country for a _dia de campo_. There were about twenty of us in all, young men and girls--about, an equal number of each--all in their holiday dresses, just as they had been to the church. Most of the girls were Gabriella's bridesmaids, and still wore the flowers and jewels they had used at the ceremony. The place chosen for our _dia de campo_ was a pretty spot, about a mile distant from the town. It was a glade in the midst of the _chapparal_, surrounded by beautiful trees, and sweet-smelling flowers. We went afoot: for the distance did not make it worth while for us to ride. Besides, we preferred enjoying the ramble, without being encumbered with horses. Well, _senor_; we had arrived on the ground, spread out the repast we had brought with us, uncorked the wine-bottles, and were in the full tide of enjoyment--talking and laughing gaily--when all of a sudden--we heard the trampling of horses. Not of one or two; but the hoof-strokes of a whole troop. At first we thought it might be the _cavallada_ of some rich proprietor, galloping past the place. We knew that horses were pastured in that neighbourhood; and it was like enough to be one of the half-wild droves straying through the _chapparal_. Still we were not without apprehension: for it might also be a troop of Apaches--who in those times made frequent forays upon the defenceless settlements. Alas, _cavallero_! our apprehensions proved but too just. We had been seated on the grass, around our festive preparations. We had scarce time to spring to our feet, ere the yell of the savages sounded in our ears; and almost on the instant the glade was filled with dusky warriors.