I hurried to the stable and saddled my horse, Chico following. We rode with all haste to the home of Don Julian. Everything was in uproar. The Indian servants moaned and cried, and pointed in the direction of the road leading to the cemetery. Thither I rode, fast as my horse could run. It was a lonely road, with few houses by the wayside and those were mostly Indian huts. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, no one to be seen--on and on I went. I could see a dark outline of what I thought must be a vehicle of some kind. As carriages are seldom used in Arequipa, I concluded that this must be bearing Felicita away. I drove the spurs harder and leaned forward, peering into the darkness. I was gaining rapidly. I was certain now that it was Felicita, for they were driving at full speed. I never thought how I was to rescue her, my whole purpose being to catch up with that villain. Just then the moon shone bright from behind a cloud and lighted up the scene. The occupants of the carriage now knew they were being pursued, and they stopped. I could plainly see two men unhitch two horses from behind the carriage. They took Felicita from the carriage and were forcing her to mount when, suddenly, her horse became unmanageable, and she fell to the ground. By this time I was close upon them, and called to Felicita to be brave, but the poor girl never heard me, for she was unconscious. Don Rodrigo stopped, as if determined to resist me. Would to God he had! But he put spurs to his horse and fled. I shot at him, but as the distance was great, and the light uncertain, the bullet went wide of the mark. I soon forgot him on reaching Felicita, as she lay with an ugly cut on her head caused by striking the carriage step when she fell. There lay my child-friend, unconscious. She was dressed for retiring, her other clothes being in the carriage. My first impulse was to pursue the accursed scoundrel and avenge the insult to Felicita, but I could not leave her there. I took her in my arms and carried her to a near-by Indian hut where, after some parley with the poor, superstitious Indians, the door was opened, and I laid my burden on some sheepskins on the floor. Her hands were cold and she appeared to be dead. By this time, Chico arrived and brought her clothes from the carriage. I staunched the flow of blood with my handkerchief, while Chico prepared some hot native liquor, which I put to her lips. After a time, she opened her eyes, but did not know me. I called and called her name, but it was long before consciousness returned. When she did recognize me, a look of love and happiness passed over her face. I would not let her speak, but told her that when she was taken home, she could tell me all. The carriage driver had long since made his escape, so I had sent to Arequipa and had a closed carriage brought, in which I took her home.