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He
was
far
from
being
ill-featured
.
On
the
contrary
,
he
might
have
been
pronounced
handsome
.
It
was
not
this
that
induced
Louise
Poindexter
to
leap
down
from
her
saddle
,
and
stoop
over
him
with
a
kind
pitying
look
.
The
joy
caused
by
his
presence
--
by
the
discovery
that
he
was
not
somebody
else
--
found
gratification
in
performing
an
act
of
humanity
.
"
He
does
not
seem
dead
.
Surely
he
is
breathing
?
"
The
cord
appeared
to
hinder
his
respiration
.
It
was
loosened
on
the
instant
--
the
noose
giving
way
to
a
Woman
's
strength
.
"
Now
,
he
can
breathe
more
freely
.
Pardieu
!
what
can
have
caused
it
?
Lazoed
in
his
saddle
and
dragged
to
the
earth
?
That
is
most
probable
.
But
who
could
have
done
it
?
It
was
a
woman
's
voice
.
Surely
it
was
?
I
could
not
be
mistaken
about
that
.
"
And
yet
there
is
a
man
's
hat
,
and
a
serapé
,
not
this
man
's
!
Was
there
another
,
who
has
gone
away
with
the
woman
?
Only
one
horse
went
off
.
"
Ah
!
he
is
coming
to
himself
!
thank
Heaven
for
that
!
He
will
be
able
to
explain
all
.
You
are
recovering
,
sir
?
"
"
S'ñorita
!
who
are
you
?
"
asked
Don
Miguel
Diaz
,
raising
his
head
,
and
looking
apprehensively
around
.
