to come out. As there were at least a dozen of them and resistance was
useless, even if our companions could have found the courage to fight,
we obeyed, and were placed before the brigands in a line, our backs
being set to the edge of the gulf. I was last but one in the line, and
beyond me stood Emma Becker, whose hand I held.

Then the tragedy began. Several of the villains seized the first
merchant, and, stopping his cries and protestations with a blow in
the mouth, stripped him to the shirt, abstracting notes and gold and
everything else of value that they could find in various portions of his
attire where he had hidden them, and principally, I remember, from the
lining of his vest. When they had done with him, they dragged him away
and bundled him roughly into the diligence.

Next to this merchant stood the two priests. Of the first of these
the brigands asked a question, to which, with some hesitation,
the priest--that man who had shown so much terror--replied in the
affirmative, whereon his companion looked at him contemptuously and
muttered a Spanish phrase which means "Man without shame." Of him also
the same question was asked, in answer to which he shook his head,
whereon he was conducted, though without violence or being searched,
to the coach, and shut into it with the plundered merchant. Then the
thieves went to work with the next victim.

"Dr. Therne," whispered Emma Becker, "you have a pistol, do you not?"

I nodded my head.

"Will you lend it me? You understand?"