trip over a stone. He recovered himself, stood upright for a
moment, gave a queer spluttering cough, and sat slowly down against
a boulder.

'He is killed!' said Concepcion, throwing down his cigarette.
'Mother of God! these Guardias Civiles!'

The two guards came clambering down the face of the rock.
Concepcion glanced at his late companion writhing in the sharpness
of death.

'Here or at Ronda, to-day, or to-morrow, what matters it?' muttered
the quiet-eyed man at Conyngham's side. The Englishman turned and
looked at him.

'They will shoot me too, but not now.'

Concepcion sullenly awaited the arrival of the guards. These men
ever hunt in couples of a widely different age, for the law has
found that an old head and a young arm form the strongest
combination. The elder of the two had the face of an old grey wolf.
He muttered some order to his companion, and went towards the mule.
He cut away the outer covering of the burden suspended from the
saddle, and nodded his head wisely. These were boxes of cartridges
to carry one thousand each. The grey old man turned and looked at
him who lay on the ground.

'A la longa,' he said with a grim smile. 'In the long run,
Antonio.'