with a benignantly diabolic expression.
    »Would not the muchachos of Hernandez like to get hold of this insignificant
object, that looks, por Dios, very much like a piece of tin?« he remarked,
jocularly.
    Hernandez, the robber, had been an inoffensive, small ranchero, kidnapped
with circumstances of peculiar atrocity from his home during one of the civil
wars, and forced to serve in the army. There his conduct as soldier was
exemplary, till, watching his chance, he killed his colonel, and managed to get
clear away. With a band of deserters, who chose him for their chief, he had
taken refuge beyond the wild and waterless Bolson de Tonoro. The haciendas paid
him blackmail in cattle and horses; extraordinary stories were told of his
powers and of his wonderful escapes from capture. He used to ride,
single-handed, into the villages and the little towns on the Campo, driving a
pack mule before him, with two revolvers in his belt, go straight to the shop or
store, select what he wanted, and ride away unopposed because of the terror his
exploits and his audacity inspired. Poor country people he usually left alone;
the upper class were often stopped on the roads and robbed; but any unlucky
official that fell into his hands was sure to get a severe flogging. The army
officers did not like his name to be mentioned in their presence. His followers,
mounted on stolen horses, laughed at the pursuit of the regular cavalry sent to
hunt them down, and whom they took pleasure to ambush most scientifically in the
broken ground of their own fastness. Expeditions had been fitted out; a price
had been put upon his head; even attempts had been made, treacherously of
course, to open negotiations with him, without in the slightest way affecting
the even tenor of his career. At last, in true Costaguana fashion, the Fiscal of
Tonoro, who was ambitious of the glory of having reduced the famous Hernandez,
offered him a sum of money and a safe conduct out of the country for the
betrayal of his band. But Hernandez evidently was not of the stuff of which the
distinguished military politicians and conspirators of Costaguana are made. This
clever but common device (which frequently works like a charm in putting down
revolutions) failed with the chief of vulgar Salteadores. It promised well for
the Fiscal at first, but ended very badly for the squadron of lanceros posted
(by the Fiscal's directions) in a fold of the ground into which Hernandez had
promised to lead his unsuspecting followers. They came, indeed, at the appointed
time