The Tigercat remained standing a moment, swaying hither and thither, like a half-uprooted oak tottering to its fall. He rolled his eyes around him, in which rage still strove with the agony that made them haggard. He made one last effort to pronounce a terrible malediction, but his mouth contracted horribly; a stream of dark blood spouted from his yawning throat; he fell at his full length on the ground, where he writhed for a moment like a crushed reptile, to the inconceivable horror of the spectators. Then all was still: he was dead; but on his face, distorted by the death pang, unutterable hatred survived the life which had just quitted him.
"Justice is done," said Manuela, with trembling accents. "It is the hand of God!"
"Let us pray for him," said Don Pedro, falling on his knees.
All present, impressed by this noble and simple action, followed his example, and knelt by his side.
The _vaquero_, having finished his part in the scene, thought it prudent to disappear, but not without exchanging a glance of intelligence with the _capataz_, who smiled grimly under his gray moustache.