As our ship steered away out into the open sea, Mr. Burton walked up into the ruinous old Spanish town, and stopped at the hotel, in whose breezy corridor he found several of his traveling companions, who had preceded him. These persons had been somewhat surprised at his desertion of the rest of his party for a visit to their decayed city; but when he explained to them his desire of visiting some of their deserted mines, and examining the character of the mountainous region, a little back, before proceeding to similar investigations in California, their wonder gave place to the habitual indolence of temperaments hardly active enough for curiosity. There were two or three persons from the United States stopping at the hotel, who quickly made his acquaintance, eager for news direct from home, and while he conversed with these the four o’clock dinner was announced. He sipped his chocolate leisurely, after the dessert, chatting at ease with his new friends; and upon expressing a desire to see more of the old town, one of them offered to accompany him upon a walk. They strolled out among cool palm groves, and back through the dilapidated streets, made picturesque by some processions of Catholics, winding through the twilight with their torches, until the moon arose and glimmered on the restless ocean.

Most persons, on business similar to Mr. Burton’s, would have gone at once to the American consul for his assistance; but he felt himself fully equal to the emergency, and desired no aid in the enterprise which he was about to prosecute. Therefore he refused the invitation of his companion to call upon the consul; and finally returned to his hotel, to sit awhile in the open, moonlit corridor, before retiring to his room, where he lay long awake, pondering upon the steps to be taken next day, and somewhat disturbed by the open doors and windows, which were the order of the establishment.

He was awakened from his first slumber by the cold nose of a dog rubbed in his face, and from his second by a lizard creeping over him; but not being a nervous man, he contrived to sleep soundly at last. He was served, early in the morning, with a cup of coffee in his apartment, and before the late breakfast was ready, he had been abroad and concluded his arrangements for a visit to the estates of Don Miguel. Everybody knew that gentleman by reputation; and he had no difficulty in securing the services of two half-naked, lazy-looking native Indians, to act as guides, who, with three forlorn mules, destined to carry the party, were at the door when he finished his repast. He was warned to go well armed, as, though the route to Don Miguel’s was an old one, often traveled, there was always more or less danger in that country. A pistol or two would not be out of place, if only to keep his shiftless guides in order. Mr. Burton thanked his advisers, told them he feared nothing, and set out upon his long, hot and tedious ride—thirty miles on muleback, under a southern sun, being something more of a task than he had ever known a journey of that length to be hitherto. At noon he took a rest of a couple of hours at a miserable inn by the wayside, and a dinner of fried tortillas, rendered tolerable by a dessert of limes, bananas and oranges. With a supply of this cooling fruit in his pockets, he braved the afternoon sun, determined to reach the hacienda before dark. As he neared his destination, the character of the country changed. The broad road, cut through groves of palm, and fields of corn, with orchards of figs and peaches, grew more narrow and uneven, and the surface of the ground more broken. Before him loomed up hills, growing higher as they retreated, some of the glittering peaks seeming to glisten with snow. A cool, refreshing air swept down from them; the scenery, although wilder, was beautiful and romantic in the extreme. Wearied as he was with the conduct of a mule which was no disgrace to the reputation of its species, Mr. Burton enjoyed the magnificent scene which opened before him, as he approached the hacienda of Don Miguel. It lay at the foot of a low mountain, first of the brotherhood which overtopped it, and stood looking over its shoulder. Rich plains, some of them highly cultivated, and others covered with the grazing herds of a thousand cattle, lay at the foot of the hill, which was heavily timbered, and down which leaped a sparkling cascade, not more beautiful to the eye than promising of freshness to the pastures below, and of “water-privileges” to the mines understood to lay somewhere in the caÑons of the mountain.

Before entering upon the estates which he had now reached, Mr. Burton secured a night’s lodging for his peons, at a hovel by the roadside, and having abundantly rewarded them, dismissed them from his service, riding forward alone along the private carriage-way, which, through groves of flowering trees and fragrant peach-orchards, led up to the long, low, spacious mansion of Don Miguel.

By the servant who came forth to receive him he was informed that the master of the place was at home, and was soon shown into his presence, in the cool, tile-floored sitting-room, in which he was lounging, waiting for the supper-hour.

Mr. Burton’s powers of pleasing were too great, and his refinement too real, for him to fail in making the impression he desired upon the gentleman into whose house he had intruded himself. The cold courtesy with which he was at first received, soon took a tinge of warmth, and it was with sincere cordiality that Don Miguel offered him the hospitalities of his home, and full liberty to make all the researches he might desire upon his estate. The habitual dislike of the Spaniard for “los Yankees,” seemed quite overcome in the case of Don Miguel, by his friendship for his son-in-law, of whom he soon spoke, anticipating the pleasure it would give Dr. Seltzer to meet a gentleman so recently from his old home, New York. On this account he made the stranger doubly welcome. Mr. Burton was interested in his host, and liked him, perceiving him to be intelligent, generous and enthusiastic; his heart rebuked him when he thought of the mission upon which he had come into this little retired Paradise, so remote from the world and so lovely in itself that it did seem as if evil ought to have forgotten it.

The two had conversed nearly an hour, when Don Miguel said,

“It is now our supper-hour. Allow a servant to show you to your apartment, where we will give you time to at least bathe your face and hands after your weary ride. I was so entertained with the news that you bring me from the States that I have neglected your comfort. Dr. Seltzer went up on the mountain, to-day, to look after our mining interest a little, but I expect his return every moment. He will be charmed to meet a countryman.”

This last assertion Mr. Burton doubted, for he knew that the remorse of a guilty conscience stung the possessor into a restlessness which made any unexpected event a matter of suspicion. As the door closed upon him in the large, airy chamber into which he was ushered, he sunk, for a few moments, into a chair, and something like a tremor shook his usually steady nerves. He stood so close upon the probable accomplishment of the object he had kept in view for two years, that, for an instant, excitement overcame him. He soon rallied, however, and at the end of fifteen minutes, when the peon came in again to announce supper, he had toned up his courage with a plentiful dash of cold water, and was never more his own peculiar self, than when he set foot in the supper-room. A glance told him that the absent member of the family had not yet returned; only two persons were present, his host, and the beautiful woman whom he introduced as his daughter, Mrs. Seltzer. The three sat down to the table, which was covered with an elegant repast, the first dish of which was a fine-flavored roast wild-turkey.

There was a plentiful supply of porcelain and silver-ware; it did not take five seconds for the guest to decide that the quondam druggist of Blankville—if this were indeed the person, as he assumed with such certainty—had gotten himself into enviable quarters.

As his penetrating glance rested on the exquisite face which confronted him across the “pale specter of the salt,” he kept asking himself, with inward anguish, why it was that he had not circumvented this adventurer sooner, before the young, girlish creature he saw before him had involved her fate with that of the guilty.

Beautiful as our dreamiest fancies of Spanish women she was, according to the report of Mr. Burton, and he was no enthusiast. He saw that she was as uneasy as a bird which misses its mate, her black eyes constantly wandering to the door, and her ear so preoccupied with listening for the expected step as scarcely to take note of the remarks made to her by the stranger. Once she asked him, with much interest, if he had known Dr. Seltzer in New York, but upon his answering in the negative, he could guess that he had fallen in her esteem, for she immediately withdrew her attention from him.

The senses of the guest were all keenly on the alert; but it was by the sudden fire which leaped and melted in the eyes of the Donna, and the rich color which shot into her hitherto olive cheek, that he was informed of the approach of her husband. She had heard the rapid gallop of his horse afar off, and now sat; mute and expectant, until he should arrive at the gate, cross the veranda and enter the room. In three minutes he stood in the supper-room. The visitor met him just in the manner he would have most desired—when the man was entirely unwarned of company, and had no chance to put on a mask. Outwardly Mr. Burton was serene as a summer day, but inwardly his teeth were set upon each other to keep his tongue from crying out—“This is the man!” When Dr. Seltzer first perceived a stranger in the room, and heard his father-in-law say, “A countryman of yours, from New York, doctor,” his slight start of surprise would, to most persons, have appeared no more than natural; but the person whose courteous eye met his, saw in it the first impulse of an ever-ready apprehension—an alarm, covered instantly by a false warmth of manner which caused him to greet the stranger with extreme friendliness.

The new-comer retired for a moment to his room to prepare for the meal; upon his taking his place at table, hot dishes were brought in; the Donna seemed also to have recovered her appetite, which had been spoiled by his absence; a gay and social hour followed.

Dr. Seltzer might have been good-looking had his eyes not possessed the shifting, uncertain glance that plays before a soul which dares not frankly meet its fellows, and had not an evil expression predominated on his features. His face was one which would have been distrusted in any intelligent company of our own people; but the Spaniards, with whom he was now associated, were so accustomed to treachery and untruth among their race, and so familiar with kindred features and subtle black eyes, that he, doubtless, had never impressed them unfavorably. A Spaniard he was at heart, and he had found, in his present life, a congenial sphere. Not that all Spaniards are necessarily murderers—but their code of right and wrong is different from ours. Don Miguel was an excellent gentleman, honorable, to an unusual degree for a Mexican, real and sanguine in his feelings, and thoroughly deceived as to the character and acquirements of the person to whom he had confided so much. It was the bitter flavor in the cup of his assured triumph that Mr. Burton, in bringing the villain to bay, must shock this amiable host, and ruin the happiness of his innocent child.

After supper, they sat on the veranda a couple of hours. The half-filled moon sunk down behind the groves of fragrant trees; the stars burned in the sky, large, and, to a Northern eye, preternaturally bright; the wind was luscious with warmth and sweetness; and the beautiful woman, whose soft eyes dwelt ever on the face of her husband, looked yet more lovely in the clear moonlight. (Through all the earnestness of his story, my friend dwelt on these details, because he observed them at the time, and they became a part of the narrative in his mind.)

The conversation was principally upon mining. Mr. Burton had sufficient scientific knowledge to make it apparent that his exploring expedition was for the purpose of adding to that knowledge. Before they separated for the night, Dr. Seltzer had promised to escort him, on the following day, over all the mountainous portion of the ranch.

The visitor retired early, being fatigued with his journey; but he did not sleep as quietly as usual. He was disturbed by the onerous duty to which he had devoted himself. Visions of the Donna, pale with grief and reproach, and of the interview which he had resolved upon with the murderer, alone on the mountainside, when, by the force of will, and the suddenness of the accusation, he expected to wring from him the desired confession—kept him long awake. Once he half rose in his bed; for, lying in that feverish condition when all the senses are exalted, he heard, or fancied he heard, the handle of the door turned, and a person step silently into the apartment. Knowing the thievish propensities of the Spanish servants, he had no doubt but one of these had entered for purposes of robbery; he therefore remained quiet, but ready to pounce upon the intruder should he detect him approaching the bed. The room was entirely dark, the moon having set some time before. Whether he made some sound when rising on his couch, or whether the visitor gave up his purpose at the last moment, he could only conjecture; after some moments of absolute silence he heard the door drawn softly together again, and was conscious of being alone. Soon after this he dropped asleep, and awoke in the dawn to find his purse and garments undisturbed.

He was summoned to an early breakfast, which was partaken of by the two excursionists alone; his companion was, if possible, more social and friendly than on the previous evening. It was yet hardly sunrise when they arose from the table to mount the horses which awaited them at the door. A basket of lunch was attached to the pummel of Dr. Seltzer’s saddle, whose parting injunction to the servant was to have dinner at four, as they should stand in need of it upon their return. Then, through a world of dew, coolness and perfume, glittering with the first rays of the sun, the two men rode off toward the mountains.

After following a good road some five or six miles, they commenced climbing the first of the series of hills of which mention has been made. The road here was still tolerable; but when they advanced into the immediate region of the mines they were compelled to abandon their horses, which were left at a small building, belonging to the ranch, and to proceed on foot into the mountain gorges.

The scenery now became wild beyond mere picturesqueness—it was startling, desolate, grand. Traces of old mines, once worked, but now deserted, were everywhere visible. Finally they came to a new “lead,” which was being successfully worked by the peons of Don Miguel. There were some forty of these men at work, under an overseer. Dr. Seltzer showed his companion the recent improvements which had been made; the machinery which he himself had introduced, and a portion of which he had invented; stating that, under the system which he himself had introduced, Don Miguel was growing a rich man faster than he previously had any idea was possible. The mountain-stream, spoken of as being visible at a great distance, glittering from hight to hight, was here made to do the unromantic work of washing the ore and grinding it. The overseer was called upon by the host to give every desirable information to the traveler, and here a long visit was made. Lunch was partaken of under the cool shadow of a ledge of rock; and then Dr. Seltzer proposed, if his visitor was not already too much fatigued, to take him higher up, to a spot which he had discovered only the day before, and which he had every reason to believe contained a richer deposit of silver than any vein heretofore opened—in fact, he thought a fortune lay hidden in the wild gorge to which he referred, and he anxiously invited the scientific observation of his guest.

This was just the opportunity for being alone with his man that Mr. Burton desired. It may seem strange that he proposed to confront the murderer with his guilt in this solitary manner with no witnesses to corroborate any testimony he might wring from the guilty; but the detective knew enough of human nature to know that the confronted criminal is almost always a coward, and he had no fear that this person, if guilty, accused of his false name and falser character, would refuse to do what he demanded of him. Again, his principal object, more important by far than the discovery of the actual hired assassin, was to gain from the frightened accomplice a full, explicit confession of who had tempted him to the crime—who was really the most guilty murderer—whose money had paid for the deed which his own dastardly hand had shrunk from. Strong in resources which never yet had failed him, Mr. Burton was anxious for the singular encounter he had devised.

Leaving all traces of man behind them, the two climbed a rugged path, and entered a caÑon, through the center of which roared a foaming torrent, and which was so deep and sheltered that even at this noon-hour the path was cool and the sunlight tempered. As they walked or clambered on, both men gradually grew silent. Of what Dr. Seltzer might be thinking Mr. Burton did not know—his own mind was absorbed in the scene which he was awaiting the earliest fitting moment to enact. The doctor, who should have acted as guide, had, somehow, chanced to lag behind.

“Which direction shall I take?” asked Mr. Burton, presently.

“Ascend the narrow defile to the right,” called out his companion, pressing after him, “but be cautious of your footing. A misstep may hurl you upon the rocks below. In three minutes we shall be in a safe and beautiful region, with our feet, literally, treading a silver floor.”

As he spoke thus, he drew nearer, but the path was too narrow to allow him to take the advance, and Mr. Burton continued to lead the way.

The subtle perceptions of the detective, a magnetism which amounted almost to the marvelous, I have so frequently referred to, that my reader will understand how it was that Mr. Burton, thus in the van, and not looking at all at his companion, felt a curious, prickly sensation run along his nerves. He came to the narrowest part of the dangerous path. An immense rock reached up, a mighty wall, upon the right, and to the left, far below the uneven, stony and brier-grown ledge along which he was picking his steps, foamed and roared the torrent, over rocks which thrust themselves here and there above the yeasty water. Directly in front arose an obstacle in the shape of a projection of the rock some three or four feet in hight, covered with tough little bushes, one of which he took hold of to draw himself up by.

However, instead of pulling himself up, as his action seemed to indicate that he was about to do, he turned and grasped the arm of Dr. Seltzer. His movement was rapid as lightning, but it was not made a moment too soon. The arm which he held in a clasp of steel was raised to strike, and a Spanish dirk was in the hand.

A stealthy, murderous light, almost red in its intensity, burned in the eyes which now sunk before his. An instant the foiled assassin stood surprised; then commenced a struggle between the two men. Dr. Seltzer made desperate efforts to hurl his antagonist into the torrent beneath; but, though frantic with rage and hate, his violent exertions did not effect their object. On the contrary, Mr. Burton, calm and self-possessed, despite an instant’s astonishment, pressed his adversary backward along the narrow path until they were both on safe ground, in the middle of a little grassy plateau, which they had lately traversed, where he held him, having disarmed him of his knife.

What had caused his momentary astonishment was the fact that Dr. Seltzer knew him and suspected his object, which truth he instantly comprehended, upon turning and reading the murderous eyes that met his. Now, as he held him, he remarked,

“Another stab in the back, George Thorley?”

“Well, and what did you come here for, you accursed New York detective?”

“I came to persuade you to turn State’s evidence.”

“What about?”—there was a slight change in the voice, which told, against his will, that the adventurer felt relieved.

“I want you to give your written and sworn testimony as to who it was hired you, for the sum of two thousand dollars, to murder Mr. Moreland, at Blankville, on the 17th of October, 1857.”

“Who said I murdered him? Humph! you must think I’m decidedly simple to be coaxed or frightened into committing myself.”

“We’ll not waste words, Thorley. I know you, all your history, all your bad deeds—or enough of them to hang you. I have a warrant for your arrest in my pocket, which I brought from the States with me. I could have brought an escort from Acapulco, and arrested you at once, without giving you any chance for explanation. But I have my own reasons for desiring to keep this matter quiet—one of which is that I do not wish any premature report to alarm your accomplice, man or woman, whichever it is, until I can put my hand on the right person.”

“What makes you think that I did it?”

“No matter what makes me think so—I don’t think, I know. I have the instrument with which you committed the act, with your initials on the handle. I have the letter you wrote to your accomplice, claiming your reward. In short, I’ve proof enough to convict you twice over. The only hope you have of any mercy from me is in at once doing all that I ask of you—which is to give a full written statement, over your real name, of all the circumstances which led to the murder.”

“I’m not such a fool as to tie the rope around my own neck.”

As he made this answer, he gave a powerful jerk to extricate himself from the unpleasant position in which he was held. Mr. Burton drew a revolver from his breast-pocket, remarking,

“I will not hold you, Thorley; but just as sure as you make an attempt to get away, I will shoot you. Supposing you succeeded in getting free from me—what good would that do you? Your prospects here would be ruined; for I should expose you to Don Miguel. You would have to flee from wife, country and fortune; all you would preserve would be your rascally life, which I do not propose, at present, to take.”

“A man’s life is his best possession.”

“A truth you would have done well to remember before you took away the life of another. I can’t talk to such a scoundrel as you, Thorley; I fairly ache to inflict upon you the punishment you deserve. It is for the sake of others, in whom I am interested, that I give you this one chance of mercy. Here is paper, pen and ink; sit down on that stone there, and write what I asked of you.”

“What security do you offer me against the consequences of criminating myself? I want you to promise I shall be none the worse off for it.”

“You are too fully in my power to demand promises of me. Yet this I will consent to, as I said before, for the sake of others—to let you go unprisoned by the warrant I hold against you, and never to put the officers of justice on your track. One thing, however, I must and shall do. I can not leave this Paradise, into which you have crept like the serpent, without warning Don Miguel what manner of creature he is trusting and sheltering.”

“Oh, don’t do that, Mr. Burton! He’ll turn me off on the world again, and I shall be exposed to the same temptations as ever—and here I was leading a better life—I was indeed—reformed, quite reformed and repentant.”

“So reformed and repentant, so very excellent, that you were only prevented, but now, from killing me and tumbling me into this convenient ravine, by my own prudence.”

“Every thing was at stake, you know. I was desperate. You must forgive me. It would not be natural for me to submit to see all I had gained snatched away from me—my life periled. I recognized you within five minutes after sitting down to the supper-table last night.”

“I had no idea you had ever seen me,” said Mr. Burton, willing to hear how it was that this man knew him, when he had never met Thorley until yesterday.

“I was interested, once, in a forgery case in which you were employed to detect the criminals, by the examination of several handwritings which were given you. You accused a highly respectable fellow-citizen, to the astonishment of everybody, and convicted him, too. I, whom he had employed as an agent in some transactions, but who did not appear in any manner in the case, saw you in the court-room once or twice. I accidentally found out that you were a secret agent of the detective police. When I saw you here, playing the scientific gentleman, my conscience was not so easy as to blind me. I saw the game, and what was at stake. I had the choice between my own safety or yours. I wasn’t so self-denying as to decide in your favor, and so—”

“You visited my room last night.”

“Yes. But, on second thought, I decided that to-day would give me the better opportunity. Had you waited a second longer, your friends would have had a hard time tracing your fate. An excuse to my father-in-law, that you had returned to Acapulco without stopping, by a nearer route, would have ended inquiry here.” He set his teeth, as he concluded, unable to conceal how much he regretted that this convenient dÉnouement had been interrupted. “Was it chance caused you to turn?” he continued, after a moment’s silence.

“It was watchfulness. I thought I saw murder in your eyes once before, to-day, when I met them suddenly; but as I believed myself unknown to you, I could hardly credit my own impression. It grew upon me, however, as we proceeded, and ‘by the pricking of my ribs,’ I turned in time to prevent the compliment you were about to pay me. But this is wasting time. Write what I expect of you. I shall permit no lies. I can tell when I see one, or hear one. If you say any thing which is not true, I shall make you correct it.”

Coerced by the eye which never ceased to watch his slightest movement, and by the revolver held in range of his breast, the reluctant doctor took the sheet of paper and the fountain-pen which were offered him, sat down on the stone, and, with the top of his sombrero for a desk, wrote slowly for ten or fifteen minutes. Then he arose and handed the document, which was signed with his real name, to the detective, who, with one eye on his prisoner, and one on the paper, continued to read the evidence without giving his companion a chance to profit by any relaxation of his vigilance.

“You have told the truth, for once in your life,” was his remark, as he finished reading the paper. “I had found this out myself, fact for fact, all but one or two facts which you give here; but I preferred having your testimony before I brought the matter before the proper parties, therefore I came here after it”—speaking as if a trip to Acapulco were one of the easiest and most commonplace of things.

“You’re d—d cool about it,” remarked the adventurer, eying his adversary with a glance of hate, with which was mingled a forced admiration of a “sharpness” which, had he himself possessed it, he could have used to such advantage. “And now, maybe you’ll be good enough to tell me if the affair kicked up much of a row.”

“I can not talk with you. I want you to lead the way back to our horses, for, since my business with you is finished, I may say that I do not fancy your company. You must go with me before Don Miguel, and we will enlighten him as to your true character, since with him to be ‘forewarned may be fore-armed.’”

“Oh, don’t do that! I beg you to spare me for my wife’s sake—it would kill her, she loves me so much!” and the creature dropped on his knees.

“I would, indeed, rather than blast her innocent heart with such knowledge, allow you still to play your part in that little family—, but I know that, sooner or later, you will contrive to break the heart of that confiding woman, and it might be worse in the future than even now. She has yet no children; she is young, and the wound may heal. It is an unpleasant duty, which I must perform.”

Then followed a scene of begging, prayers, even tears upon one side, and relentless purpose on the other.