The other figure crept cautiously to the edge of the crag and looked
over. "It is Concho, the imbecile," said Pedro, contemptuously.
"But if he should not be alone, or if he should waken?"
"I will watch and wait. Go you and affix the notification."
Wiles disappeared. Pedro began to creep down the face of the rocky
ledge, supporting himself by chemisal and brush-wood.
The next moment Pedro stood beside the unconscious man. Then he looked
cautiously around. The figure of his companion was lost in the shadow
of the rocks above; only a slight crackle of brush betrayed his
whereabouts. Suddenly Pedro flung his serape over the sleeper's head,
and then threw his powerful frame and tremendous weight full
upon Concho's upturned face, while his strong arms clasped the
blanket-pinioned limbs of his victim. There was a momentary upheaval,
a spasm, and a struggle; but the tightly-rolled blanket clung to the
unfortunate man like cerements.
There was no noise, no outcry, no sound of struggle.
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