The warning was well founded. A crack is heard,
--there is a puff of smoke,--and two musket-balls pass each other in the
carriage, yet without inflicting injury on its occupants. From either side
the road, however, the _partida_ dashes forth. In a moment the horses are
disabled, the postilions, the negro, and the couriers cut down. Ortiz
trembles more violently than ever; Quiroga rises above himself. Looking
from the carriage while the butchery is going on, he addresses the
murderers with a few unfaltering words. There is glamour in his speech;
the ensanguined assassins hesitate,--another instant, only one moment
more, and they will be on their knees before him; but Santos Perez, who
was at one side, comes up, raises his piece,--and the body of Juan Fecundo
Quiroga falls in a soulless heap with a bullet in the brain! Ortiz was
immediately hacked to pieces; and the tragedy of Cordova is at an end.
Such were the life, misdeeds, and death of the Terror of the Pampas.
Having in the most rapid and imperfect manner sketched the career of this
extraordinary Fortune's-child, his rise from the most abject condition to
unbridled power, his ferocious rule, and his almost heroic end, we may
surely exclaim, that "nothing in his life became him like the leaving of
it," and, presenting this bare _resume_ of facts as a mere outline, a mere
pen-and-ink sketch of the terrible chieftain, refer the curious student to
the impassioned narrative whence our facts are mainly derived.
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