Soon Torres saw himself thrust to the very edge of the bank, at a
spot where, slightly scooped away, it overhung the river. He
perceived the danger; he tried to retake the offensive and regain the
lost ground. His agitation increased, his looks grew livid. At length
he was obliged to stoop beneath the arm which threatened him.
“Die, then!” exclaimed Benito.
The blow was struck full on its chest, but the point of the manchetta
was stopped by a hard substance hidden beneath the poncho of the
adventurer.
Benito renewed his attack, and Torres, whose return thrust did not
touch his adversary, felt himself lost. He was again obliged to
retreat. Then he would have shouted–shouted that the life of Joam
Dacosta depended on his own! He had not time!
A second thrust of the manchetta pierced his heart. He fell backward,
and the ground suddenly failing him, he was precipitated down the
cliff. As a last effort his hands convulsively clutched at a clump of
reeds, but they could not stop him, and he disappeared beneath the
waters of the river.
Benito was supported on Manoel’s shoulder; Fragoso grasped his hands.
He would not even give his companions time to dress his wound, which
was very slight.
“To the jangada!” he said, “to the jangada!”
Manoel and Fragoso with deep emotion followed him without speaking a
word.
A quarter of an hour afterward the three reached the bank to which
the raft was moored. Benito and Manoel rushed into the room where
were Yaquita and Minha, and told them all that had passed.
“My son!” “My brother!”
The words were uttered at the same moment.
“To the prison!” said Benito.
“Yes! Come! come!” replied Yaquita.
Benito, followed by Manoel, hurried along his mother, and half an
hour later they arrived before the prison.
Owing to the order previously given by Judge Jarriquez they were
immediately admitted, and conducted to the chamber occupied by the
prisoner.
The door opened. Joam Dacosta saw his wife, his son, and Manoel enter
the room.
“Ah! Joam, my Joam!” exclaimed Yaquita.
“Yaquita! my wife! my children!” replied the prisoner, who opened his
arms and pressed them to his heart.
“My Joam, innocent!”
“Innocent and avenged!” said Benito.
“Avenged? What do you mean?”
“Torres is dead, father; killed by my hand!”
“Dead!–Torres!–Dead!” gasped Joam Dacosta. “My son! You have ruined
me!”
CHAPTER VII
RESOLUTIONS
A FEW HOURS later the whole family had returned to the raft, and were
assembled in the large room. All were there, except the prisoner, on
whom the last blow had just fallen. Benito was quite overwhelmed, and
accused himself of having destroyed his father, and had it not been
for the entreaties of Yaquita, of his sister, of Padre Passanha, and
of Manoel, the distracted youth would in the first moments of despair
have probably made away with himself. But he was never allowed to get
out of sight; he was never left alone. And besides, how could he have
acted otherwise? Ah! why had not Joam Dacosta told him all before he
left the jangada? Why had he refrained from speaking, except before a
judge, of this material proof of his innocence? Why, in his interview
with Manoel after the expulsion of Torres, had he been silent about
the document which the adventurer pretended to hold in his hands?
But, after all, what faith ought he to place in what Torres had said?
Could he be certain that such a document was in the rascal’s
possession?
Whatever might be the reason, the family now knew everything, and
that from the lips of Joam Dacosta himself. They knew that Torres had
declared that the proof of the innocence of the convict of Tijuco
actually existed; that the document had been written by the very hand
of the author of the attack; that the criminal, seized by remorse at
the moment of his death, had intrusted it to his companion, Torres;
and that he, instead of fulfilling the wishes of the dying man, had
made the handing over of the document an excuse for extortion. But
they knew also that Torrres had just been killed, and that his body
was engulfed in the waters of the Amazon, and that he died without