"Remain, my friend."
"But your father, Don Valentine, señorita?" Pedrito attempted to say.
"He approves of it," she answered drily.
They started again: two hours later they reached the foot of a hill, halfway up which was a natural grotto, known in the country by the name of the Cave of the Cougars.
"My brothers are there," Pedrito said.
The little party ascended the gentle slope of the hill, and entered the cave on horseback, without leaving any trace of their passage. There were several entrances to this cave; it was divided into several compartments that had no visible communication, and formed a species of labyrinth that meandered under the hill. The bomberos, who knew all its turnings, often employed it as a refuge.
Pepe and Lopez were seated before a heather fire, silently smoking their pipes, and watching a leg of guanaco that was roasting. They saluted the newcomers, and remained dumb as the Indians, whose manner they had to some extent assumed in their nomadic life on the Pampa. Pedrito conducted the two ladies to a separate compartment.
"While here," he said to them in a low whisper, "say but little, for you can never tell what neighbours you may have. If you want us, you know where we are; I now leave you."
His sister caught his arm and put her lips to his ear, and he went away without making any answer.
The two girls, when alone, threw themselves into each other's arms. When this outburst was over, they disguised themselves as Indian women. At the moment when their Spanish dresses were about to fall, they heard footsteps close to them, and turned like startled fawns.
"I was afraid," Doña Concha said, "lest it was Don Pedro; let us listen."
"Caray, Don Torribio, you are welcome," a man's voice said, hardly three yards from the girls; "I have been waiting for you for more than two hours."
"Always that man!" Concha murmured.
"My good fellow," Don Torribio replied, "it was impossible for me to come sooner."
"Well, here you are, that is the main point," the first speaker remarked.
At this moment Pedrito entered; Mercedes made him a sign to listen, and he came to her side.
"Are you satisfied with your position at Carmen?" Torribio continued.
"Not very greatly, I confess."
"I am going to liberate you, my dear Pincheira; I shall order the attack on Población del Sur tomorrow, and then you will act, I suppose."
"That is settled. By the by, I just now came across a poor devil of an Argentine officer, entrusted with a despatch for the governor of El Carmen; it announces help, I suppose."
"¡Caramba!They must make haste. What did you do with the despatch?"
"Here it is."
"Did you kill the Argentine messenger?"
"Well, I fancy so."
"That is right."
"When is the assault to take place?"
"In two days. How is my prisoner, by the way?"
"Oh, he is furious."
"He will grow calm. This is what I intend to do, soon as the town—"
But while these words were being spoken, the two men had retired, and the sound of their voices died out in the windings of the cave. When the maidens turned round again Pedrito had disappeared.
"Well," Mercedes said, "what do you think of that singular accident?"
"It is a miracle of Heaven."
"Shall we still disguise ourselves?"
"More so than ever."
"For what purpose?" Pedrito said, who had returned, "I now know where Don Sylvio is, and I undertake to restore him to you."
"But our vengeance?" Doña Concha interrupted.
"Let us save him first. Return to the estancia, señorita, and leave me to act."
"No, Don Pedro, I shall not leave you."
"Wait for me here, then, both of you."
Several hours passed, and Pedrito did not return. Alarmed by this inexplicable delay, the two girls joined the other two bomberos in the front cave. Night had set in when Pedrito returned; he bought an enormous bale on the neck of his horse, which was panting with fatigue.
"Put on these gauchos' dresses," he said to the two ladies; "we are going to get inside Carmen. The journey will be a rough one, but make haste, for every moment lost is an hour of danger for us."
They ran off to dress themselves, and were ready in a moment.
"Take your Indian robes," Pedrito said, "for they may be useful to you. Good! Now follow me, and be cautious!"
The three bomberos, the two girls, and Patito left the cave, and glided through the darkness like shadows, marching in Indian file, at one moment stooping down to the ground, crawling on their knees, and trying as far as possible to hide their passage. It was a singular and dangerous journey, in the depths of night, and across a desert whose thickets in time of war are peopled with invisible enemies. Pedrito had placed himself at the head of the party. Doña Concha, excited by the courage which love imparts, stained the prickles with her blood, but not a single complaint passed her lips. After three hours of extraordinary effort, the little party that followed Pedrito's track suddenly stopped on his stopping.
"Look!" he said to them, in a whisper, "we are in the heart of the Aucas' camp."
All around them in the moonbeams they saw the Indian sentinels leaning on their lances and watching over the safety of their brothers. A shudder ran over the maidens; fortunately, the guards, not fearing a sortie from Carmen, were sleeping at their posts, but the slightest badly calculated movement or stumble might wake them. Hence, Pedrito recommended them to redouble their prudence, if they wished to save their lives.
About two hundred yards in front of them rose the first houses of Carmen, gloomy, silent, and apparently at least deserted or plunged in silence. The six adventurers had cleared one half the distance, when suddenly, at the moment when Pedrito stretched out his arm to shelter himself behind a sandhill, several men crawling on the opposite side, found themselves face to face with him.
There was a moment of terrible anxiety.
"Who goes there?" a low and threatening voice asked.
"Pedrito the bombero."
"Who is with you?"
"My brothers."
"Pass."
Ten minutes after this encounter they reached the barriers, which were at once opened on Pedrito mentioning his name, and they were at length safe in Carmen. It was high time; in spite of their resolution and courage, the two girls, worn out with fatigue, could no longer support themselves. So soon as the danger had passed, their nervous excitement gave way, and they fell utterly exhausted. Pedrito raised his sister in his arms; Pepe took charge of Doña Concha, and they proceeded to Don Valentine's house, where fresh difficulties awaited them. Tío Peralta refused to open the gate, but on at length recognizing his mistress, he led the travellers into a room and lit the candles.
"What are we to do now?" Doña Concha asked, as she fell back into a chair.
"Nothing just at present," Pedrito answered. "Rest yourself, señorita, and regain your strength."
"Shall we remain for long in this state of inaction, which kills us?"
"Only till tomorrow. We must not run blindly into danger, but prepare everything for the success of our plans, and watch for the propitious moment. Tomorrow at the latest, those men, whose conversation we overheard, will attempt an attack on Población del Sur. As for us, we shall be more at liberty to enter the Indian camp. Keep your presence in Carmen a secret from everybody, and give no sign of life till I return. Good-bye till tomorrow morning."
"Are you not going to rest, Don Pedro?"
"I have no time."
Pedrito left the room. Doña Concha recommended the utmost silence to Tío Peralta, and dismissed her companions, who went off to sleep in hastily prepared apartments.
Mercedes would not separate from her friend, and they reposed on the same couch. In spite of their wish to remain awake, nature was the stronger, and they soon fell into a deep sleep. The sun was already high on the horizon when they opened their eyes again. They dressed themselves and breakfasted with their companions, impatiently awaiting the bombero's return.
Several hours passed, lacerating Doña Concha's heart, and making her love bleed; the recollection of her betrothed husband, covered with the shadow of death, painfully troubled her thoughts.
At length the town bells rang out a full peal to call the population under arms, and acted as a gloomy accompaniment to the dull booming of the cannon and the flashes of the musketry fire. Without doubt the Indians were attacking Población del Sur; but where was Pedrito? Doña Concha asked herself, as she walked, like a lioness in a cage, up and down the room, devoured by anxiety and despair.
"Listen!" she said to Mercedes, as she turned her head toward the door.
"It is he!" Mercedes replied.
"At last!" Conchita exclaimed.
"Here I am, señorita," Pedrito said; "are you ready?"
"Ever since the morning," she answered reproachfully.
"It would have been too soon," he said quietly; "now if you like."
"At once."
"Señorita, be dumb; whatever you may hear and see, leave me to speak and act alone. Stay! Here is a mask for each of you, with which you will conceal your faces. When I give the word come in."
All three left the house unnoticed, for the townspeople were guarding the barricades or engaged in the furious contest going on in Población del Sur.
Don Sylvio D'Arenal, so soon as his sword slipped from his grasp, and he fell by the side of the capataz, gave no signs of life. The masked men, despising Blas Salazar, went up to Doña Concha's betrothed husband. The pallid hues of death clouded his handsome, noble face; his teeth were clenched under his half-parted lips; the blood flowed profusely from his wounds, and his closed hand still clutched the hilt of his sword, which had been broken in the fight.
"¡Caspita!" one of the bandits remarked, "Here is a young gentleman who is very ill; what will the master say?"
"What would you have him say, Señor Panchito?" another objected. "He defended himself like a maddened panther; it is his own fault; he ought to have been more polite to us. We have lost four men."
"A fine loss, on my word—those scamps!" Panchito said, with a shrug of his shoulders; "I should have preferred his killing six and being in a better condition himself."
"Hang it," the bandit muttered, "that is kind towards us."
"Present parties excepted," Panchito added with a laugh; "but quick, bind up his wounds and let us be off. This is not a proper place for us, and besides the master is waiting for us."
Don Sylvio's wounds were bathed and bound up somehow or another; and, without troubling themselves whether he was dead or alive, they laid him across the horse of Panchito, the leader of this expedition. The dead remained on the spot as a prey for the wild beasts. The other masked men set out at a gallop, and at the expiration of two hours halted in front of the Cave of the Cougars, where Nocobotha and Pincheira were waiting for them.
"Well," the former shouted to them as soon as he saw them.
"The job is done," Panchito answered laconically, as he got off his horse, and laid Don Sylvio on a bed of leaves.
"Is he dead?" Nocobotha asked, turning pale.
"Not much better," the gaucho answered, with a shake of his head.
"Villain!" the Indian shouted, beside him with, fury, "Is that the way in which my orders are executed? Did I not command you to bring him to me alive?"
"Hum!" said Panchito. "I should like to see you try it. Armed only with a sword, he fought like ten men for more than twenty minutes. He killed four of ours, and perhaps we should not have been here now if his weapon had not broken."
"You are cowards," the master said, with a smile of contempt.
He went up to Don Sylvio's body.
"Is he dead?" Pincheira asked him.
"No," Nocobotha replied.
"All the worse."
"On the contrary, I would give a great deal to see him recover."
"Nonsense," the Chilian officer said; "what do we care for this man's life. Was he not your personal enemy?"
"That is the very reason why I should not like him to die."
"I do not understand you."
"My friend," Nocobotha said, "I have devoted my life to the accomplishment of an idea to which I have sacrificed my hatreds and friendships."
"Why in that case lay a trap for your rival?"
"My rival? No, it is not he whom I have attacked."
"Who then?"
"The richest and most influential man in the colony; the man who may thwart my plans; a powerful adversary, a Spaniard, but not a rival. Nothing permanent is founded on corpses. I would have willingly killed him in battle, but I do not wish to make a martyr of him."
"Nonsense," Pincheira said, "one more or one less, what matter?"
"Brute," Nocobotha thought, "he has not understood a word I said."
Two gauchos, aided by Panchito, incessantly rubbed with rum the temples and chest of Don Sylvio, whose features retained the rigidity of death. The Indian chief drew his knife from his girdle, wiped the blade, and placed it to the wounded man's lips. It seemed to him as if it were slightly tarnished. He at once kneeled down by the side of Don Sylvio, raised the cuff of his left coat sleeve, and pricked the vein with the sharp point of his knife. Gradually a black dot appeared on the wound, and became enlarged to the size of a pea. This drop hesitated, trembled, and at length ran down the arm, pushed on by a second drop, that made room for a third; then the blood became less black and less thick, and a long vermilion jet gushed forth, which announced life. Nocobotha could not repress a cry of joy: Don Sylvio was saved!
Almost immediately the young man gave a deep sigh.
"Continue the rubbing," the chief said to the gauchos.
He bound up Don Sylvio's arm, rose, and made a sign to Pincheira to follow him to another part of the cave.
"Heaven has granted my prayer," the great chief said, "and I thank it for having spared me a crime."
"If you are satisfied," the Chilian remarked, in surprise, "I have no objection to offer."
"That is not all. Don Sylvio's wounds, though numerous, are not serious; his lethargy is the result of the loss of the blood and the speed with which he was brought here. He will regain his senses presently."
"Good."
"He must not see me."
"What next?"
"Or recognize you."
"That is difficult."
"It is important."
"I will try my best."
"I am about to leave you. You will have Don Sylvio conveyed to Carmen."
"To your house?"
"Yes; it is the safest spot," Nocobotha said, as he drew from his pocket a paper folded after a peculiar fashion; "but he must not know, under any pretext, that I gave the orders, nor where he is; and, above all, he must not go out."
"Is that all?"
"Yes; and you will answer to me for his safety."
"On your order I will deliver him to you alive or dead."
"Alive, I tell you; his life is precious to me."
"Well," Pincheira replied, "since you are so anxious about your prisoner, not a hair of his head shall be touched."
"Thank you, and good-bye, Pincheira."
The chief mounted a magnificent mustang, and disappeared in the windings of the road. Pincheira returned to the wounded man with a look of ill temper, and twisting his moustache. He was dissatisfied with Nocobotha's orders; but, as he possessed only one virtue, respect for his word, he resigned himself.
"How is he?" he asked Panchito, in a whisper.
"Not so bad, captain; it is astonishing what good the bleeding did him. He has already opened his eyes twice, and has even attempted to speak."
"In that case there is no time to be lost. Bind the fellow's eyes and to prevent his tearing the bandage off, fasten his hands to his side; act gently if you can manage it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, captain."
"In ten minutes we start."
Don Sylvio, who had gradually regained his senses, asked himself into what hands he had fallen. His presence of mind had also returned, and he offered no resistance when the gauchos carried out the orders of the Chilian officer. These precautions revealed to him that his life would not be taken.
"Captain, what is to be done now?" Panchito said.
"Carry him to the boat tied up down there; and do not shake him, scoundrels, or I will blow out what little brains you possess."
"¡Caray!" the gaucho said with a grimace.
"Yes," Pincheira said, with a shrug of his shoulders, "that will teach you to kill people thoroughly another time."
Pincheira had not understood why Nocobotha so eagerly desired that Don Sylvio should live; and in his turn Panchito did not understand why Pincheira regretted that he was not dead. The gaucho opened his dull eyes in amazement on hearing the chief's last remark, but hastened to obey.
Don Sylvio was carried down to the boat by Pincheira, Panchito, and another gaucho, while the rest of the party, who took charge of the horses, returned to Carmen by land. The voyage in the boat was performed in silence, and three hours after the start the prisoner was lying on a bed in Don Torribio Carvajal's house. Then the gag was removed and his hands were untied; but a masked and silent man stood on the threshold of the door, like a statue, and never once took his eyes off him.
Don Sylvio, worn out by the emotions of the day, and weakened by the loss of blood, and trusting to chance to get him out of his incomprehensible position, took that investigating glance around which is peculiar to prisoners, and fell into a heavy sleep, which lasted several hours and restored to his mind all its calmness and original lucidity.
However, he was treated with the utmost respect, and his slightest caprices were satisfied. In fact, his situation was endurable, and, after all, was not without a certain amount of originality. Hence the young man, feeling reassured, bravely made up his mind to wait for better times. On the third day of his captivity his wounds were almost cicatrized. He got up to try his strength, and, perhaps, to reconnoitre the chance of escaping, for what can people do in prison, save think about getting out of it? A warm and cheering sunbeam entered through the crack of the closed shutter, and traced long white stripes on the ceiling of his room. This sunbeam revived his spirits, and he took several steps under the inevitable eye of the dumb and masked watchman.
All at once a formidable noise broke out in the vicinity, and a discharge of cannon made the windows rattle.
"What is that?" he asked the masked man.
The latter shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.
The sharp crack of musketry fire was mingled with the boom of the guns. The dumb man closed the window. Don Sylvio walked up to him.
"My friend," he said to him, in a gentle voice, "what is going on outside?"
The jailer obstinately remained silent.
"In Heaven's name speak!"
The noise seemed to draw nearer, and hurried footsteps were mingled with the shouts. The man in the mask drew his machete from its sheath and his pistol from his belt, and ran to the door, which was suddenly burst open. Another masked bandit evidently suffering from great terror, dashed into the room.
"Look out!" he shouted. "We are lost!"
At these words four men, also masked and armed to the teeth, appeared in the doorway.
"Back!" the jailer cried; "no one enters here without the password."
"There it is," said one of the newcomers, and he laid him stark dead with a pistol shot. The four men passed over his body and securely tied his companion, who had sought refuge in a corner, and was trembling all over. One of them then walked up to the prisoner, who comprehended nothing of this scene.
"You are free caballero!" he said to him. "Come, make haste to fly far from this house."
"Who are you?" the young man asked.
"No matter; follow us."
"No; unless I know who you are."
"Do you wish to see Doña Concha again?" the speaker whispered in his ear.
"I will follow you," Don Sylvio answered with a blush.
"Señor, take these weapons, which you will perhaps require, as all is not finished yet."
"Weapons!" the young man exclaimed. "Oh! You are friends."
They went out.
"What?" Don Sylvio said, as he entered the courtyard, "I am in Carmen."
"Were you not aware of it?"
"No."
"Those saddled horses fastened to the rings are ours. Can you sit a horse?"
"I hope so."
"You must."
"Mount, then, and let us be off."
As they turned into the street, a dozen horsemen dashed up toward them, at a distance of about five and twenty paces.
"Here is the enemy," the stranger said in a firm voice; "take your bridle in your teeth, and let us charge."
The four men ranged themselves in a single line, and rushed at the newcomers. They discharged firearms and drew their sabres.
"Caray!" Pincheira, who commanded the twelve horseman, shouted, "My prisoner is escaping from me."
The Chilian officer darted in pursuit of Don Sylvio, who fired two shots at him without relaxing his speed. Pinchiera's horse rolled on the ground, dragging down its rider, who got up again, greatly shaken by his fall; but Don Sylvio and his comrades were already far away.
"Oh, I shall find them again!" he shouted, mad with rage.
The fugitives had reached the river's bank, where a boat was waiting for them.
"We shall separate here, señor," the stranger said to Don Sylvio, as he removed his mask.
"Pedrito!" he exclaimed.
"Myself!" the bombero answered. "This boat will take you to the Estancia of San Julian. Start without delay, and," he added, as he stooped down to Don Sylvio's ear, and handed him a folded paper, "read this, and, perhaps, you will soon be able to come to our assistance. Good-bye, señor."
"One word, Pedrito. Who is the man that held me prisoner?"
"Don Torribio Carvajal."
"Thank you."
"Or, if you prefer it, Nocobotha, the great Chief of the Aucas."
"Which of the two?"
"They are the same."
"I will remember," Don Sylvio said, as he leaped into the boat.
The skiff glided over the water with the speed of an arrow, owing to the vigour of the rowers, and soon disappeared in the gathering darkness.
Three persons who remained on the bank looked anxiously after the movements of the boat. They were Pedrito, Mercedes, and Doña Concha.
"And now, señorita," Pedrito asked Doña Concha when the boat was out of sight, "What are your intentions?"
"To see Nocobotha in his camp."
"It is dishonour; it is death."
"No, Don Pedro, it is revenge."
"You mean it?"
"I am resolved."
"Good, I will myself lead you to the camp of the Aucas."
All three returned to Don Valentine Cardoso's house without exchanging a word. Night had completely set in; the streets were deserted, the silent town was illumined by the flames of Población del Sur, and the diabolical outlines of the Indians could be seen passing among the ruins and crumbling walls.
"Go and get ready, señoritas; I will wait for you here," Pedrito said with a melancholy accent.
Mercedes and Doña Concha entered the house. Pedrito, thoughtful and sad, sat down on one of the steps in front of the houses. The two girls soon re-appeared, dressed in full Aucas' costume, with painted faces, and impossible to recognize.
"Oh!" said the bombero, "Here are two real Indian girls."
"Do you believe," Doña Concha asked him, "that Don Torribio alone possesses the privilege of changing himself at his pleasure."
"Who can contend with a woman?" Pedrito said, shaking his head; "And now, what do you demand of me?"
"Your protection to the first Indian lines."
"And afterwards?"
"The rest is our business."
"But you do not intend to remain alone in the midst of the Pagans?"
"We must, Don Pedro."
"Mercedes," the latter continued, "do you wish to fall again into the hands of your persecutors?
"Reassure yourself, brother; I run no risk."
"Still—"
"I answer for her," Doña Concha interrupted him.
"Well, Heaven be merciful to you!" he muttered, with an air of doubt.
"Let us start," said Don Sylvio's affianced wife, as she wrapped herself up in a spacious cloak. Pedrito walked before them. The dying fires of Carmen lit up the night with a pale and uncertain gleam; a leaden silence brooded over the town, only interrupted at intervals by the hoarse croaking of the birds of prey that were tearing the Spanish and Indian corpses. The three persons walked through the ruins, stumbling against tottering walls, striding over bodies, and disturbing the horrible festival of the urubús and vultures which fled away with heavy wings. They went through nearly the entire length of the town, and at length arrived, after a thousand windings and difficulties, at one of the barriers that faced the Indian camp, whose numerous fires could be seen sparkling a short distance off, and from which fearful yells reached their ears.
The bombero exchanged a few words with the sentries, and passed through the barricade, followed by the two girls. Then he stopped.
"Doña Concha," he said, in a choking voice, "there is the Indian camp before us."
"I thank you, Don Pedro," she answered, offering him her hand.
"Señorita," Pedrito added, retaining the young lady's hand, "there is still time; give up your fatal plan, since your betrothed is saved, and return to San Julian."
"Good-bye," Doña Concha answered resolutely.
"Good-bye," the worthy man repeated sorrowfully. "Mercedes, I implore you to remain with me."
"Where she goes, I will go, brother."
The leave-taking was short, as may be supposed, and the bombero, so soon as he was alone, uttered a sigh, or rather a burst of sorrow, and returned to Carmen at a sharp pace.
"I trust I may not arrive too late," he said to himself, "and that he has not yet seen Don Antonio Valverde."
He reached the fort at the moment when Don Torribio and the governor were crossing the drawbridge, but absorbed in his own thoughts, he did not perceive the two horsemen. This accident was the cause of an irreparable misfortune.
As for the two girls, they proceeded haphazard toward the camp fires, a short distance from which they halted to regain breath and calm the movement of their hearts, which beat as if ready to start from their breasts. When near the danger they voluntarily sought, they felt their courage abandon them; the sight of the Indian toldos made their blood run cold with terror. Strange to say, it was Mercedes who revived her companion's firmness.
"Señorita," she said to her, "I will be your guide; we will leave these cloaks here, which would cause us to be recognized as white persons. Walk by my side, and whatever may happen, display neither surprise nor fear, and before all say not a word, or it will be all over with us."
"I will obey," Concha answered.
"We are," Mercedes exclaimed, "two Indian girls who have made a vow to Gualichu for the recovery of their wounded father. Remember, not a word, my friend!"
"Let us go on, and may Heaven protect us."
"So be it!" Mercedes replied, crossing herself. They set out again, and within five minutes entered the camp, where the Indians were giving way to the most extravagant joy. Nothing could be heard on all sides but songs and yells. Drunk with aguardiente, they danced in a burlesque fashion among empty barrels, which they had plundered from Población del Sur and the estancias. There was a wondrous disorder and a strange confusion, and all these raving madmen even ignored the authority of their Ulmens, the majority of whom, however, were in a state of the most disgusting intoxication.
Owing to the general uproar, Concha and Mercedes were enabled to cross the camp lines unseen; then, with palpitating hearts, limbs rigid with terror, but calm faces, they glided like lizards through the groups, passing unperceived by the drunken men, who stumbled against each other at every moment. The girls seemed lost in this human labyrinth, wandering haphazard, and trusting to Providence or their lucky stars to discover the abode of the great Toqui in this confused mass of toldos. They walked about for a long time, but rendered bolder by their success in avoiding any unpleasant encounter, and feeling less timid, they exchanged at times a hoping glance, till all at once an Indian of athletic build seized Doña Concha round the waist, lifted her from the ground like a child, and imprinted a hearty kiss on her neck.
At this unexpected outrage, Concha uttered a cry of terror, disengaged herself from the Indian's grasp, and forcibly thrust him away from her. The savage tottered on his drunken legs, and measured his length of six feet on the ground; but he sprang up again at once and leapt on the maiden like a jaguar.
Mercedes interposed between them.
"Back," she said, courageously, laying her hand on the Indian's chest, "this woman is my sister."
"Churlakin," another chief said, "do not put up with an insult."
The savage frowned and drew his knife.
"Do you wish to kill her?" Mercedes exclaimed in horror.
"Yes," Churlakin answered, "unless she will follow me to my toldo, where she will be the squaw of a chief—a great chief."
"You are mad," Mercedes retorted, "your toldo is full, and there is no room for another fire." "There is still room for two fires," the Indian answered, with a laugh, "and since this woman is your sister, you shall come with her."
In the course of this discussion an impenetrable circle of savages surrounded the two girls and Churlakin. Mercedes did not know how to escape the danger.
"Well," Churlakin continued, seizing Doña Concha's hair, which he rolled round his wrist, and brandishing his knife, "will you and your sister follow me to my toldo?"
Doña Concha, who had sunk down to the ground, awaited the death-stroke with pallid face and closed eyes. Mercedes drew herself and checked the arm that was ready to strike.
"Since you insist on it, dog," she said to the chief, in a haughty voice, "your destiny shall be accomplished. Look at me. Gualichu does not allow his slaves to be insulted with impunity. Look at me!"
She turned her face towards a huge fire, flashing a few yards off, and which threw a bright light over the surrounding objects. The Indians uttered a cry of surprise on recognizing her, and fell back. Churlakin himself let go of Doña Concha's hair.
"Oh!" he said, in consternation, "It is the white slave of the tree of Gualichu."
The circle round the two girls had grown larger; but the superstitious Indians, nailed to the ground by terror, looked at them fixedly.
"The power of Gualichu," Mercedes added, to complete her triumph, "is great and terrible. It is he who sends me; woe to the man who would try to thwart his designs; back, all of you."
And seizing the arm of Doña Concha, who was still trembling with emotion, she advanced with a firm step. Waving her arm authoritatively, the circle divided, and the Indians fell back to the right and left, making way for them to pass.
"I feel as if I was dying," Doña Concha murmured.
"Courage, señorita, we are saved."
"Oh, oh!" a mocking voice said, "what is going on here?"
And a man placed himself in front of the girls, and looked impudently at them.
"The matchi!" the Indians said, who, being reassured by the presence of their sorcerer, again assembled round the prisoners.
Mercedes trembled inwardly on seeing her stratagem compromised by the advent of the matchi, and at the suggestion of despair, she made a final effort.
"Gualichu, who loves the Indians," she said, "has sent me to the matchi of the Aucas."
"Ah!" the sorcerer answered, in a mocking accent, "And what does he want with me?"
"No one but yourself must hear it."
The matchi walked up to the maiden, laid his hand on her shoulder, and looked at her with a longing air.
"Will you save me?" she asked him in a low voice.
"That depends," the fellow answered, his eye sparkling with desire, "it is in your own hands." She repressed a look of disgust.
"Stay," she said, as she removed from her arms her rich gold bracelets, set with fine pearls.
"Och!" said the Indian, as he concealed them in his bosom, "That is fine; what does my daughter want?"
"Deliver us first from these men."
"Fly!" the matchi shouted, turning to the spectators; "This woman is under an evil spell; Gualichu is irritated. Fly!"
The sorcerer had immediately put on a face adapted to the circumstances; his mysterious conversation with the white woman and the terror depicted on his features were sufficient for the Indians, who, without stopping to ask any questions dispersed in all directions, and disappeared behind the toldos.
"You see," the sorcerer said, with a smile of pride, "I am powerful, and can avenge myself on those who deceive me. But where does my white daughter come from?"
"From the tree of Gualichu," she answered boldly.
"My daughter has the forked tongue of the cougar," the matchi replied, who believed neither in his own words nor in his god; "does she take me for a ñandu?"
"Here is a magnificent collar of pearls which Gualichu gave me for the inspired man of the Aucas."
"Oh," said the sorcerer, "what service can I render my daughter?"
"Lead us to the toldo of the great chief of the Patagonian nations."
"Does my daughter desire to speak with Nocobotha?"
"I do."
"Nocobotha is a wise chief; will he receive a woman?"
"He must."
"It is well. But this other woman?" he asked, pointing to Doña Concha.
"She is a friend of Pincheira's; she also wishes to speak with the great Toqui."
"The warriors will spin llama wool," the sorcerer said, shaking his head, "since women wage war and sit at the council fire."
"My father is mistaken; Nocobotha loves his sister."
"No," the Indian said.
"Will my father make haste? Nocobotha is waiting for us," Mercedes continued, impatient at the savage's tergiversation; "where is the toldo of the great chief?"
"Follow me, my white daughters."
He placed himself between them, seized an arm of each, and guided them through the inextricable labyrinth of the camp. The terrified Indians fled as they passed. In his heart the matchi was satisfied with Mercedes' presents, and the opportunity for proving to the warriors his intimate relations with Gualichu. The marching and counter-marching lasted a quarter of an hour, and at last they found themselves before a toldo, in front of which was planted the token of the united nations, surrounded by lances fringed with scarlet, and guarded by four warriors.
"It is here," he said to Mercedes.
"Good! My father will let us go in alone."
"Must I leave you, then?"
"Yes, but my father can wait for us outside."
"I will wait," the sorcerer said briefly, as he looked suspiciously at the maidens.
They went in with sorely beating hearts. The toldo was empty.
Don Antonio Valverde, delighted at the succour the president of the Argentine Republic sent him, rode at a gallop by the side of the new colonel, Don Torribio. They soon reached a barrier, guarded by a large body of gauchos and armed colonists.
"We must go out here," Don Torribio said to the governor, "but, as the night is dark, and we have one or two leagues to ride, it would be imprudent to venture alone upon a plain traversed by vagabond Indians."
"That is true," Don Antonio interrupted him.
"The governor must not risk his life lightly; suppose you were made prisoner, for instance, what a blow it would be for the colony."
"You speak most sensibly, Don Torribio."
"Let us take an escort."
"Of how many men?"
"Ten will be enough."
"We will take twenty, for we may come across a hundred Indians."
"Twenty, then, if you wish it, Don Antonio," the other answered with a sardonic smile.
On the governor's arrival the defenders of the fort had got under arms. Don Torribio detailed twenty horsemen, who, by his orders formed up behind him.
"Are we ready to start, governor?"
"Let us be off."
The escort, having the two colonels at its head, started in the direction of the plain, Torribio delighted Don Antonio Valverde for three quarters of an hour by the rolling fire of his witty remarks, when he was interrupted by him.
"Pardon me, colonel," the governor said anxiously, "but does it not appear singular to you that we have as yet met nobody?"
"Not the least in the world, señor," Torribio answered; "of course they know what road to take, and they are awaiting my return."
"That is possible," the governor said, after a moment's reflection.
"In that case we shall have another league to ride. Let us go on, then."
Don Torribio's vein of humour was exhausted. At times his eye examined the space around him, while Don Antonio remained silent. All at once the distant neighing of a horse reached their ears.
"What's that?" Torribio asked.
"Probably the men we are seeking."
"In any case let us be prudent. Wait for me; I will go ahead as scout."
He galloped forward and disappeared in the gloom. When a certain distance off, he dismounted and put his ears to the ground.
"¡Demonios!" he muttered, as he got up and leapt on to his horse again; "we are pursued. Can that Satan of a Pedrito have recognized me?"
"What's the matter?" the governor asked. "Nothing," Torribio replied, laying his left hand on his arm. "Don Antonio Valverde, surrender; you are my prisoner."
"Are you mad, Don Torribio?"
"No longer call me Don Torribio, señor," the young man said in a hollow voice; "I am Nocobotha, the great chief of the Patagonian natives."
"Treachery!" the governor shouted; "Help, gauchos, defend me!"
"It is useless, colonel, for those men belong to me."
"I will not surrender," the governor continued "Don Torribio, or whoever you may be, you are a coward."
He freed himself from the young man's grasp by a bound of his horse, and drew his sabre. The rapid gallop of several horses came nearer every moment.
"Can that be help arriving for me?" the governor said, as he cocked a pistol.
"Yes, but too late," the Indian chief answered coldly.
By his orders, the gauchos surrounded the commandant, who killed two of them. From this moment the fight in the dark became frightful. Don Antonio, seeing that his life was lost, wished, at least, to die as a soldier should die, and fought desperately.
The sound of the galloping horses constantly drew nearer.
Nocobotha saw that it was time to finish, and with a pistol shot killed the governor's horse. Don Antonio rolled on the sand, but, jumping up suddenly, he dealt his adversary a sabre stroke, which the latter parried by leaping on one side.
"A man such as I am does not surrender to dogs like you," Don Antonio exclaimed, as he blew out his own brains.
This explosion was followed by a sharp discharge of musketry, and a squadron of horsemen rushed like a whirlwind on the gauchos. The contest hardly lasted a moment. At a whistle from Nocobotha the gauchos turned round and fled separately over the dark plain. Eight corpses strewed the ground.
"Too late!" Pedrito said to Major Bloomfield, who had started in pursuit of Don Torribio so soon as the bombero warned him of the peril into which the Indian had led the governor.
"Yes," said the major, sorrowfully, "he was a good soldier; but how are we to catch the traitors up, and know what we have to depend on?"
"They are already in the Indian camp."
Pedrito leapt from his horse, cut with his machete a branch of resinous fir, which he made into a torch, and by its light examined the bodies stretched on the ground.
"Here he is!" the bombero exclaimed; "His skull is fearfully fractured; his hand grasps a pistol; but his face still retains an expression of haughty defiance."
A silent tear rolled down Major Bloomfield's bronzed face.
"Why was my old friend fated thus to die in an ambuscade when his fortress is besieged?" the Englishman murmured.
"God is the Master," Pedrito remarked, philosophically.
"He has performed his duty, so let us perform ours."
They raised the body of Don Antonio Valverde, and then the whole squadron returned to Carmen.
Nocobotha, however, we must remark, had only wished to make the colonel prisoner in order to treat with the colonists, and shed as little blood as possible, and he bitterly regretted the governor's death. While the gauchos were rejoicing at the success of the trap, Nocobotha, gloomy and dissatisfied, returned to his camp.
Mercedes and Doña Concha, on seeing the toldo of the great chief unoccupied, could not repress a sigh of satisfaction. They had the time to recover from their emotion in his absence, and prepare for the interview which Concha desired to have with him. They had removed their Indian garb in all haste, and resumed their Spanish attire. By an accident that favoured the plans of Don Sylvio's betrothed wife, she was lovelier and more seductive than usual; her pallor had a touching and irresistible grace about it, and her eyes flashed eager flames of love or hatred.
When Nocobotha arrived in front of the toldo, the matchi walked up to him.
"What do you want?" the chief asked.
"My father will pardon me," the sorcerer answered, humbly. "This night two women have entered the camp."
"What do I care?" the chief interrupted him, impatiently.
"These women, though dressed in the Indian fashion, are white," the matchi said, laying a stress on the last word.
"They are doubtless wives of the gauchos."
"No," the sorcerer said; "their hands are too white, and their feet too small. Besides, one of them is the white slave of the tree of Gualichu."
"Ah! and who made them prisoners?"
"No one; they arrived alone."
"Alone?"
"I accompanied them through the camp, and protected them against the curiosity of the warriors."
"You acted well."
"I introduced them into my father's toldo."
"Are they there now?"
"For the last hour."
"I thank my brother."
Nocobotha took off one of his bracelets, and threw it to the matchi, who bowed down to the ground.
The chief, suffering from indescribable agitation, rushed toward his toldo, the curtain of which he raised with a feverish hand, and he could not restrain a cry of delight and astonishment on hearing Doña Concha's voice.
The maiden greeted him with one of those strange and charming smiles of which women alone possess the secret.
"What is the meaning of this?" the chief asked, with a graceful bow.
Doña Concha involuntarily admired the young man; his splendid Indian costume flashing in the light, heightened his masculine and proud attitude, and his head was haughtily erect. He was very handsome, and born to command.
"By what name shall I address you, caballero?" she said to him, as she pointed to a seat of carved copal wood by her side.
"That depends, señorita. If you address the Spaniard, call me Don Torribio; if you have come to speak to the Indian, my brothers call me Nocobotha."
"We shall see," she said.
During a momentary silence, the two speakers examined each other aside. Doña Concha did not know how to begin, and the chief himself was seeking the motive for such a visit.
"Did you really wish to see me?" Nocobotha at length began.
"Who else?" she replied.
"The happiness of seeing you here appears to me a dream, and I fear lest I should awake from it."
This remark reminded her of Don Valentine Cardoso's guest, and did not agree with the ornaments of an Indian chief and the interior of a toldo.
"Good gracious!" Doña Concha said lightly, "You are not far removed from believing me a witch or a fairy, so I will break my wand."
"For all that you will not be the less an enchantress," Nocobotha interrupted her with a smile.
"The sorcerer is this child's brother, who revealed to me your real name, and the spot where I might find you. You must give Pedrito all the credit."
"I shall not forget it when an opportunity offers," he answered with a frown, which did not escape Doña Concha's notice; "but let us return to yourself, señorita. Would it be an indiscretion to ask you to what extraordinary circumstance I owe the favour of a visit which I did not anticipate, but which overwhelms me with joy?"
"Oh! A very simple cause," she replied, giving him a fiery look.
"I am listening, madam."
"Perhaps you wish to make me undergo an examination?"
"Oh! I trust that you do not think what you are saying."
"Don Torribio, we live in such unhappy times, that a person can never be sure of addressing a friend."
"I am yours, madam."
"I hope so, and even believe it, hence I will speak to you in the most perfect confidence. A girl of my age, and especially of my rank, does not take a step so singular, without very serious motives."
"I am convinced of that."
"What can make a woman lay aside her instinctive modesty, and cause her to disdain even her reputation? What feeling inspires her with masculine courage? Is it not love, Don Torribio —love? Do you understand me?"
"Yes, madam," he answered with emotion.
"Well, I have said it, it is a question of my heart and of yours—perhaps—Don Torribio. At our last interview, my father announced rather suddenly, both to you and me, my approaching marriage with Don Sylvio d'Arenal. I had thought you loved me—"
"Señorita!"
"But at that moment I became certain of it; I saw your sudden pallor, your voice was troubled."
"Still!—"
"I am a woman, Don Torribio; we women guess a man's love before a man himself does so."
The Indian chief gazed at her with an undefinable expression.
"A few days later," she continued, "Don Sylvio fell into an ambuscade—why did you do that, Don Torribio?"
"I wished to avenge myself on a rival, but I did not order his death."
"I knew it."
Nocobotha did not understand her.
"You had no rival—you had scarce left the house ere I confessed to my father that I did not love Don Sylvio, and would not marry him."
"O Heavens!" the young man exclaimed sorrowfully.
"Reassure yourself, the misfortune is repaired; Don Sylvio is not dead."
"Who told you so?"
"I know it, I know it so well that Don Sylvio, torn from Pincheira's hands by my orders, is at this moment at the Estancia de San Julian, whence he will shortly set out for Buenos Aires."
"Can I—"
"That is not all. I made my father understand toward whom my heart turned, and whose love it confided in, and my father, who has never been able to refuse me anything, permitted me to go and join the man whom I prefer."
She gave Don Torribio a glance full of love, looked down and blushed. A thousand contradictory feelings were contending in Nocobotha's heart, for he did not dare believe that which rendered him so happy; a doubt remained, a cruel doubt—suppose she were trifling with him?
"What!" he said, "You love me?"
"My presence here,—" she stammered.
"Happiness renders me confused, so forgive me."
"If I did not love you," she answered, "Sylvio is free and I could marry him."
"Oh women! Adorable creatures, who will ever sound the depths of your heart! Who can divine the sorrow or joy you conceal in a glance or in a smile? Yes, señorita, yes, I love you, and I wish to tell you so on my knees."
And the great chief of the Patagonian nations threw himself at Doña Concha's feet; he pressed her hands and covered them with burning kisses. The maiden, who held her head erect, while he lay thus prostrate before her, had a ferocious delight in her eyes; she had repeated the eternal allegory of the lion that surrenders its claws to the scissors of love. This man, so powerful and formidable, was conquered, and henceforth she was sure of her vengeance.
"What shall I tell my father?" she said in a voice gentle as a caress.
The lion rose with flashing eyes and radiant brow.
"Madam," he answered with supreme majesty, "tell Don Valentine Cardoso that within a month I shall place a crown on your beloved forehead."
It is rare for an extreme situation, when drawn to its utmost limits, to remain long in a state of tension; hence it is not surprising that Nocobotha, after advancing so far in his confiding love, should recoil terrified at the progress he had made. Man is so constituted that too much happiness embarrasses and alarms him, and it is, perhaps, a foreboding that this happiness will be of short duration. The Indian chief, whose heart overflowed like a brimming cup, felt a vague doubt mingle with his joy and obscure it with a cloud. Still, it is pleasant to flatter one's self, and the young man yielded to this new intoxication and the pleasures of hope. These smiles, these looks, everything reassured him. Why had she come to him through so many dangers? She loves me, he thought, and love intensified the bandage which Doña Concha had fastened over his eyes with so much grace and perfidy.
Men of lofty intellect are nearly all unconsciously affected by a weakness that frequently causes their ruin, the more so because they believe nobody clever enough to cheat them. Had Nocobotha nothing to fear from this girl of fifteen, who avowed her love with such simplicity? But as his mind was, so to speak, turned away from real life to be absorbed in a single dream—the independence of his country—Nocobotha had never essayed to read that enigmatical book called a woman's heart; he was ignorant that a woman, especially an American woman, never forgives an insult offered to her lover, for he is her deity and is inviolable.
The Indian loved for the first time, and this first love, which is so sharp that at a later date all other loves grow pale at the mere remembrance of it, had sunk deeply into his heart. He loved, and the transient doubt which had saddened his thoughts could not struggle against a thought which was now eradicable.
"Can I," Concha asked, "remain in your camp without fear of being insulted, until my father arrives?"
"Command me, madam," the Indian answered, "you have only slaves here."
"This girl, to whom you owe my presence here, will proceed to the Estancia of San Julian."
Nocobotha walked to the curtain of the toldo and clapped his hands twice. Lucaney appeared.
"Let a toldo be prepared for me, I give up to the two paleface women," the chief said in the Aucas tongue. "A band of picked warriors, selected by my brother, will watch over their safety night and day. Woe to the man who fails in respect to them! These women are sacred and free to come and go and receive any visitors they think proper. Have two horses saddled for me and for one of the white women."
Lucaney went out.
"You see, madam, that you are the queen here."
Doña Concha drew from her bosom a letter written beforehand and unsealed, which she handed to him, with a smile on her lips, but trembling at her heart.
"Read, Don Torribio, what I have written to my father."
"Oh, señorita!" he exclaimed, thrusting the note away.
Doña Concha slowly folded the letter without any apparent emotion, and delivered it to Mercedes.
"My child, you will give this to my father when alone, and explain to him what I have forgotten to say."
"Permit me to withdraw, madam."
"No," Concha replied, with a bewitching smile, "I have no secrets from you."
The young man smiled at this remark. At this moment the horses were brought up, and Doña Concha found time to whisper in Mercedes' ear the hurried words: "Your brother must be here in an hour."
Mercedes slightly closed her eyes as a sign of intelligence.
"I will accompany your friend myself," the chief said, "as far as the entrenchments of Carmen."
"I thank you, Don Torribio."
The two maidens tenderly embraced.
"In an hour," Doña Concha murmured.
"Good," Mercedes answered.
"You are at home here, madam," Nocobotha said to Doña Concha, who accompanied him to the entrance of the toldo.
Mercedes and the chief mounted their horses: the young Spanish girl followed them with eye and ear, and then re-entered the toldo.
"The game has begun, and he must reveal his plans to me."
In a quarter of an hour Mercedes and her guide came within fifty yards of Carmen, without having exchanged a word.
"Here," said Nocobotha, "you no longer require my services."
He turned back and galloped toward the camp. The girl advanced boldly in the direction of the town, whose gloomy outline rose before her. But a vigorous hand seized her bridle, she felt a pistol placed against her bosom, and a low voice said in Spanish—
"Who goes there?"
"A friend," she replied, suppressing a shriek of terror.
"Mercedes!" the rude voice exclaimed, becoming much softer.
"Pedrito!" she replied joyously, as she slipped into the arms of her brother, who embraced her affectionately.
"Where do you come from, little sister?"
"From the camp of the Patagonians."
"Already?"
"My mistress has sent me to you."
"Who accompanied you?"
"Nocobotha himself."
"Malediction!" the bombero said, "For five minutes I had him at the end of my rifle. Well, but come, we will talk inside."
"Oh!" Pedrito exclaimed, when Mercedes ended the narration of their expedition, "Oh, women are demons, demons, and men plucked chickens; and your letter?"
"Here it is."
"Don Valentine must receive it tonight, for the poor father will be pining in mortal anxiety."
"I will carry it," said Mercedes.
"No; you need rest. I have a safe man here, who will ride to the estancia. You, little sister, come into the house, where a worthy woman, who knows me, will take care of you."
"Will you go to Doña Concha?"
"I should think so. Poor girl! alone among the Pagans."
"Ever devoted, my kind brother!"
"It seems that is my vocation."
Pedrito led Mercedes to the house he had referred to, warmly recommended her to the hostess, and then turned into a street, in the middle of which a large fire was burning, and several men reposing round it, wrapped in their cloaks. The bombero roughly shook the foot of one of the sleepers.
"Come, come, Patito," he said to him, "up with you, my boy, and gallop to the Estancia of San Julian."
"Why, I have just come from there," the gaucho muttered, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
"The better reason; you must know the road. It is Doña Concha who sends you."
"If the señorita wishes it, of course," Patito said, whom the name thoroughly aroused; "what am I to do?"
"Mount your horse and carry this letter to Don Valentine; it is an important letter, you understand?"
"Very good."
"Let nobody take it from you."
"Of course not."
"If you are killed—?"
"I shall be killed."
"When you are dead it must not even be found on you."
"I will swallow it."
"The Indians will not think of ripping you up."
"All right."
"Be off."
"Only give me time to saddle my horse."
"Good-bye, Patito, and luck be with you." Pedrito left the gaucho, who speedily started.
"It is now my turn," the bombero muttered; "how am I to reach Doña Concha?"
He scratched his head and frowned, but ere long his forehead became unwrinkled, and he proceeded gaily to the fort; After a conference with Major Bloomfield, who had succeeded Don Antonio Valverde in command of the town, Pedrito doffed his clothes, and disguised himself as an Aucas. He set out, slipped into the Indian camp, and shortly before sunrise was back again in the town.
"Well?" his sister said to him.
"All goes well," the bombero answered, "¡Viva Dios!Nocobotha, I fancy, will pay dearly for carrying off Don Sylvio. Oh, women are demons!"
"Am I to go and join her?"
"No; it is unnecessary."
And, without entering into any details, Pedrito, who was worn out with fatigue, selected a place to sleep in, snored away, not troubling himself about the Indians.
Several days elapsed ere the besiegers renewed their attack on the town, which, however, they invested more closely. The Spaniards, strictly blockaded, and having no communication with the exterior, found their provisions running short, and hideous famine would soon pounce on its victims. Fortunately, the indefatigable Pedrito had an idea which he communicated to Major Bloomfield. He had a hundred and fifty loaves worked up with arsenic, water, and vitriol mingled with twenty barrels of spirits; the whole loaded on mules, was placed under the escort of Pedrito and his two brothers. The bomberos approached the Patagonian earthworks with this frugal stock of provisions. The Indians, who are passionately fond of firewater, rushed to meet the caravan, and seize the barrels. Pedrito and his brothers left their burden lying on the sand, and returned to the town at a gallop with the mules, which were intended to support the besieged, if the Patagonians did not make the assault.
There was a high holiday in the camp. The loaves were cut up; the heads of the barrels stove in, and nothing was left. This orgy cost the Indians six thousand men, who died in atrocious tortures. The others, struck with horror, began disbanding in all directions. The chiefs were no longer respected. Nocobotha himself saw his authority wavering before the superstition of the savages, who believed in a celestial punishment. The prisoners, men, women, and children, were massacred with horrible refinements of barbarity. Doña Concha, though protected by the great chief, only owed her escape to chance or to God, who preserved her as the instrument of His will.
The rage of the Indians, having no one left to vent itself on, gradually calmed down. Nocobotha went about constantly to restore courage. He felt that it was time to come to an end, and he gave Lucaney orders to assemble all the chiefs in his toldo.
"Great chiefs of the great nations," Nocobotha said to them, so soon as they were all collected round the council fire, "tomorrow, at daybreak, Carmen will be attacked on all sides at once. So soon as the town is taken the campaign will be over. Those who recoil are not men, but slaves. Remember that we are fighting for the liberty of our race."
He then informed each chief of the place of his tribe in the assault; formed a reserve of ten thousand men to support, if necessary, those who gave way, and, after cheering up the Ulmens, he dismissed them. So soon as he was alone, he proceeded to Doña Concha's toldo. The young lady gave Lucaney orders to admit him. Doña Concha was talking with her father, who, on receiving her letter, through Patito, at once hastened to her.
The interior of the toldo was completely altered, for Nocobotha had placed in it furniture, carried off from the estancias by the Indians. Externally nothing was changed, but inside it was divided by partitions, and rendered a perfect European residence. Here Concha lived pleasantly enough, honoured by the supreme chief and in the company of her father and Mercedes, who acted as her lady's maid.
The Indians, though somewhat astonished at their great Toqui's mode of life, remembered the European education he had received, and dared not complain. Was not Nocobotha's hatred of the white men still equally ardent? Were not his words still full of love for his country at the council fire? Was it not he who had directed the invasion, and led the tribes on the path of liberty? Hence, Nocobotha had lost nothing in the opinion of the warriors. He was still their well-beloved chief.
"Is the effervescence of the tribes appeased?" Doña Concha asked Nocobotha.
"Yes, Heaven be thanked, señorita; but the man commanding at Carmen is a wild beast. Six thousand men have been killed by poison."
"Oh, it is fearful," the young lady said.
"The whites are accustomed to treat us thus, and poison—"
"Say no more about it, Don Torribio; it makes me shudder."
"For centuries the Spaniards have been our murderers."
"What do you intend doing?" Don Valentine asked, in order to turn the conversation.
"Tomorrow, señor, a general assault will be made on Carmen."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. Tomorrow I shall have destroyed the Spaniards' power in the Patagonia, or be dead myself."
"God will protect the good cause," Doña Concha said in a prophetic voice.