not to know that he had in her a formidable adversary, with whom he must
play close, in order to bring her to do his will.

"Well!" the Linda resumed, "will my brother deign to do me the pleasure
of explaining the cause of his sudden appearance, which, not the less,
fills me with delight?"

"Oh! the cause is very simple indeed, not worth mentioning; I did not
hope, in any way, to meet my sister here; I must even confess, with all
humility that I did not seek her."

"Ah!" said Doña Maria, feigning to be imposed upon, "I am doubly
fortunate, then."

The chief bowed.

"It is the truth," he said.

"Good!" she thought; "now he is going to lie, let us see what villainy
the demon will invent;" and then she added aloud, with a seducing smile,
which displayed thirty-two little teeth of the purest pearl--"I am all
ears, my brother can speak."

"As my sister knows, this village is on the route which leads to my
toldería, I have naturally traversed it in returning to my tribe; the
night is advanced, my mosotones require a few hours' rest; I resolved
to encamp here. I entered the first rancho which presented itself to
my view, this rancho in which you are temporarily sojourning, and I am
grateful to the chance which, as I have told you, has done all this, and
is alone guilty."

"Not bad for an Indian," murmured Doña Maria; "well, we will say no more
about that."

"Eh!" said Antinahuel, feigning for the first time to perceive Doña
Rosario, and advancing towards her; "who is this charming young woman?"

"A slave, not worthy of your notice," the Linda replied, sternly.

"A slave!" Antinahuel cried.

"Yes, a slave." The Linda clapped her hands, and the Indian we have seen
talking with her entered.

"Take away this woman!" she said.

"Oh, madam!" Rosario exclaimed, falling on her knees, "can you be
inexorable towards a poor girl who has never injured you?"

The Linda gave her a fiery glance, and repulsed her with her foot.

"I ordered this girl to be taken away," she said, perilously.

At this flagrant insult, the blood rushed to the heart of the poor
girl; her pallid brow flushed with scarlet, and drawing herself up
majestically and proudly, she said in a piercing voice, the prophetic
tone of which struck the Linda to the heart--

"Beware, madam! God will punish you! As you today are without pity for
me, so the day will come when there will be no pity for you!"

And she left the room, after darting a look at her implacable enemy that
made even her blench.

When Antinahuel and the Linda were left alone, a long silence ensued.
The last words of Rosario had wounded the Linda like the stroke of a
poniard; it was in vain she endeavoured to steel herself against the
emotion she experienced. She felt herself conquered by the weak girl.
She, however, gradually overcame the incomprehensible sensation that
oppressed her. Passing her hand across her brow, as if to drive away the
importunate idea that pursued her, she turned towards Antinahuel--

"No diplomacy between us, brother," she said, "we know each other too
well to lose time in manoeuvring."

"My sister is right; let us speak frankly."

"The story of your return to your tribe is very clever, Antinahuel, but
I do not believe a word of it."

"Good! then my sister knows the reason that brings me here."

"I do know it," she said, with an arch smile, which played like a
sunbeam round her rosy lips.

Antinahuel made no reply. He began to walk in great agitation about the
room, casting looks of anger and vexation towards the door by which
Rosario had gone out. The Linda followed him with a keen and mocking eye.

"Well," she said, at the end of a minute, "will not my brother speak?"

"Why should I not speak?" he angrily replied. "Antinahuel is the most
redoubtable chief of his nation, the proudest warriors bend their lofty
brows without hesitation before him!"

"I am waiting," she said, in a calm voice.

"A chief explains himself clearly, no one imposes upon him. My sister
knows my hatred for the chief of the palefaces, of whom she has so much
reason to complain."

"Yes, I know that man is the personal enemy of my brother."

"Well, then, my sister has in her hands the blue-eyed maiden, and she
will give her to me, so that I may, in making her suffer, revenge myself
on my enemy."

"My brother is a man, he does not know how to avenge himself: why
should I give my prisoner up to him? Women alone possess the secret of
torturing those they hate. Let my brother leave it to me," she added,
with a vindictive smile; "the torments I shall invent will suffice, I
swear, to satisfy a hatred much deeper than any he can feel."

Antinahuel, although his face remained impassive, shuddered inwardly at
these odious words.

"My sister is boastful," he replied, "her skin is white, her heart knows
not how to hate, let her leave it to the Indian chief."

"No," she passionately exclaimed, "I have fixed the fate of this woman;
I will not give her to my brother."

"Will my sister then forget her promise, and falsify her oaths?"

"Of what promises and of what oaths do you speak, chief?"

"Of those," the Indian replied haughtily, "which my sister pronounced in
the toldo of Antinahuel, when she came among his tribe to implore his
assistance."

The Linda smiled.

"Woman is a mockingbird," she said, "the man who pays attention to her
words is----"

"Good!" Antinahuel interrupted, "my sister shall keep her prisoner. Let
my sister do her will; I will continue my route towards the toldería of
my tribe."

The Linda looked at him with astonishment; the facility with which
Antinahuel apparently renounced his projects seemed to her the more
incomprehensible, from her knowing with what pertinacity he pursued
his enterprises, when once he believed he had a chance of success. She
resolved to know what she had to trust to. At the moment when the chief
made a step towards the door, she said.

"Is my brother going?"

"I am going," he replied.

"Has he, then, already terminated the affairs about which General
Bustamente requested him to come and consult with him?"

"General Bustamente no longer stands in need of Antinahuel or of anyone
else."

"Has he then succeeded so quickly?"

"Yes," he answered in an equivocal tone.

"Then," the Linda exclaimed, joyfully, "he is master of the city, and
triumphs at last!"

Antinahuel appeared to hesitate for a minute--an ironical smile flitted
across his lips.

"Will not my brother answer?" the Linda continued, with an impatience
mingled with uneasiness.

"He whom my sister calls General Bustamente," he replied in a sharp
tone, "no longer needs the assistance of anyone: he is a prisoner."

The Linda sprang up like a wounded lioness.

"A prisoner!" she cried. "Oh! my brother must be mistaken."

"He is a prisoner, and within three days will be dead."

The Linda was struck with stupor; this frightful news crushed all her
hopes.

"Oh!" she murmured at length, "he shall not die!"

"He will die!" Antinahuel replied; "who can save him?"

"You, chief!" she said, emphatically grasping his arm.

"Why should I do it?" he remarked carelessly; "of what consequence is
the life of the man to me?--the palefaces are not my brothers."

"No; but his life is precious to me, for the sake of my vengeance! He
alone can deliver up my enemy to me! He shall live, I tell you!"

"Good! My sister will deliver him, then, as she is so anxious to save
him."

"You alone could do it, chief, if you would," she observed.

Antinahuel fixed his eyes upon her.

"What makes you suppose I would?" he said.

"Listen to me, chief!" the Linda cried. "You love that woman--that puny,
palefaced thing, do you not?"

The Indian started, but made no reply.

"Oh! do not endeavour to deceive me; you cannot blind the eyes of a
woman. The hatred you bear to Don Tadeo is changed into love in your
heart at the sight of this creature."

"Well! and suppose it should be so?" he said, evidently moved.

"An even-handed bargain with you then; give me General Bustamente," she
remarked earnestly, "and I will deliver her up to you."

"Oh!" said Antinahuel, with a bantering smile, "a woman is but a
mockingbird; the man who puts faith in her words----"

On hearing the chief throw in her face the words she herself had uttered
only a few minutes before, she stamped with impatience.

"Well, then," she cried, almost bursting with rage, "take her
then!--take the woman! and may my curses cling to her!"

Antinahuel uttered a tiger-like roar, and rushed out of the room.

"Ah!" cried the Linda in a hoarse voice, and with an expression
impossible to be described, "may not the love of this wretch avenge me
better than all the tortures I could have invented!"

In a few minutes the chief returned precipitately, his features
distorted by fury and disappointment.

"She has fled!" he shouted. It was true. Rosario and the Indian to whose
charge the Linda had given her had both disappeared. No one knew what
had become of them. Antinahuel immediately dispatched his mosotones in
all directions in search of them. The Linda was left in the toldo a
prey to indescribable rage; she was cheated of her vengeance! She felt
crushed under the weight of the helplessness to which she was reduced.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE RETURN TO VALDIVIA.

Night was come; bending over the pillow of his friend, who was still
buried in that lethargic sleep which generally follows great loss of
blood, Valentine watched with anxious tenderness the changes which at
times darkened his pale countenance.

"Oh!" he said, in a suppressed voice, clenching his hands with anger,
"be thy assassins who they may, brother, they shall pay for their crime
dearly."

The curtain of the tent was slowly raised, and a hand was laid upon the
young man's shoulder. He turned quickly round; Trangoil-Lanec was before
him. The face of the Ulmen was dark as night, and he appeared a prey to
strong emotion.

"What is the matter, chief?" asked Valentine, terrified at his manner;
"what has happened, in the name of Heaven? Have you any fresh misfortune
to announce?"

"Misfortune incessantly watches over man," the chief remarked
sententiously; "he should be ready to receive it at all hours, like an
expected guest."

"Speak then!" the young man asked, in a firm voice; "whatever may
happen, I will not falter."

"Good, my brother is strong, he is a great warrior, he will not suffer
himself to be cast down. Let my brother hasten; we must be gone!"

"Be gone!" cried Valentine, with a nervous start; "and my friend?"

"Our brother Louis will accompany us."

"Is it possible to move him?"

"It must be," the Indian said peremptorily; "the war hatchet is dug up
against the palefaces, the Aucas chiefs have drunk firewater, the genius
of evil is master of their hearts; we must depart before they think of
us; in an hour it will be too late."

"Let us depart then," the young man replied, sorrowfully, convinced that
Trangoil-Lanec knew more than he was willing to tell, and that some
great danger threatened them, since the chief, who was a man of tried
courage, had let fall that mask of stoicism which scarcely ever abandons
the Indian.

Preparations for departure were made in all haste, and were soon
terminated. The hammock in which Louis reposed was solidly fastened to
two long cross pieces of wood, and then, as it was, harnessed upon two
mules without awakening him. The little band set out, employing the
greatest precautions. They proceeded thus for more than an hour, without
exchanging a word; the campfires of the Indians became every minute more
faint in the distance, and they were, at least for the present, out of
danger. Valentine approached Trangoil-Lanec, who rode at the head of the
convoy.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To Valdivia," the chief replied; "it is there alone that Don Louis will
be able to recover in safety."

"You are right," said Valentine; "but shall we remain inactive?"

"I will do what my brother the paleface wishes; am I not his penni?
where he goes I will go--his will shall be mine!"

"Thank you, chief," the Frenchman replied, with emotion; "you have a
brave and worthy heart."

"My brother saved my life," said the Ulmen earnestly; "that life is no
longer mine, it belongs to him."

Whether it was that the Araucano chiefs did not perceive the departure
of the strangers, or that, as is more probable, they did not think it
worthwhile to pursue them, the little troop was not interrupted in its
flight--for what other name could be given to this night march amidst
the desert? They advanced slowly, on account of the wounded man, who
could not, in his state of weakness and prostration, have supported the
shaking of a more rapid pace.

Towards three o'clock in the morning, a few fugitive and uncertain
lights, which flitted across the horizon, and with difficulty pierced
through the fog, which at that hour of the night envelopes the earth
like a winding sheet, announced to the party that they were approaching
the city, and should soon be there. At the end of three quarters of an
hour, they reached the gardens which envelope Valdivia like an immense
bouquet of flowers, from the centre of which it seems to spring up. The
party made a short halt, in order not to attract observation on entering
the city, through the state of the horses and mules. From that time they
had nothing to fear from the Indians.

"Is my brother acquainted with the city?" Trangoil-Lanec asked.

"Why do you ask that question?"

"For a very simple reason. In the desert, by night or by day, I can
serve as a guide to my brother; but here, in this toldería of the
whites, my eyes close--I am blind; my brother must conduct us."

"The devil!" said Valentine, quite disconcerted; "in that sense I am as
blind as you, chief; it was only yesterday that I entered the city for
the first time: and," he added, laughingly, "the bullets then whistled
round in such a merry fashion, I had scarcely time to look about me, or
to ask my way."

"Don't let that disturb you, señor," said one of the peons, who had
heard the few words pronounced by the two men; "only tell me where you
want to go, and I will undertake to conduct you."

"Hum!" Valentine replied; "where I want to go to? Caspeta! I cannot
exactly say; all places are alike to me, provided my friend be in
safety."

"Pardon me, señor," the arriero replied, "if I dare----"

"Oh, dare! dare! there's a good fellow! your idea is probably excellent;
for myself, I confess at this moment my mind is as empty as a drum."

"Why, señor, should you not go to the residence of Don Tadeo de Leon, my
master?"

"Pardieu!" cried Valentine, vexed at his own want of thought. "On my
word, you are something like a guide! I do not go to Don Tadeo, because,
simply, I don't know how to find the place, that's all."

"I know, señor; Don Tadeo is most likely at the cabildo."

"By Jove! that's true again; my powers of thought seem to have been
driven out of my head; but which is the way to the cabildo?"

"I will show you, señor."

"That's well! this is an intelligent lad. Let us be moving, my friend."

"Forward, then!" cried the arriero. "_Ea! arrea mula!_" he shouted to
his beasts.

In a few minutes they debouched upon the Plaza Mayor, opposite the
cabildo. The city was still and silent; here and there traces of the
sanguinary contest of the preceding day, heaps of broken furniture, or
large trenches cut in the ground, gave evidence of the ravages caused by
the insurrection. A soldier was marching with slow steps in front of the
cabildo. At sight of the little party, he stopped, and cocked his musket.

"Who goes there?" he shouted sharply.

"_La Patria!_" Valentine replied.

"Go on, then!" said the soldier.

"Hum!" the young man murmured; "it appears not to be such an easy matter
to obtain entrance; never mind," he added, "let us try. My friend," he
said, in an insinuating voice, to the sentinel, who stood motionless
before him; "we have business in the palace."

"Have you the password?"

"Santiago! no," Valentine answered, frankly.

"Then you cannot enter."

"And yet I wish very much to enter."

"Very possibly; but as you have not the password, I advise you to go
on your way; for I swear, if you were the devil in person, I would not
afford you a passage."

"My friend," said the Parisian, in a jeering tone, "you do not talk
logically; if I were the devil, I should stand in no need of the
password--I should get in in spite of you."

"Take care, señor," whispered the arriero; "that soldier is not unlikely
to fire at you."

"Pardieu! that's what I reckon upon," said Valentine, laughing.

The peon looked at him in astonishment; he thought he was mad. The
soldier, annoyed by this long conversation, and believing it of no use
to stand wrangling with these jokers, presented his musket, crying
angrily,--

"For the last time, go on, or I will fire!"

"I am determined I will go in!" Valentine replied, resolutely.

"To arms!" the soldier cried, and fired. Valentine, who had watched
attentively all the soldier's movements, had slipped quickly from his
horse, and the bullet whistled harmlessly over his head. At the cry
of the soldier and the report of his piece, several armed soldiers,
followed by an officer with a lighted lantern in his hand, rushed
tumultuously out of the palace.

"What is going on here?" the officer asked, in a loud voice.

"Ah!" Valentine cried, to whom the voice was not unknown, "is that you,
Don Gregorio?"

"Who calls me?" said the latter; for, in fact, it was he.

"I, Valentine!"

"What! is it you, my friend, who are making all this disturbance?"
replied Don Gregorio, advancing; "I thought it was nothing less than an
attack."

"What the devil was I to do?" said the young man, laughing; "I had not
the password, and I wanted to get in."

"Hum! none but a Frenchman would have such an idea as that."

"Is it not original?"

"Yes, but you risked being killed."

"Bah! we are always risking being killed, and yet we are not," said
Valentine, carelessly; "I recommend my plan to you, under similar
circumstances."

"Much obliged! but I do not think I shall ever try it."

"Ah! there you are wrong."

"Well, then, come in! come in!"

"That is all I want; particularly as I must see Don Tadeo instantly."

"I believe he is asleep."

"He must be awakened."

"Do you bring interesting news, then?"

"Yes," Valentine replied, becoming suddenly serious; "terrible news!"

Don Gregorio, struck with the tone in which the Frenchman had pronounced
these words, had a presentiment of some misfortune, and asked no
further. The arrieros bore the hammock, with Don Louis still asleep,
into the cabildo. By the care of Don Gregorio he was carried to a
bedchamber, and placed in a bed hastily provided.

"What does all this mean?" Don Gregorio said, in astonishment; "is Don
Louis wounded?"

"Yes," Valentine replied, in a husky voice; "he has received two dagger
wounds."

"But how did it all happen?"

"You will soon learn; but pray conduct me instantly to Don Tadeo."

"In heaven's name, come, then! your reserve alarms me."

And, followed by Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec, Don Gregorio plunged into
the labyrinth formed by the numerous corridors of the palace, with which
he seemed well acquainted.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE FATHER REVEALS HIMSELF.

Don Tadeo had passed the greater part of the night in giving orders
for the clearing away of the hideous traces left by the combat. He
had named the magistrates charged with the police of the city. After
having assured, as far as possible, the tranquillity and safety of the
citizens, and sent several couriers to Santiago, and other centres
of population, to inform them of what had taken place, worn out with
fatigue, sinking with sleep, he had thrown himself, clothed as he was,
upon a camp bed, to take a little repose. He had slept scarcely an hour
that agitated sleep which is the lot of men upon whom the destinies of
empires rest, when the door of the chamber was pushed violently open, a
strong light gleamed in his eyes, and several men surrounded him. Don
Tadeo awoke suddenly.

"Who is there?" he cried, endeavouring to recognise, in spite of the
light which dazzled his eyes, the persons who so inopportunely disturbed
his repose.

"It is I," replied Don Gregorio.

"Well, but you do not seem to be alone?"

"No, Don Valentine accompanies me."

"Don Valentine!" cried Don Tadeo, starting up, and passing his hand over
his brow, to drive away the clouds which still obscured his ideas; "why,
I did not expect Don Valentine before morning, at soonest; what serious
reason can have induced him to travel by night?"

"A powerful reason, Don Tadeo," the young man remarked, in a melancholy
voice.

"In Heaven's name! speak, then!" cried Don Tadeo.

"Be a man! be firm! collect all your courage to bear worthily the blow
you are about to receive."

Don Tadeo walked two or three times round the room, with his head
cast down, and his brow contracted; then stopped suddenly in front of
Valentine with a pale brow, but with a stoical countenance. This man
of iron had subdued nature within him; as if aware of the rudeness of
the shock he was about to receive, he had ordered his heart not to
break--his muscles not to quiver.

"Speak!" he said, "I am ready to hear you."

While uttering these words his voice was firm, his features calm.
Valentine, though well acquainted with his courage, was struck with
admiration.

"Is the misfortune you are about to announce to me personal?" said Don
Tadeo.

"Yes," the young man replied, in a tremulous voice.

"God be praised! Go on, then; I listen to you."

Valentine perceived that he must not put the soul of this man to too
hard a trial; he determined to speak.

"Doña Rosario has disappeared," he said; "she has been carried off
during our absence; Louis, my foster brother, in endeavouring to defend
her, has fallen, pierced by two sword thrusts."

The King of Darkness appeared a statue of marble; no emotion was
perceptible upon his austere countenance.

"Is Don Louis dead?" he asked, earnestly.

"No," Valentine answered, more and more astonished; "I even hope that in
a few days he will be cured."

"So much the better," said Don Tadeo, feelingly; "I am indeed glad to
hear that."

And, crossing his arms upon his broad chest, he resumed his hasty walk
about the room. The three men looked at each other, surprised at this
stoicism, which to them was unintelligible.

"Will you then abandon Doña Rosario to her ravishers?" Don Gregorio
asked, in a reproachful tone.

Don Tadeo darted at him a look charged with such bitter irony, that Don
Gregorio quailed beneath it.

"Were the ravishers concealed in the entrails of the earth, I would
discover them, be they who they may!" Don Tadeo replied.

"A man is on their track," said Trangoil-Lanec, advancing; "that man is
Curumilla. He will discover them."

A flash of joy for a moment shot from the eye of the King of Darkness.

"Oh!" he murmured, with clenched teeth, "beware, Doña Maria, beware!"

He at once had divined the author of the abduction of Rosario.

"What do you intend to do?" said Don Gregorio.

"Nothing, till the return of our scout," he replied, coldly; and then
turning towards Valentine, added--"Well, my friend, have you nothing
else to announce to me?"

"What leads you to suppose I have not told you all?" said the young man.

"Ah!" Don Tadeo replied, with a melancholy smile, "you know, my friend,
that we Spanish Americans, however civilized we may appear, are still
semi-barbarians, and, as such, horribly superstitious."

"Well?"

"Well, then, among other follies of the same kind, we place faith in
proverbs; and is there not one which somewhere says, that a misfortune
never comes singly?"

"Good Heavens! do you take me for a bird of ill omen, Don Tadeo?"

"God forbid, my friend! only search in your memory, I am sure I am not
mistaken, and that you have still something else to inform me of."

"Well, you are right, I have other news to announce to you; whether good
or bad, I leave you to judge."

"I knew there was something more behind," said Don Tadeo, with a sad
smile; "go on, my friend, let us hear this news, I am listening to you."

"Yesterday, as you know, General Bustamente renewed the treaties of
peace with the Araucano chiefs."

"He did."

"I cannot tell what fugitive or what scout gave them information of what
had taken place here; but by evening they had learnt the defeat and
capture of the General."

"I can understand that; go on."

"A kind of furious madness immediately seemed to possess them, and they
held a great war council."

"In which, I suppose, they decided upon breaking the treaties; is not
that it?"

"Exactly."

"And most likely determined upon war with us?"

"I suppose so; the four toquis cast the hatchet into the fire, and a
supreme toqui was elected in their place."

"Ah! ah!" said Don Tadeo, "and do you know the name of this supreme
toqui?"

"Yes; Antinahuel."

"I suspected as much," Don Tadeo cried, angrily; "that man has deceived
us. He is a scoundrel only living by cunning, and whose devouring
ambition leads him to sacrifice, when occasion offers, the dearest
interests, and falsify the most sacred oaths. He has been playing a
double game; he feigned to be the partisan of General Bustamente, as he
appeared to be ours, building upon our mutual ruin his own fortunes and
his future elevation. But he has thrown off the mask too hastily. By
heaven! I will inflict a chastisement upon him, of which his compatriots
shall preserve the remembrance, and which a century hence shall make
them tremble with fear."

"Beware of the ears that, listen to you," said Don Gregorio, directing
his attention by a look to the Ulmen, who stood quietly before him.

"Eh! what care I?" Don Tadeo replied, warmly; "if I speak thus, it is
because I wish to be heard. I am a Spanish noble, and what my heart
thinks my lips give utterance to; the Ulmen is welcome, if it seems good
to him, to repeat my words to his chief."

"The Great Eagle of the Whites is unjust towards his son," replied
Trangoil-Lanec, in a serious tone; "all Araucanos have not the same
heart; Antinahuel is only responsible for his own acts. Trangoil-Lanec
is an Ulmen in his tribe; he knows how to be present at a council of
chiefs: what his eyes see, what his ears hear, his heart forgets, his
mouth repeats it not: why should my father address such unkind words to
me, who am ready to devote myself to restore to him her he has lost?"

"That is true; I am unjust, chief, I was wrong in speaking so; your
heart is true, your tongue is unacquainted with falsehood. Pardon me,
and let me clasp your loyal hand in mine."

Trangoil-Lanec pressed warmly the hand Don Tadeo held out to him.

"My father is good," he said; "his heart is at this moment darkened by
the great misfortune that has fallen upon him; but let my father be
comforted, Trangoil-Lanec will restore the blue-eyed maiden to him."

"Thanks, chief! I accept your offer, you may depend upon my gratitude."

"Trangoil-Lanec does not sell his services, he is repaid when his
friends are happy."

"Caramba!" cried Valentine, shaking the hand of the chief with all his
might, "you are a worthy man, Trangoil-Lanec--I am proud of being your
friend."

Then, turning towards Don Tadeo, he said--"I must bid you farewell, for
a time. I confide my brother Louis to your care."

"Why do you leave me?" Don Tadeo asked, warmly.

"I must. I see your heart is breaking, in spite of the incredible
efforts you make to appear impassive. I know not the nature of the tie
which binds you to the unfortunate girl who has been the victim of an
odious crime; but I can see the loss of her is killing you--now, with
the assistance of Heaven, I will restore her to you, Don Tadeo; I will,
or I will die in the endeavour."

"Don Valentine!" the gentleman exclaimed, strongly moved, "what do you
propose to do? your project is wild; I cannot accept such devotion."

"Leave it to me. Caramba! I am a Parisian--that is to say, as obstinate
as a mule; and when once an idea, good or bad, has entered into my
brain, it has no chance of getting out, I swear to you. I shall only
take the time to embrace my poor brother, and set off immediately. Come,
chief, let us set ourselves upon the track of the ravishers."

"Let us be gone," said the Ulmen.

Don Tadeo remained for a moment motionless, his eyes fixed upon the
young man with a strange expression; a violent conflict appeared to be
going on within him; at length nature prevailed, he burst into tears;
and, throwing himself into the arms of the Frenchman, he murmured, in a
voice choked by grief--

"Valentine! Valentine! restore me my daughter!"

The father had at length revealed himself; the stoicism of the statesman
had sunk before paternal love!--But human nature has its limits, beyond
which it cannot go; the moral shock which Don Tadeo had received, the
immense efforts he had made to conceal it, had completely exhausted
his strength, and he sank upon the slabs of the floor like a proud oak
struck by thunder. He had fainted. Valentine contemplated him for a
moment with pity and grief.

"Poor father!" he said, "take courage, thy child shall be restored to
thee!"

And he left the room with hasty steps, followed by Trangoil-Lanec,
whilst Don Gregorio, kneeling by his friend, gave him the most earnest
and kind attentions for the recovery of his senses.

CHAPTER XLVI.

CURUMILLA.

In order to explain to the reader the miraculous disappearance of
Rosario, we are obliged to make a few retrograde steps, and return to
Curumilla, at the moment when the Ulmen, after his conversation with
Trangoil-Lanec, had thrown himself, like a staunch bloodhound, upon the
track of the young girl. Curumilla was a warrior as renowned for his
prudence and wisdom in council, as for his bravery in fight. Having
crossed the river, he left his horse in the care of a peon who had
accompanied him, as it would not only be useless to him, but, still
further, because it might even be injurious by betraying his presence by
the clatter of its hoofs upon the ground. Indians are expert horsemen,
but they are indefatigable walkers. Nature has endowed them with
incredible strength of muscles of the legs and hams; and they possess in
the highest degree the knowledge of that rising and sinking gymnastic
step, which, for some years past, has been introduced into Europe,
particularly into France, in the marching of troops. They accomplish
with incredible swiftness journeys which horses could hardly perform,
always directing their course in a straight line, or as the bird flies,
without regard to the difficulties that may arise in their way, no
obstacle being sufficient to turn them from their course. This quality
renders them particularly formidable to the Spanish Americans, who
cannot obtain this facility of locomotion, and who, in time of war, find
the redskins always before them at the moment they least expect them,
and that almost always at considerable distances from the spots where,
logically, they ought to be.

Curumilla, after having carefully studied the prints made by the
ravishers, at once divined the route they had taken, and the place they
were bound to. He did not amuse himself with following them, for that
would have been losing precious time; on the contrary, he resolved to
cut across country, and wait for them at an elbow of the road he was
acquainted with, where, at all events, he could ascertain their numbers,
and, perhaps, save the young girl. This being determined, the Ulmen
set off. He walked for several hours without rest, eye and ear on the
watch, trying to penetrate the darkness, and listening patiently to the
various noises of the desert. These noises, which are to us white men
a dead letter, have for the Indians, who are accustomed to interrogate
them, a special signification, in which they are never deceived; they
analyse them, they decompose them, and often learn by this means things
which their enemies have the greatest interest in concealing from them.
However inexplicable this fact may at first appear, it is very simple.
There exists no noise in the desert without a cause. The flight of
birds, the passage of wild beasts, the rustling of leaves, the rolling
of a stone down a ravine, the undulation of high grass, the friction of
branches in the woods, are for the Indian valuable indications.

At a certain point with which he was acquainted, Curumilla laid himself
down flat on his face, behind a block of rock, and remained motionless
among the grass and bushes that bordered the route. He remained thus for
more than an hour, without making the least movement. Whoever might have
perceived him would have taken him for a dead body. The practised ear of
the Indian, ever on the watch, at length caught in the distance the dull
sound of the feet of horses and mules upon the dry and sonorous road.
This noise grew rapidly nearer, and soon, from his hiding place, he
perceived about twenty horsemen passing slowly along in the dark, within
two lance lengths of him. The ravishers, emboldened by their numbers,
and believing themselves secure from all danger, rode along in perfect
security. The Indian raised his head softly, and leaning on his hands,
followed them with his anxious eyes, and waited. They passed without
seeing him. At some paces behind the troop, a horseman came along,
leaving himself carelessly to the measured pace of his horse. His head
occasionally sank upon his breast, and his hands had but a feeble hold
of the reins. It was evident that this man was asleep in his saddle.

A sudden idea rushed like lightning through Curumilla's brain; gathering
himself up, he stiffened the iron muscles of his legs, and, bounding
like a tiger, leaped up behind the horseman. Before the latter,
surprised by this unexpected attack, had time to utter a cry, he pressed
his throat in such a manner as, for the time, to render him incapable
of calling for help. In the twinkling of an eye the horseman was gagged
and thrown to the ground: then, securing the horse, Curumilla fastened
it to a bush, and returned to his prisoner. The latter, with the stoical
and disdainful courage peculiar to the aborigines of America, finding
himself conquered, attempted no useless resistance; he looked at his
conqueror with a smile of contempt, and waited for him to speak to him.

"Oh!" said Curumilla, who, upon leaning over him, recognised him, "is it
you, Joan?"

"Curumilla!" the other replied.

"Hum!" the Ulmen murmured to himself, "I would rather it had been
somebody else. What is my brother doing on this path?" he asked.

"Of what consequence is that to my brother?" said the Indian, replying
to one question by another.

"We have no time to waste," the chief replied, unsheathing his knife;
"let my brother speak."

Joan started; a shudder ran through his limbs at the blue light
reflected by the long, sharp blade of the knife.

"The chief can question me," he said, in a husky voice.

"Where is my brother going?"

"To the toldería of San Miguel."

"Good! and for what purpose is my brother going there?"

"To place in the hands of the sister of the grand toqui a woman whom we
have carried off this morning."

"Who ordered you to do so?"

"She whom we are going to meet."

"Who had the direction of this affair?"

"I had."

"Good! where does this woman expect the prisoner?"

"I have told the chief; at the toldería of San Miguel."

"In which casa?"

"In the last; the one which stands a little apart from the others."

"That is well! Let my brother exchange poncho and hat with me."

The Indian obeyed without a word, and when the exchange was made,
Curumilla said--

"I could kill my brother; prudence would even require me to do so, but
pity has entered my heart--Joan has wives and children, he is one of the
brave warriors of his tribe; if I let him live, will he be grateful?"

The Indian had expected that he was going to die, but these words
restored him to hope. He was not a bad man at bottom; the Ulmen knew him
well, and was satisfied he would keep his promises.

"My father holds my life in his hands," Joan replied; "if he does not
take it today, I shall remain his debtor--I will lay down my life at a
sign from him."

"Very well!" said Curumilla, returning his knife to its sheath, "my
brother may rise, a chief keeps his word."

The Indian sprang upon his feet, and fervently kissed the hand of the
man who had spared him.

"What does my father command?" he asked.

"My brother must repair as fast as possible to the toldería which the
Huincas name Valdivia. He will seek Don Tadeo, the Great Eagle of the
Whites, and relate to him what has passed between us, adding, that I
will save the prisoner, or die."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. If the Great Eagle requires the services of my brother, he will
place himself without hesitation at his orders. Farewell! May Pillian
guide my brother! and let him never forget that I was not willing to
take the life that was in my power!"

"Joan will not forget," the Indian replied.

At a sign from Curumilla, he bent down in the high grass, crept along
like a serpent, and disappeared in the direction of Valdivia. The chief,
without losing an instant, jumped into the saddle and soon joined the
little troop, who had continued jogging quietly along, without dreaming
of the substitution that had just taken place. It was Curumilla who,
while carrying the young girl into the house, had whispered hope and
courage. These three words, in announcing to her that she had a friend
watching over her, had restored her the strength necessary for the
struggle that awaited her.

After the unexpected arrival of Antinahuel, when, at the order of Doña
Maria, Curumilla led away the prisoner, instead of reconducting her
to the apartment in which she had been, he threw a poncho over her to
disguise her.

"Follow me," he said in a low voice; "step out boldly, I will endeavour
to save you."

The maiden hesitated; she was fearful of a snare. The Ulmen comprehended
her feeling, and said quickly, in a low voice--

"I am Curumilla, one of the Ulmens devoted to the two Frenchmen, the
friends of Don Tadeo."

Rosario startled imperceptibly.

"Go on," she replied in a firm tone; "happen what may, I will follow
you."

And they left the hut together. The Indians, dispersed here and there,
were busily talking over the events of the day, and did not observe
them. The two fugitives proceeded for ten minutes without exchanging a
word. The village was soon lost in the darkness; at length Curumilla
stopped at a thick clump of cactus, behind which two horses stood,
saddled and bridled.

"Does my sister find herself strong enough to mount on horseback, and
ride a long distance?" he asked.

"To escape from my persecutors," she replied, in a broken voice, "I feel
I have strength to do anything."

"Good!" said Curumilla, "my sister is courageous. Her God will help her!"

"It is in Him alone I place my hope," she said, with a sigh.

"To horse, then, and let us begone! minutes are ages!"

He unfastened the horses, they mounted, and set of at full speed,
without any sound being produced upon the road by their hoofs, which
Curumilla had covered with pieces of sheepskin. The maiden breathed
a sigh of relief on feeling herself once more free, and under the
protection of a devoted friend. The fugitives continued to ride at a
rapid pace, in a direction diametrically opposite to the one they should
have taken to return to Valdivia. Prudence required that they should not
yet take any route on which, according to all possibilities, they would
be looked for.

We must leave our friends in this critical position for the present;
but those readers who feel an interest in the loves of Don Louis and
Doña Rosario, will find their curiosity fully satisfied in the following
volume of this series, called "The Pearl of the Andes."

THE END.