The Pearl of the Andes: A Tale of Love and Adventure
Date: 2013-09-28T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Love stories; Adventure stories; Andes Region -- Fiction

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Title: The Pearl of the Andes: A Tale of Love and Adventure

Author: Gustave Aimard

Editor: Percy B. St. John

Release date: September 28, 2013 [eBook #43838]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Camille Bernard and Marc D'Hooghe (Scans generously made available by the Hathi Trust)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PEARL OF THE ANDES: A TALE OF LOVE AND ADVENTURE ***

THE PEARL OF THE ANDES

A TALE OF LOVE AND ADVENTURE

BY

GUSTAVE AIMARD

AUTHOR OF "THE ADVENTURERS," "TRAIL-HUNTER," "PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES,"

"TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER," "TIGER SLAYER," ETC.

REVISED AND EDITED BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN

NEW YORK

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY

14 AND 16 VESEY STREET

1884

CONTENTS

| I. | IN THE CABILDO | XXIII. | PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
| II. | JOAN | XXIV. | A DISAGREEABLE MISSION
| III. | THE PURSUIT | XXV. | THE KITE AND THE DOVE
| IV. | SERPENT AND VIPER | XXVI. | THE END OF DON RAMÓN'S JOURNEY
| V. | AN INDIAN'S LOVE | XXVII. | THE AUCA-COYOG
| VI. | PREPARATIONS FOR DELIVERANCE | XXVIII. | THE HUMAN SACRIFICE
| VII. | A COUNTERMINE | XXIX. | THE KING OF DARKNESS
| VIII. | EL CANYON DEL RIO SECO | XXX. | THE BATTLE OF CONDERKANKI
| IX. | BEFORE THE FIGHT | XXXI. | CONQUEROR AND PRISONER
| X. | THE PASSAGE OF THE DEFILE | XXXII. | AFTER THE BATTLE
| XI. | THE JOURNEY | XXXIII. | FIRST HOURS OF CAPTIVITY
| XII. | INFORMATION | XXXIV. | THE ULTIMATUM
| XIII. | THE AMBUSCADE | XXXV. | A FURY
| XIV. | THE FORTRESS | XXXVI. | A THUNDERCLAP
| XV. | PROPOSALS | XXXVII. | UPON THE TRACK
| XVI. | THE MESSENGER | XXXVIII. | THE LYNX
| XVII. | IN THE WOLF'S MOUTH | XXXIX. | THE BLACK SERPENTS
| XVIII. | THE CAPITULATION | XL. | THE HURRICANE
| XIX. | THE APPEAL | XLI. | LA BARRANCA
| XX. | THE COUNCIL | XLII. | THE QUIPU
| XXI. | DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND | XLIII. | THE ROCK
| XXII. | DELIRIUM | XLIV. | CÆSAR

THE PEARL OF THE ANDES

CHAPTER I.

IN THE CABILDO

While Doña Rosario effected her escape by the assistance of Curumilla, as recorded in the "Adventurers," Don Tadeo was not long in regaining his senses. On opening his eyes he cast a bewildered look around him, but as soon as memory threw light into his brain, he let his head sink into his hands, and gave a free vent to his grief.

Don Tadeo wept! Don Tadeo, the King of Darkness, who a hundred times had smilingly looked death in the face—who had had such a miraculous escape—the man whose iron will had so rapidly crushed everything that opposed the execution of his projects; who by a word, a gesture, a frown, governed thousands of men submissive to his caprices, wept.

But Don Tadeo was not a man whom grief, however intense, could depress for a length of time.

"Oh, all is not ended yet," he cried. "But courage! I have a people to save before I avenge my daughter."

He clapped his hands, and Don Gregorio appeared. He saw at a glance the ravages which grief had made in the mind of his friend, but he saw that the King of Darkness had subdued the father. It was about seven o'clock in the morning.

"What are your intentions with regard to General Bustamente?" Gregorio asked.

Don Tadeo was calm, cold, and impassive; all traces of emotion had disappeared from his face, which had the whiteness and rigidity of marble.

"My friend," he replied, "we yesterday saved the liberty of our country, which was on the verge of ruin; but if, thanks to you and to all the devoted patriots who fought on our side, I have for ever overthrown Don Bustamente, and annihilated his ambitious projects, I have not on that account taken his place."

"But you are the only man—"

"Do not say that," Don Tadeo interrupted, "I do not recognise in myself the right of imposing upon my fellow citizens ideas and views which may be very good, or which I believe to be so, but which, perhaps, are not theirs. The right of freely choosing the man who is henceforward to govern them."

"And who tells you, my friend, that that man is not yourself?"

"I do!" Don Tadeo observed in a firm voice.

Don Gregorio gave a start of surprise.

"That astonishes you, does it not, my friend? But what is to be said? So it is. I am only anxious to lay down power, which is a burden too heavy for my worn-out strength, and to return again to private life."

"Oh! do not say that," Don Gregorio replied warmly; "the gratitude of the people is eternal."

"All smoke, my friend," Don Tadeo observed, ironically. "Are you sure the people are pleased with what I have done? But let us end this; my resolution is taken, and nothing can change it."

"But—" Don Gregorio wished to add.

"One word more," said Don Tadeo. "To be a statesman, my friend, a man must march alone in the way he has marked out for himself; he must have neither children, relations, nor friends. The man who is in power ought to be only human in appearance."

"What do you mean to do, then?"

"In the first place to send General Bustamente to Santiago: although the man merits death, I will not take upon myself the responsibility of his condemnation; enough blood has been shed by my orders. He shall depart tomorrow with General Cornejo and the senator Sandias, sufficiently escorted to secure him from a coup de main."

"Your orders shall be punctually obeyed."

"They are the last you will receive from me."

"But why?"

"Because this very day I will transfer my power to your hands."

"But, my friend—"

"Not a word more, I beg of you. Now come with me to this poor young Frenchman, who has so nobly defended my unfortunate daughter."

Don Gregorio followed him without reply.

The count had been placed in a chamber where he had received the greatest attention. His situation was satisfactory, and excepting great weakness, he felt himself much better. Loss of blood alone caused the weakness. Don Tadeo went towards him, and said warmly—

"My friend, it is God who has thrown you and your companion upon my passage. I have only known you a few months, and I have already contracted towards you a debt which it is impossible I can ever discharge."

"Why attach so high a value to the little I have been able to do, Don Tadeo." said Louis. "Alas! I would have given my life to preserve Doña Rosario."

"We shall find her again!" Don Tadeo observed, energetically.

"Oh! If I were able to get on horseback," the young man cried.

At this moment the door opened, and a peon who entered said a few words in a low voice to Don Tadeo.

"Let him come in! let him come in!" the latter cried, and turning towards Louis added, "We are about to hear some news."

An Indian entered; it was Joan, the man Curumilla had been unwilling to kill.

CHAPTER II.

JOAN.

The sordid clothes which covered the person of the Indian were stained with mud, and torn by thorns and briers. It was evident that he had made a hasty journey through woods and along bad roads. He bowed with modest grace to the three gentlemen, and waited.

"Does not my brother belong to the valiant tribe of the Black Serpents?" Don Tadeo asked.

The Indian made a sign in the affirmative. Don Tadeo was well acquainted with the Indians, and knew that they only spoke when necessity required.

"What is my brother's name?" he resumed.

"Joan," the Indian said; "in remembrance of a warrior of the palefaces whom I killed."

"Good," Don Tadeo replied, with a melancholy smile; "my brother is a chief renowned in his tribe."

Joan smiled haughtily.

"My brother has arrived from his village; he has, no doubt, business to transact with the palefaces."

"My father is mistaken," the Indian replied sharply; "Joan asks the help of no one; when he is insulted, his own lance avenges him."

"My brother will excuse me," Don Tadeo said; "he must have some reason for coming to me."

"I have one," said the Indian.

"Let my brother explain himself then."

"I will answer my father's questions." said Joan, bowing.

Don Tadeo knew what sort of man he had to do with. A secret presentiment told him that he was the bearer of important news: he, therefore, followed up his questions.

"Whence does my brother come?"

"From the toldería of San Miguel."

"That is some distance from the city; is it long since my brother left it?"

"The moon was about to disappear and the Southern Cross alone shed its splendid light upon the earth, when Joan commenced his journey."

It was nearly eighteen leagues from the village of San Miguel to the city of Valdivia. Don Tadeo was astonished. He took from the table a glass, which he filled to the brim with aguardiente, and presented it to the messenger, saying—

"My brother will drink this coui of firewater; probably, the dust of the road sticking to his palate prevents him from speaking as easily as he could wish."

The Indian smiled; his eyes sparkled greedily; he took the glass and emptied it at a draught.

"Good," he said, smacking his lips. "My father is hospitable; he is truly the Great Eagle of the Whites."

"Does my brother come from the chief of his tribe?" Don Tadeo continued.

"No." Joan replied; "it was Curumilla that sent me."

"Curumilla!" the three men cried.

Don Tadeo breathed more freely.

"Curumilla is my friend," he said; "no harm has happened to him, I hope?"

"Here are his poncho and his hat," Joan replied.

"Heavens!" Louis exclaimed—"he is dead!"

"No," said the Indian, "Curumilla is brave and wise. Joan had carried off the young, pale, blue-eyed maiden; Curumilla might have killed Joan; he was not willing to do so; he preferred making a friend of him."

"Curumilla is good," Don Tadeo replied; "his heart is large and his soul is not cruel."

"Joan was the chief of those who carried off the young white girl. Curumilla changed clothes with him," the Indian continued, sententiously; "and said 'Go and seek the Great Eagle of the Whites, and tell him that Curumilla will save the young maiden, or perish!' Joan has come."

"My brother has acted well," said Don Tadeo.

"My father is satisfied," he said—"that is enough."

"And my brother carried off the pale girl? Was he well paid for that?"

"The great cavale with the black eyes is generous," the Indian said, smiling.

"Ah! I knew it!" cried Don Tadeo, "still that woman!—still that demon!"

Louis rose and said, in a voice trembling with emotion, "My friend, Doña Rosario must be saved!"

"Thanks, boundless thanks, for your devotion, my friend!" said Don Tadeo; "but, you are very weak."

"Of what consequence is that!" the young man exclaimed eagerly. "Were I to perish in the task, I swear to you, Don Tadeo de León, by the honour of my name, that I will not rest till Doña Rosario is free."

"My friend," Don Tadeo said, "three men—three devoted men, are already on the trail of my daughter."

"Your daughter?" Louis said with astonishment.

"Alas! yes, my friend, my daughter! Why should I have any secrets from you? That blue-eyed angel is my daughter! the only joy left to me in this world."

"Oh! we will recover her! We must!" Louis cried with great emotion.

"My friend," Don Tadeo continued, "the three men of whom I spoke to you are at this moment endeavouring to deliver the poor child. However dearly it costs me, I think it is best to wait."

Louis moved uneasily.

"Yes, I comprehend that this inaction is painful to you. Alas! do you think it is less so to a father's heart? Don Louis, I endure frightful torments. But I resign myself, while shedding tears of blood at not being able to do anything."

"That is true," the wounded man admitted; "we must wait, Poor Father! Poor daughter!"

"Yes," said Don Tadeo, faintly, "pity me, my friend, pity me!"

"But," the Frenchman continued, "this inactivity cannot last. You see I am strong, I can walk."

"You are a hero as to heart and devotion," Don Tadeo said with a smile; "and I know not how to thank you."

"Oh! how much the better if you regain hope," cried Louis, who had blushed at his friend's words.

Don Tadeo turned towards Joan.

"Does my brother remain here?" he asked.

"I am at my father's orders," the Indian replied.

"May I trust my brother?"

"Joan has but one heart and one life."

"My brother has spoken well; I will be grateful to him."

The Indian bowed.

"Let my brother return here on the third sun; he shall place us upon the track of Curumilla."

"On the third sun Joan will be ready."

And saluting the three gentlemen gracefully, the Indian retired to take a few hours of a repose which his great exertions had rendered necessary.

CHAPTER III.

THE PURSUIT.

We will return to Curumilla. The night was gloomy—the darkness profound. Urging their horses on with voice and gesture, the fugitives made the best of their way towards a forest which, if they could but reach, they would be safe.

A leaden silence brooded over the desert. They galloped on without uttering a word—without looking behind them. All at once the neighing of a horse fell upon their ears like the gloomy alarm call of a clarion.

"We are lost!" Curumilla exclaimed.

"What is to be done?" Rosario asked anxiously.

"Stop," he at length cried.

The young girl left everything to her guide. The Indian requested her to dismount.

"Have confidence in me," he said; "whatever a man can do I will undertake, to save you."

"I know you will!" she replied gratefully.

Curumilla lifted her up in his arms, and carried her with as much facility as if she had been a child.

"Why do you carry me thus?" she asked.

"We must leave no sign," he replied shortly.

He placed her on the ground with great precaution at the foot of a tree.

"This tree is hollow, my sister will conceal herself in it; she will not stir till I return."

"Oh! you will not abandon me," she said.

"I am going to make a false track, I shall soon return."

The poor girl hesitated, she was frightened. Curumilla divined what she felt. "It is our only chance of safety," he said, mournfully, "if my sister is not willing, I can remain."

Rosario was not one of the weak, puling daughters of our great European cities, who wither before they bloom. Her resolution was formed with the rapidity of lightning; she bore up against the fear which had taken possession of her mind, and replied in a firm voice—

"I will do what my brother desires."

"Good!" the Indian said. "Let my sister conceal herself, then."

He cautiously removed the cactus and creepers which surrounded the lower part of the tree, and exposed a cavity, into which the young girl crept, all trembling, like a poor sparrow in the eyrie of an eagle. As soon as Rosario was comfortably placed in the hollow of the tree, the Indian restored the plants to their primitive state, and completely concealed her hiding place with this transparent curtain. Then he regained the horses, mounted his own, led the other, and galloped off.

He galloped thus for many minutes without relaxing his speed, and when he thought himself sufficiently far from the place where Doña Rosario was concealed, he dismounted, listened for an instant, untied the sheep skins from the horses' feet and set off again with the speed of an arrow. He soon heard the galloping of horses behind him; at first distant, but rapidly drawing near and at last becoming distinct. Curumilla had a ray of hope, for his manoeuvre had succeeded. He still pressed on his horse, and leaving his heavy wooden stirrups, with their sharp angles, to beat against the sides of the still galloping animal, he stuck his long lance into the ground, threw his weight upon it, and raising himself by the strength of his wrists, sprang lightly to the ground, whilst the two abandoned horses held on their furious course. Curumilla glided in among the bushes, and made the best of his way back towards Rosario, persuaded that the horsemen would be misled by the false track.

Antinahuel had sent out his mosotones in all directions, in order to discover the traces of the fugitives, but himself had remained in the village. Antinahuel was too experienced a warrior to allow himself to be misled. His scouts returned, one after another, without having discovered anything. The last two that returned brought with them two stray horses bathed in steam. These were the two horses abandoned by Curumilla.

"Will she escape us then?" the Linda asked.

"My sister," the Toqui replied, coolly, with a sinister smile, "when Antinahuel pursues an enemy, he does not escape."

"And yet——" she said.

"Patience," he replied; "they had a chance; their horses gave them a great advantage over me; but, thanks to my precautions, I have forced them to abandon their horses, which alone could have saved them. Within an hour they will be in our hands."

"To horse, then; and let us delay no longer," Doña Maria exclaimed impatiently.

"To horse, then, be it!" replied the chief.

This time no false route was pursued; they followed in a straight line the track by which the prisoners had escaped.

In the meantime Curumilla had rejoined Rosario.

"Well?" she asked, in a voice half choked by fear.

"In a few moments we shall be taken," the chief replied mournfully.

"What! have we no hope left?"

"None! We are surrounded on all sides."

"Oh, my Maker! What have I done?" the poor girl sobbed.

Curumilla reclined upon the ground; he had taken his weapons from his belt, and placed them beside him; and with the stoical fatalism of the Indian when he knows that he cannot escape a destiny that threatens him, he waited impassively, his arms crossed upon his breast, the arrival of the enemy. They heard the tramp of the horses drawing nearer and nearer. In a quarter of an hour all would be over.

"Let my sister prepare," Curumilla said coolly: "Antinahuel approaches."

"Poor man," said Rosario; "why did you endeavour to save me?"

"The young blue-eyed maiden is the friend of my pale brothers; I would lay down my life for her."

"You must not die, chief," she said, in her soft clear tones; "you shall not!"

"Why not? I do not dread torture; my sister shall see how a chief can die."

"Listen to me. You have heard the threats of that woman; my life is in no danger."

He replied by a gesture of assent.

"But," she continued, "if you remain with me, if you are taken, they will kill you."

"Yes," he remarked, coolly.

"Then who will inform my friends of my fate? If you die, chief, what can they do to deliver me?"

"That is true; they can do nothing."

"You must live, then, chief, for my sake."

"Does my sister wish it?"

"I insist upon it."

"Good!" said the Indian. "I will go, then; but let not my sister be cast down."

At this moment the noise of the approaching cavalcade resounded with a loudness that announced they were close at hand. The chief gathered up his arms, replaced them in his belt, and, after bestowing a last sign of encouragement upon Rosario, he glided among the high grass and disappeared. Antinahuel and the Linda were within ten paces of her.

"Here I am," she said, in a firm voice; "do with me what you please."

Her persecutors, struck with such an exhibition of courage, pulled up their horses in astonishment. The courageous girl had saved Curumilla.

CHAPTER IV.

SERPENT AND VIPER.

Doña Rosario stood motionless, her arms crossed, her head haughtily raised, and her look disdainful. The Linda leaped from her horse, and seizing her by the arm, shook her violently.

"Oh, oh!" she said, in a bitterly mocking tone, "my pretty dear! This is the way you oblige people to come after you: is it?"

Doña Rosario only replied to this flood of words by a look of cold contempt.

"Ah!" the exasperated courtesan exclaimed, clutching her arm, "I will bring down that proud spirit!"

"Madam," Rosario replied, mildly, "you hurt me very much."

"Serpent!" the Linda shrieked, "why can I not crush you beneath my heel?"

Rosario staggered a few paces; her foot struck against a root, and she fell. In her fall her forehead came in contact with a sharp stone; she uttered a feeble cry of pain, and fainted. The Indian chief, at the sight of the large gash in the young girl's forehead, uttered a roar like that of a wild beast. He leant over her raised her tenderly, and endeavoured to stop the bleeding.

"Fie!" said the Linda, with a jeering laugh; "are you going to play the old woman—you, the first chief of your nation?"

Antinahuel remained silent; for an instant he felt an inclination to stab the fury: he darted a glance at her so loaded with anger and hatred, that she was terrified, and instinctively made a movement as if to put herself on the defensive. As yet the attentions of Antinahuel had no effect; Rosario remained still senseless. In a few minutes the Linda was reassured by observing that love occupied more of the thoughts of the chief than hatred.

"Come, tie the creature upon a horse," she said.

"This woman belongs to me," Antinahuel replied, "and I alone have the right of disposing of her."

"Not yet, chief; a fair exchange: when you have delivered the general, I will give her up to you."

"My sister forgets," said Antinahuel, "that I have fifty mosotones with me."

"What does that signify?" she replied.

"It signifies," he replied, "that I am the stronger."

"Indeed!" she said, sneeringly, "is that the way you keep your promises?"

"I love this woman," he said, in a deep voice.

"Caray! I know that well enough," she replied.

"I will not have her suffer."

"See there, now," she cried, still jeering; "I give her up to you expressly that she may suffer."

"If such is my sisters thought, she is mistaken."

"Chief, my friend, you do not know what you are talking about; you are ignorant of the hearts of white women."

"I do not understand my sister."

"No; you do not comprehend that this woman will never love you—that she will never entertain for you anything but contempt and disdain."

"Oh!" Antinahuel replied, "I am too great a chief to be thus despised by a woman."

"You will see you are, though; in the meantime I demand my prisoner."

"My sister shall not have her."

"Then try to take her from me!" she shrieked; and springing like a tiger cat, she pushed away the chief, and seized the young girl, to whose throat she applied her dagger so closely that blood stained the point.

Antinahuel uttered a terrible cry.

"Stop!" he shouted in consternation; "I consent to everything."

"Ah!" cried the Linda, with a smile of triumph, "I knew I should have the last word."

The chief bit his fingers with powerless rage but he was too well acquainted with this woman to continue a struggle which he knew must infallibly terminate in the maiden's death. By a prodigy of self command he forced his face to assume a smile, and said in a mild voice—

"Wah! my sister is excited! Of what consequence is it to me whether this woman is mine now or in a few hours hence?"

"Yes, but only when General Bustamente is no longer in the hands of his enemies, Chief."

"Be it so!" he said, "since my sister requires it; let her act as she thinks fit."

"Very well; but my brother must prove his faith to me."

"What security can I give my sister, that will thoroughly satisfy her?" he said with a bitter smile.

"This," she replied, with a sneer; "let my brother swear by the bones of his ancestors that he will not oppose anything it shall please me to do, till the general is free."

The chief hesitated; the oath the Linda requested him to take was one held sacred by the Indians, and they dreaded breaking it in the highest degree; such is their respect for the ashes of their fathers. But Antinahuel had fallen into a snare, from which it was impossible for him to extricate himself.

"Good!" he said, smiling; "let my sister be satisfied. I swear upon the bones of my father that I will not oppose her in anything she may please to do."

"Thank you," the Linda answered; "my brother is a great warrior."

Antinahuel had no other plausible pretext for remaining: he slowly, and, as if regretfully, rejoined his mosotones, got into his saddle, and set off, darting at the Linda a last glance, that would have congealed her with fear if she had seen it.

"Poor puling creature!" she said. "Don Tadeo, it is you I wound in torturing your leman! Shall I at length force you to restore to me my daughter?"

The Indian peons attached to her service had remained with her. In the heat of the pursuit the horses, abandoned by Curumilla and brought back by the scouts, had remained with the troop.

"Bring hither one of those horses!" she commanded.

The courtesan had the poor girl placed across one of the horses, with her face towards the sky; then she ordered that the feet and hands of her victim should be brought under the belly of the animal and solidly fastened with cords by the ankles and wrists.

"The woman is not firm upon her legs," she said, with a dry, nervous laugh.

The poor girl gave scarcely any signs of life; her countenance had an earthy, cadaverous hue, and the blood flowed copiously. Her body, horribly cramped by the frightful posture in which she was tied, had nervous starts, and dreadfully hurt her wrists and ankles, into which the cords began to enter. A hollow rattle escaped from her oppressed chest.

CHAPTER V.

AN INDIAN'S LOVE.

The Linda rejoined Antinahuel, who, knowing what torture she was preparing to inflict on the young girl, had stopped at a short distance from the spot where he had left her.

When they reached the toldería, the horsemen dismounted and the maiden was untied and transported, half dead, into the same cuarto where, an hour before, she had, for the first time, found herself in the presence of the courtesan.

The appearance of Rosario was really frightful, and would have excited pity in anybody but the tigress whose delight it was to treat her so cruelly. Her long hair hung in loose disorder upon her half-naked shoulders, and at various spots adhered to her face through the blood which had flowed from her wound; her face, soiled with blood and dirt, wore a greenish cast, and her half-closed lips showed that her teeth were tightly clenched. Her wrists and ankles, to which still hung strips of the thick cord by which she had been fastened to the horse, were frightfully bruised and discoloured. Her delicate frame was convulsed with nervous quiverings, and her faint breathing painfully issued from her heaving chest.

"Poor girl!" the chief murmured.

"Why, chief!" said the Linda, with a sardonic smile. "I scarcely know you! Good Heavens! how love can change a man! What, you, intrepid warrior, pity the fate of this poor maudlin chit! I really believe you will weep over her like a woman, next!"

"Yes," the chief said; "my sister speaks truly, I scarcely know myself! Oh!" he added, bitterly, "is it possible that I, Antinahuel, to whom the Huincas have done so much wrong, can be so? This woman is of an accursed race; she is in my power, I could avenge myself upon her, satisfy the hatred that devours me, make her endure the must atrocious injuries!—and, I dare not!—no, I dare not!"

"Does my brother, then, love this woman so much?" the Linda asked, in a soft, insinuating tone.

Antinahuel looked at her as if she had awakened him suddenly from his sleep; he fixed his dull eyes upon her, and exclaimed—

"Do I love her?—love her!—let my sister listen. Before dying, and going to hunt in the blessed prairies with the just warriors, my father called me to him, and placing his mouth to my ear—'My son, he said, thou art the last of our race; Don Tadeo de León is also the last of his; since the coming of the palefaces, the family of that man has been always fatally opposed to ours, everywhere and under all circumstances. Swear to kill that man whom it has never been in my power to reach!' I swore to do it. Good!' he said, Pillian loves children who obey their father; let my son mount his best horse, and go in search of his enemy. Then, with a sigh, my father bade me depart. Without replying, I saddled, as he had commanded me, my best horse, and went to the city called Santiago, resolved to kill my enemy."

"Well?" the Linda asked, seeing him stop short.

"Well!" he resumed, "I saw this woman, and my enemy still lives." The Linda cast upon him a look of disdain; but Antinahuel did not remark it—he continued—

"One day this woman found me dying, pierced with wounds; she made her peons bear me to a stone toldo, where for three months she watched over me, driving back the death which had hung over me."

"And when my brother was cured?" the Linda asked eagerly.

"When I was cured," he resumed, passionately, "I fled away like a wounded tiger, bearing in my heart an incurable wound! Two suns ago, when I was quitting my toldería, my mother, whom I loved and venerated, wished to oppose my departure; she knew that it was love that attracted me from her, that it was to see this woman I left her. Well, my mother——"

"Your mother?" the courtesan said, breathlessly.

"As she persisted in not allowing me to depart, I trampled her, without pity, beneath the hoofs of my horse!" he cried, in almost a shriek.

"Oh!" exclaimed the Linda, recoiling.

"Yes! it is horrible, is it not, to kill one's mother? Now!" he added, with a frightful mocking laugh, "will my sister ask again if I love this woman? For her sake, to see her, to hear her address to me one of those sweet words which she used to speak near me, or only to see her smile, I would joyfully sacrifice the most sacred interests. I would wade through the blood of my dearest friends—nothing should stop me!"

The Linda, as she listened to him and observed him, reflected deeply, and as soon as he ceased she said—

"I see that my brother really loves this woman. I was deceived, I must repair my fault."

"What does my sister mean?"

"I mean, that if I had known, I should not have inflicted so severe a chastisement."

"Poor girl!" he sighed.

The Linda smiled ironically to herself. "But my brother does not know what palefaced women are," she continued; "they are vipers, which you endeavour in vain to crush, and which always rise up again to sting the heel of him who places his foot upon them. It is of no use to argue with passion, were it not so I would say to my brother, 'Be thankful to me, for in killing this woman I preserve you from atrocious sorrow.'"

Antinahuel moved uneasily.

"But," she continued, "my brother loves, and I will restore this woman to him; within an hour I will give her up to him."

"Oh! if my sister does that," Antinahuel exclaimed, intoxicated with joy, "I will be her slave!"

Doña Maria smiled with an undefinable expression.

"I will do it," she said, "but time presses, we cannot stay here any longer—my brother doubtless forgets."

Antinahuel darted a suspicious glance at her.

"I forget nothing," he replied; "the friend of my sister shall be released."

"Good! my brother will succeed."

"Still, I will not depart till the blue-eyed maiden has recovered her senses."

"Let my brother hasten to give orders for our departure in ten minutes."

"It is good!" said Antinahuel; "in ten minutes I shall be here."

He left the cuarto with a hasty step. As soon as he was gone, the Linda knelt down by the young girl, removed the cords that still cut her flesh, washed her face with cold water, fastened up her hair, and carefully bandaged the wound on her forehead.

"Oh!" she thought, "through this woman I hold you, demon!"

She softly raised the maiden, placed her in a high-backed chair, remedied, as well as she was able, the disorder in her dress, and then applied a phial of powerful salts to her nostrils.

These salts were not long in producing their effect; she breathed a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, casting round vague and languid looks. But suddenly her eye fell upon the woman who was lavishing her cares upon her; a fresh pallor covered the features, which had begun to be slightly tinged with red, she closed her eyes, and was on the point of fainting again. The Linda shrugged her shoulders, took a second phial from her bosom, and opening the poor girls mouth introduced a few drops of cordial between her livid lips. At that moment Antinahuel returned.

"Everything is ready," he said; "we can depart immediately."

"When you please," Doña Maria replied.

"What is to be done with this girl?"

"She will remain here: I have arranged everything."

"Let us be gone, then!" and turning towards Rosario, she said, with a malignant smile. "Farewell, till we meet again, señorita!"

Doña Rosario rose, and said in an earnest tone, "I do not curse you; but God grant, if you ever have children, that they may never be exposed to the tortures you have condemned me to endure."

On hearing this speech, which seared her heart like a red-hot iron, the Linda uttered a cry of terror; a cold perspiration beaded on her pale forehead, and she staggered out of the apartment.

"My mother! my mother!" cried Rosario; "if you still live, where are you? Why do you not come to the help of your daughter?"

CHAPTER VI.

PREPARATIONS FOR DELIVERANCE

The little troop of cavalry, at the head of which Antinahuel and the Linda rode, advanced rapidly and silently along the road from San Miguel towards the valley in which, the day before, the renewal of the treaties had been accomplished. At sunrise they debouched into the plain. They had scarcely advanced fifty paces when they saw a horseman coming at full speed towards them. This horseman was Black Stag: Antinahuel halted his escort.

"What is the use of this halt?" Doña Maria observed.

"Is my sister a soldier?" Antinahuel asked.

Doña Maria, mortified at this rude speech, reined in her horse and remained a few paces in the rear, so that Antinahuel was left alone at the head of his troop. At the expiration of five minutes Black Stag pulled up his horse.

"Has my father returned among his children?" he said, bowing his head as a salutation to the chief.

"Yes!" Antinahuel replied. "What has my son done during my absence?"

"I have executed the orders of my father."

"All of them?"

"All!"

"Good! Has my son received any news of the palefaces?"

"A strong body of the Chiaplos is preparing to quit Valdivia to repair to Santiago."

"Good! With what purpose?"

"They are taking to Santiago the prisoner named General Bustamente."

Antinahuel turned towards the Linda, and exchanged a glance of intelligence with her.

"For what day have the Huincas fixed their departure?"

"They are to set out the day after tomorrow."

Antinahuel reflected for a few minutes.

"This is what my son will do," he said. "In two hours he will strike his camp, and direct his course toward the Canyon del Rio Seco, where I will go and wait for him."

"I will obey!" said the Black Stag, bowing his head affirmatively.

"Good! My son is an experienced warrior; he will execute my orders with intelligence."

The man smiled with pleasure at receiving this praise from his chief; after bowing respectfully before him, he made his horse curvet gracefully, and set off with his followers.

Antinahuel took the road towards the mountains at a sharp trot. After riding silently for some time by the side of Doña Maria, he turned towards her graciously, and said—

"Does my sister understand the tenor of the order I have just given?"

"No!" she replied, with a slight tinge of irony; "as my brother has well remarked, I am not a soldier."

"My intentions are very simple," he replied; "the Canyon del Rio Seco is in a narrow defile which the palefaces are obliged to cross. Fifty chosen warriors can here contend with advantage against twenty times their number. It is in that place I am determined to wait for the Huincas. The Moluchos will take possession of the heights; and when the palefaces have entered that passage without suspicion, I will attack them on all sides."

"Does there, then, exist no other road to Santiago?"

"None; they must go that way."

"Then they are doomed!" she joyfully exclaimed.

"Without doubt!" he said proudly; "the Canyon del Rio Seco is celebrated in our history."

"Then my brother can answer for saving Don Pancho Bustamente?"

"Yes, unless the sky falls!" he said, with a smile.

CHAPTER VII.

A COUNTERMINE.

As Trangoil-Lanec had predicted, Louis recovered from the effects of his wounds with surprising rapidity. Whether it was owing to his ardent desire to commence his researches, or to the goodness of his condition, we will not say; but on the eve of the day fixed for the departure he was quite on the alert, and told Don Tadeo he was ready to start whenever he pleased.

He was the more anxious to depart in that Valentine, his dog Cæsar, and Trangoil-Lanec had been absent three days, and no tidings had been received. Curumilla had not come back. All these circumstances augmented in an enormous degree the impatience of the count; whilst, on his part, Don Tadeo was not much more easy. The poor father shuddered at the idea of the suffering to which his child was exposed.

And yet there was mingled an undefinable joy at thinking of the tortures he should inflict, in his turn, upon Doña Maria, when revealing to her that the person she had taken so much delight in martyrizing was her own daughter. Don Tadeo, a man of elevated mind, endeavoured to shake off this unworthy thought, but it persisted in recurring with tenacity.

Don Gregorio, in whose hands Don Tadeo had placed his power and authority, urged on by Louis, hastened the preparations for the departure on the morrow. At about eight o'clock in the evening. Don Gregorio, after giving certain instructions in one of the private apartments of the cabildo to General Cornejo and the senator Sandias, who were to conduct Don Pancho to Santiago, had dismissed them, and was conversing with Don Tadeo, when the door was thrown open, and a man entered. On seeing him, they uttered a general cry of joy and astonishment. It was Curumilla!

"At last!" Louis and Don Tadeo exclaimed.

"I am here!" the Ulmen replied, sorrowfully.

As the poor Indian seemed quite exhausted with fatigue and want of food, they made him sit down. In spite of all his Indian stoicism, Curumilla literally seized the food as soon as it appeared, and devoured it greedily.

As soon as the keenness of his appetite was a little abated, Curumilla related the full details of all that had happened since his departure from the camp, the manner in which he had delivered the young lady, and how, an hour after, she had been recaptured by her enemies. When he quitted Doña Rosario the brave Indian had only kept at a sufficient distance from her to avoid being himself taken by her ravishers.

Don Tadeo and the count warmly thanked him.

"I have done nothing yet," he said, "since all must be begun again; and now," he added, "it will be more difficult, for they will be on their guard."

"Tomorrow," Don Tadeo replied, warmly, "we will set out all together on the track."

"Yes," the chief said, "I am aware you are to depart tomorrow."

The three men looked at each other with astonishment; they could not understand how the news of their movements should be known.

"There are no secrets for Aucas, when they wish to know them," the chief said with a smile.

"It is impossible!" Don Gregorio exclaimed angrily.

"Let my brother listen," the chief replied quietly. "Tomorrow, at sunrise, a detachment of a thousand white soldiers will leave Valdivia to conduct the prisoner Bustamente to Santiago. Is it not so?"

"Yes," Don Gregorio replied, "I must admit that what you say is correct."

"Well," said the Ulmen smiling, "I cannot deny that the man who gave me these details had no suspicion that I overheard him."

"Explain yourself, chief, I implore you!" Don Tadeo cried; "we are upon burning coals."

"I have told you that I followed Antinahuel's party; I must add that occasionally I got before them. The day before yesterday, at sunrise, the Black Stag, who was left with Antinahuel's warriors during his absence, was on the prairie of the treaties, and as soon as he saw his chief, galloped to meet him. As I had no doubt that these two men, during their conference, would allow some words to escape that might afterwards be of service to me, I drew as close to them as possible, and that is the way they placed me in possession of their projects."

"Of their projects?" Don Gregorio asked, "are they mad enough, then, to think of attacking us?"

"The pale woman has made Antinahuel swear to deliver her friend, who is a prisoner."

"Well! and what then?"

"Antinahuel will deliver him."

"Ay, ay!" said Don Gregorio, "but that project is more easily formed than executed, chief."

"The soldiers are obliged to traverse the Canyon del Rio Seco."

"No doubt they are."

"It is there that Antinahuel will attack the palefaces with his mosotones."

"Sangre de Cristo!" Don Gregorio exclaimed, "What is to be done?"

"The escort will be defeated," Don Tadeo observed.

Curumilla remained silent.

"Perhaps not!" said the count: "I know the chief; he is not the man to cause his friends embarrassment without having the means of showing them how to avoid the peril he reveals to them."

"Unfortunately," Don Tadeo replied, "there exists no other passage but that cursed defile; it must absolutely be cleared, and five hundred resolute men might not there only hold a whole army in check, but cut it to pieces."

"That may be all very true," the young man replied persistently; "but I repeat what I have said—the chief is a skilful warrior, his mind is fertile in resources."

Curumilla smiled and nodded.

"I was sure of it!" Louis cried. "Now then, chief, speak out! Do you not know a means of enabling us to avoid this dangerous passage?"

"I will not certify that," the Ulmen replied; "but if my brothers the palefaces will consent to allow me to act, I will undertake to foil the plans of Antinahuel and his companions."

"Speak! speak, chief!" the count exclaimed, vehemently; "explain to us the plan you have formed; these caballeros rely entirely upon you."

"Yes," Don Tadeo replied, "we are listening to you anxiously, chief."

"But," Curumilla resumed, "my brothers must act with caution. I require to be left absolute master."

"You have my word, Ulmen," said Don Gregorio; "we will only act as you command us."

"Good!" said the chief; "let my brothers listen."

And without more delay he detailed to them the plan he had formed, and which, as might be expected, obtained the general assent. Don Tadeo and the count entered enthusiastically into it, promising themselves the happiest results. By the time the last measures were agreed to and all was arranged the night was far advanced, and the four speakers stood in need of some repose. Curumilla in particular, having slept but little for several days, was literally sinking with fatigue. Louis alone appeared to require no repair for his strength. But prudence demanded that a few hours should be given to sleep, and, in spite of the counts remonstrances, they separated.

The young man, forced to submit to the reasons of the experienced men who surrounded him, retired with a very bad grace, promising himself in petto not to let his friends forget the hour fixed upon for their departure.

Louis felt it was impossible to follow their example, and impatience and love—those two tyrants of youth—heated his brain, he ascended to the roof of the palace, and with his eyes fixed upon the lofty mountains, whose dark shadows were thrown across the horizon, he gave all his thoughts to the fair Rosario.

Louis, abandoning himself to delightful thoughts, thus dreamed through the night, and did not think of descending till the stars successively disappeared in the depths of the heavens, and a pale whiteness began to tinge the horizon. In that climate this announced the speedy approach of day.

CHAPTER VIII.

EL CANYON DEL RIO SECO.

At about ten leagues from San Miguel de la Frontera, a miserable town peopled by some twenty or thirty Huiliche shepherds, on the road to Arauca, the land rises rapidly, and suddenly forms an imposing wall of granite, the summit of which is covered with virgin forests of firs and oaks, impenetrable to the sun. A passage of twenty yards at most, is opened by nature through this wall. Its length is more than a mile, forming a crowd of capricious, inextricable windings, which appear constantly to turn back upon themselves. On each side of this formidable defile, the ground, covered with trees and underwood, stage above stage, is capable, in case of need, of offering impregnable intrenchments to those who defend the passage.

This place is named El Canyon del Rio Seco, a name common in America, because not only has vegetation long since covered the face of this wall with an emerald carpet, but it is evident that in remote periods a channel by which the waters of the upper plateaus of the Andes, overflowing, either in consequence of an earthquake or some natural inundation, pour down to the plain—had violently and naturally cut itself a passage to the sea.

Antinahuel, followed closely by the Linda, who wished to see everything for herself, visited the posts, gave short and precise instructions to the Ulmens, and then regained the bivouac he had chosen, and which formed the advanced guard of the ambuscade.

"Now, what are we going to do?" Doña Maria asked.

"Wait," he replied.

And folding himself in his poncho, he laid down on the ground and closed his eyes.

On their side, the Spaniards had set out a little before daybreak. They formed a compact troop of five hundred horsemen, in the centre of whom rode without arms, and between two lancers, charged to blow out his brains at the least suspicious action, General Bustamente.

In advance of this troop, there was another of an almost equal force; this was, in appearance, composed of Indians. We say in appearance, because the men were in reality Chilians, but their Araucano costume, their arms, even to the caparison of their horses, in short, everything in their disguise, was so exact, that at a short distance it was impossible for even the experienced eyes of the Indians themselves to detect them. These apparent Indians were commanded by Joan.

When arrived at mid-distance between Valdivia and the Canyon, the hindermost troop halted, whilst that commanded by Joan continued its march, but slowly, and with increased precaution. Four horsemen closed the rear; Don Tadeo, Don Gregorio, the count, and Curumilla, who were engaged in earnest conversation.

"Then you persist in having nobody with you?" said Don Gregorio.

"Nobody; we two will be quite sufficient," Curumilla replied, pointing to the young Frenchman.

"Why will you not take me with you?" Don Tadeo asked.

"I thought you would prefer remaining with your soldiers."

"I am anxious to join my daughter as soon as possible."

"Come, then, by all means. You," turning to Don Gregorio, "will remember that nothing must induce you to enter the defile before you see a fire blazing on the summit of the Corcovado."

"That is perfectly understood, so now farewell."

After exchanging hearty shakes of the hand, the four men separated. Don Gregorio galloped after his troops, whilst Don Tadeo and the count, guided by Curumilla, began to climb the mountain. They continued to ascend for more than an hour, and at last reached a platform of considerable extent.

"Dismount," he said; Curumilla setting the example, which his companions followed.

"Let us unsaddle our horses," the chief continued. "We shall not want the poor beasts for some time. I know a place, not far off, where they will be comfortably sheltered, and where we can find them when we come back—if we do come back," he added.

"Holloa, chief!" Louis exclaimed, "Are you beginning to be apprehensive?"

"Och!" the Ulmen replied, "my brother is young, his blood is very warm; Curumilla is older, he is wise."

"Thanks," the young man said, "it is impossible to tell a friend that he is a fool more politely."

The three men continued to ascend, dragging their horses after them by their bridles, which was no easy matter in a narrow path where the animals stumbled at every step. At length, however, they gained the entrance of a natural grotto, into which they coaxed the noble creatures. They supplied them with food, and then closed up the entrance of the grotto with large stones, leaving only a narrow passage of air.

"Now let us begone," said Curumilla.

They threw their guns upon their shoulders, and set forward with a resolute step. After three quarters of an hour of this painful ascent the Ulmen stopped.

"This is the place," he said.

The three men had attained the summit of an elevated peak, from the top of which an immense and splendid panorama lay unrolled before their eyes.

CHAPTER IX

BEFORE THE FIGHT.

As soon as they had set foot on the platform, Don Tadeo and the count sank exhausted. Curumilla left them undisturbed for a few minutes to recover their breath, then requested them to look around them. Beneath their feet was the Canyon del Rio Seco, with its imposing granite masses and its thick clumps of verdure.

"Oh!" Louis exclaimed, enthusiastically, "how splendid this is!"

Don Tadeo, accustomed from his infancy to such sublime panoramas, only cast an absent glance over the magnificent prospect. His mind was intent upon his daughter, the beloved child whom he hoped soon to deliver.

"Are we going to remain here long?" he asked.

"For a few minutes," Curumilla replied.

"What is the name of this place?" the count said.

"It is the peak which the palefaces call the Corcovado." said the Ulmen.

"The one upon which you appointed to light the signal fire?"

"Yes; let us hasten to prepare it."

The three men constructed an immense pile of wood.

"Now," said Curumilla, "rest, and do not stir till my return."

And without entering into further detail, Curumilla sprang down the steep declivity of the mountain, and disappeared among the trees. The two friends sat down near the pile, and waited pensively the return of the Ulmen. The troop commanded by Joan approached the defile, simulating all the movements of Indians, and were soon within gunshot of the Canyon. Antinahuel had perceived them, and had for some time been watching their movements. Notwithstanding all his cunning, the Toqui did not for an instant suspect a stratagem. The presence of Joan at the head of the troop, whom at the first glance he had recognised, completed his conviction.

Joan plunged into the defile without evincing the least hesitation; but scarcely had he proceeded a dozen yards when an Indian sprang out of a thicket, and stood in front of him. This Indian was Antinahuel himself.

"My son comes late," said the Toqui, casting a suspicious glance at him.

"My father will pardon me," Joan replied, respectfully; "I had notice only last night."

"Good," continued the chief; "I know my son is prudent. How many lances does he bring with him?"

"A thousand."

As may be perceived, Joan bravely doubled the number of his soldiers.

"Oh! oh!" said the Toqui, joyfully, "a man may be pardoned for coming late when he brings so numerous a troop with him."

"My father knows I am devoted," the Indian replied.

"I know you are; my son is a brave warrior. Has he seen the Huincas?"

"I have seen them."

"Are they far distant?"

"No; they are coming—in less than three-quarters of an hour they will be here."

"We have not an instant to lose. My son will place his warriors in ambush."

"Good! It shall be done; my father may leave it to me."

At this moment the troop of false Indians appeared at the entrance of the defile, into which they boldly entered, after the example of their leader.

"My son will use all possible diligence," said Antinahuel, and hastened back to his post.

Joan and his men went forward at full gallop; they were watched by from a thousand to fifteen hundred invisible spies, who, at the smallest suspicion, created by a doubtful gesture even, would have massacred them without mercy.

Joan, after having made his men dismount and conceal their horses in the rear, distributed them with a calmness and collectedness that must have banished the suspicions of the chief. Ten minutes later the defile appeared as solitary as before. Joan had scarcely gone six paces into the thicket when a hand was laid upon his shoulder. He turned sharply round; Curumilla was before him.

"Good!" the latter murmured, in a voice low as a breath; "let my son follow me with his men."

Joan nodded assent, and with extreme precaution and in perfect silence three hundred soldiers began to escalade the rocks in imitation of the Ulmen. The three hundred men led by Joan, who had escaladed the wall of the defile on the opposite side of the canyon, were divided into two troops. The first had taken up a position above Black Stag, and the second, a hundred strong, were massed as a rear post. As soon as Curumilla had prepared the manoeuvre we have just described, he quitted Joan and rejoined his companions.

"At last!" they cried, both in a breath.

"I began to be afraid something had happened to you, chief," said the count.

Upon which Curumilla only smiled. "Everything is ready," he said; "and when the palefaces please, they can penetrate into the defile."

"Do you think your plan will succeed?" Don Tadeo asked anxiously.

"I hope it will," the Indian replied.

"What are we to do now?"

"Light the fire, and depart."

"How depart? Our friends?"

"They stand in no need of us; as soon as the fire is alight we will set out in search of the young maiden."

"God grant that we may save her!"

Curumilla, after lighting a bit of tinder which he had in a horn box, collected with his feet a heap of dried leaves, placed the tinder beneath them, and began to blow with all his might. The fire, acted upon by the breeze, which at that height blew strongly, was rapidly communicated, and shortly a thick column of flame mounted roaring to the sky.

"Good!" said Curumilla to his companions; "they see the signal."

"Let us begone, then, without delay," cried the count, impatiently.

"Come on, then," said Don Tadeo.

The three men plunged into the immense virgin forest which covered the summit of the mountain, leaving behind them that sinister beacon—a signal for murder and destruction. On the plain, Don Gregorio, fearing to advance before he knew what he had positively to trust to, had given orders to his troops to halt. He did not conceal from himself the dangers of his position, so that if he fell in the battle he was about to fight, his honour would be safe and his memory without reproach.

"General," he said, addressing Cornejo, who as well as the senator was close to him, "you are accustomed to war, are an intrepid soldier, and I will not conceal from you that we are in a position of peril.

"Oh! oh!" said the general; "explain, Don Gregorio, explain!"

"The Indians are in ambush in great numbers, to dispute the passage of the defile with us."

"The rascals! Only see now! Why, they will knock us all on the head," the general, still calm, said.

"Oh! it is a horrible trap!" the senator cried.

"Caspita! a trap, I believe it is, indeed!" the general continued. "But you will be able to give us your opinion presently; if, as is not very probable, you come safely through, my friend."

"But I will not go and run my head into that frightful fox's hole!" cried Don Ramón, beside himself.

"Bah! you will fight as an amateur, which will be very handsome on your part."

"Sir," said Don Gregorio, coldly, "so much the worse for you; if you had remained quietly at Santiago, you would not be in this position."

"That is true, my friend," the general followed up, with a hearty laugh.

"How did it happen that you, who are as great a coward as a hare, troubled yourself with military politics?"

The senator made no reply to this cruel apostrophe.

"Whatever may happen, can I reckon upon you, general?" Don Gregorio asked.

"I can only promise you one thing," the old soldier answered, nobly; "that I will not shrink, and if it should come to that, will sell my life dearly. As to this cowardly fellow, I undertake to make him perform prodigies of valour."

At this threat the unhappy senator felt a cold sweat inundate his whole body. A long column of flame burst from the top of the mountain.

Don Gregorio cried, "Caballeros! Forward! and God protect Chili!"

"Forward!" the general repeated, unsheathing his sword.

CHAPTER X.

THE PASSAGE OF THE DEFILE.

While these things were going on in the defile, a few words exchanged between Antinahuel and the Linda filled the Toqui with uneasiness, by making him vaguely suspicious of some treachery.

"What is the matter?" Doña Maria asked.

"Nothing very extraordinary," he replied, carelessly; "some reinforcements have arrived rather late, upon which I did not reckon."

"Good Heavens!" said Doña Maria, "I have been perhaps deceived by an extraordinary resemblance; but, if the man I mean were not forty leagues off, I should declare it is he who commands that troop."

"Let my sister explain herself," said Antinahuel.

"Tell me, in the first place, chief," the Linda continued, "the name of the warrior to whom you spoke?"

"His name is Joan."

"That is impossible! Joan is at this moment more than forty leagues from this place, detained by his love for a white woman," the Linda cried.

"My sister must be mistaken, because I have just been conversing with him."

"Then he is a traitor!" she said passionately.

The chief's brow became thoughtful.

"This has an awkward appearance," he said. "Can I have been betrayed?" he added in a deep tone.

"What are you going to do?" the Linda asked, stopping him.

"To demand of Joan an account of his ambiguous conduct."

"It is too late," the Linda continued, pointing with her finger to the Chilians.

"Oh!" Antinahuel cried, with rage, "woe be to him if he prove a traitor."

"It is no longer time for recrimination and threats; you must fight."

"Yes," he replied, fervently; "we will fight now. After the victory it will be time enough to chastise traitors."

The plan of the Araucanos was of the most simple kind: to allow the Spaniards to enter the defile, then to attack them at once in front and in rear, whilst the warriors in ambush on the flanks poured down upon them enormous stones and fragments of rock. A party of the Indians had bravely thrown themselves both in front and rear of the Spaniards to bar their passage. Antinahuel sprang up, and encouraging his warriors with voice and gesture, he rolled down an immense stone amongst his enemies. All at once a shower of bullets came pattering down upon his troops. The false Indians, led by Joan, showed themselves, and charged him resolutely to the cry of "Chili! Chili!"

"We are betrayed!" Antinahuel shouted, "Kill, kill!"

Some horsemen charged in troops at speed, whilst others galloped at random among the terrified infantry.

The Araucanos did not yield an inch—the Chilians did not advance a step. The mêlée undulated like the waves of the sea in a tempest; the earth was red with blood.

The combat had assumed heroic proportions.

At length, by a desperate effort Antinahuel succeeded in breaking through the close ranks of the enemies who enveloped him, and rushed into the defile, followed by his warriors, and waving his heavy hatchet over his head. Black Stag contrived to effect the same movement; but Joan's Chilian horse advanced from behind the rising ground which had concealed them, with loud cries, and came on sabring all before them.

The Linda followed closely the steps of Antinahuel, her eyes flashing, her lips compressed.

"Forward!—forward!" Don Gregorio cried in a voice of thunder.

"Chili! Chili!" the general repeated, cutting down a man at every blow.

More dead than alive, Don Ramón fought like a demon; he waved his sword, rode down all in his way with the weight of his horse, and uttered inarticulate cries with the gestures of one possessed.

In the meantime, Don Bustamente snatched a sword from one of the soldiers, made his horse plunge violently, and dashed forward, crying with a loud voice—

"To the rescue!—to the rescue!"

To this appeal the Araucanos replied by shouts of joy, and flew towards him.

"Ay, ay," a scoffing voice cried; "but you are not free yet, Don Pancho."

General Bustamente turned sharply round, and found himself face to face with General Cornejo, who had leaped his horse over a heap of dead bodies. The two men, after exchanging a look of hatred, rushed against each other with raised swords. The shock was terrible; the two horses fell with it. Don Pancho received a slight wound in the head; the arm of General Cornejo was cut through by the weapon of his adversary. With a bound Don Pancho was again on his feet; General Cornejo would willingly have been so, likewise, but suddenly a knee pressed heavily upon his chest, and obliged him to sink upon the ground.

"Pancho! Pancho!" Doña Maria cried, with the laugh of a demon, for it was she, "see how I kill your enemies!"

Don Pancho had not even heard the exclamation of the courtesan, so fully was he engaged in defending himself. At the sight of the odious murder committed by the Linda, Don Ramón shouted—

"Viper! I will not kill you, because you are a woman; but I will mar your future means of doing evil."

The Linda sank beneath his blow with a shriek of pain; he had slashed her down the cheek from top to bottom! Her hyena-like cry was so frightful that it even brought to a pause the combatants engaged around her. Bustamente heard her, and with one bound of his horse was by the side of his ancient mistress, whom the wound on her face rendered hideous. He stooped slightly down, and seizing her by her long hair, threw her across the neck of his horse; then plunging his spurs into the animals flanks, he dashed, headforemost, into the thickest of the mêlée. In spite of the efforts of the Chilians to recapture the fugitive, he succeeded in escaping.

At a signal from Antinahuel, the Indians threw themselves on each side of the defile, and scaled the rocks with incredible velocity under a shower of bullets.

The combat was over. The Araucanos had disappeared. The Chilians counted their losses, and found them great; seventy men had been killed, and a hundred and forty-three were wounded. Several officers, among whom was General Cornejo, had fallen. It was in vain they searched for Joan. The intrepid Indian had become invisible.

Don Gregorio was in despair at the escape of General Bustamente. It was now useless for Don Gregorio to return to Santiago; on the contrary, it was urgent that he should return to Valdivia, in order to secure the tranquillity of that province which would, no doubt, be disturbed by the news of the generals escape; but, on the other hand, it was quite as important that the authorities of the capital should be placed upon their guard. Don Gregorio was in great trouble about choosing a person whom he could trust with this commission, when the senator came to his relief. The worthy Don Ramón had finished by taking courage in reality; he actually, and in good faith, believed himself the most valiant man in Chili, and, unconsciously, assumed the most ridiculously extravagant airs. Above all, he burned with the desire of returning to Santiago.

Don Gregorio asked the senator to be the bearer of the double news of the battle gained over the Indians—a battle in which he, Don Ramón, had taken so large a share of the glory—and the unexpected escape of General Bustamente.

Don Ramón accepted with a proud smile of satisfaction a mission in every way so honourable to him. As soon as the despatches, which Don Gregorio wrote at once, were ready, he mounted his horse, and, escorted by fifty lancers, set out for Santiago.

CHAPTER XI.

THE JOURNEY.

After his interview with Don Tadeo, Valentine had scarcely taken time to bid the young count farewell, but had instantly departed, followed by Trangoil-Lanec and his inseparable Newfoundland dog.

The morning on which the sanguinary battle we have described was fought in the Canyon del Rio Seco, Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec were marching side by side, followed closely by Cæsar. The two men were talking while they cracked a biscuit, which they washed down from time to time with a little smilax water, contained in a gourd, which hung at the girdle of Trangoil-Lanec.

"Why chief," said Valentine, laughing, "you drive me to despair with your indifference."

"What does my brother mean?" the astonished Indian said.

"Caramba! We are traversing the most ravishing landscape in the world, and you pay no more attention to all these beauties than to the granite masses yonder in the horizon."

"My brother is young." Trangoil-Lanec observed: "he is an enthusiast."

"I do not know whether I am an enthusiast or not," replied the young man, warmly; "I only know this—that nature is magnificent."

"Yes," said the chief, solemnly, "Pillian is great; it is he who made all things."

"God, you mean, chief; but that is all one; our thought is the same, and we won't quarrel about a name."

"In my brother's island," the Indian asked curiously, "are there no mountains and trees?"

"I have already told you, chief, more than once that my country is not an island, but a land as large as this; there is no want of trees, thank God! There are even a great many, and as to mountains, we have some lofty ones, Montmartre among the rest."

"Hum," said the Indian, not understanding.

"Yes!" Valentine resumed, "we have mountains, but compared to these they are but little hills."

"My land is the most beautiful in the world," the Indian replied proudly. "Why do the palefaces wish to dispossess us of it."

"There is a great deal of truth in what you say, chief."

"Good!" said the chief; "all men cannot be born in my country."

"That is true, and that is why I was born somewhere else."

Cæsar at this moment growled surlily.

"What is the matter, old fellow?" said Valentine.

Trangoil-Lanec remarked quietly—

"The dog has scented an Aucas."

So it was, for scarcely had he spoken, when an Indian horseman appeared at the turning of the road. He advanced at full gallop towards the two men, whom he saluted, and went on his way.

Shortly afterwards the travellers arrived, almost without being aware of it, at the entrance of the village.

"So now, I suppose, we are at San Miguel?" remarked Valentine.

"Yes," the other replied.

"And is it your opinion that Doña Rosario is no longer here?"

"No," said the Indian, shaking his head. "Let my brother look around him."

"Well," said the young man, turning his eyes in all directions, "I see nothing."

"If the prisoner were here, my brother would see warriors and horses; the village would be alive."

"Corbleu!" thought Valentine; "these savages are wonderful men; they see everything, they divine everything. Chief," he added, "you are wise; tell me, I beg of you, who taught you all these things."

The Indian stopped; with a majestic gesture he indicated the horizon to the young man, and said, in a voice the solemn accent of which made him start—

"Brother, it was the desert.

"Yes," the Frenchman replied, convinced by these few words; "for it is there alone that man sees God face to face."

They now entered the village, and, as Trangoil-Lanec had said, it seemed deserted. They saw a few sick persons, who, reclining upon sheepskins, were complaining lamemtably.

"Caramba!" said Valentine, much disappointed, "you have guessed so truly, Chief, that there are even no dogs to bite our heels."

All at once Cæsar sprang forward barking, and, stopping in front of an isolated hut, began to munch the ground with his claws, uttering furious cries.

The two men ran hastily towards the hut, and Cæsar continued his howlings.

CHAPTER XII.

INFORMATION.

When Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec gained the front of the hut, the door was opened, and a woman presented herself.

This woman had in her countenance a marked expression of mildness, mixed with a melancholy cast; she appeared to be suffering pain. Her dress, entirely composed of blue cloth, consisted of a tunic which fell to her feet, but was very narrow, which makes the women of that country take short steps; a short mantle, called an ichcha, covered her shoulders and was crossed upon her breast, where it was drawn together by means of a silver buckle.

As soon as this woman opened the door, Cæsar rushed so violently into the interior of the hut that he almost knocked her down in his passage. She staggered, and was obliged to hold herself up by the wall.

"I know what troubles the animal thus," the woman said mildly; "my brothers are travellers; let them enter this poor hut, which belongs to them; their slave will serve them."

So saying, the mistress of the hut stood on one side to allow the strangers to enter. They found Cæsar crouching in the middle of the cuarto, with his nose close to the ground, sniffing, snatching, and growling.

"Good God!" Valentine muttered anxiously, "what has been done here?"

Without saying a word Trangoil-Lanec placed himself close to the dog; stretched along upon the ground, with his eyes intently fixed upon it, he examined it as closely as if he thought his glance could penetrate it. At the end of a minute he arose, and seated himself by Valentine, who seeing his companion had got a fit of Indian silence, found it necessary to speak first.

"Well, chief," he asked, "what is there fresh?"

"Nothing," the Ulmen replied; "these traces are at least four days old."

"What traces are you speaking of, chief?"

"Traces of blood."

"Of blood!" the young man cried. "Can Doña Rosario have been assassinated?"

"No," the chief replied, "if this blood belonged to her, she has only been wounded; her wound has been dressed."

"Dressed! come, that is too strong, chief!"

"My brother is quick—he does not reflect. Let him look here."

And he opened his right hand, and displayed an object enclosed in it.

"Caramba!" Valentine replied, quite out of humour, "an old dried leaf! What on earth can that teach?"

"Everything," said the Indian.

"Pardieu? If you can prove that, chief, I shall consider you the greatest machi in all Araucania."

"It is very simple. This leaf is the oregano leaf; the oregano so valuable for stopping the effusion of blood."

"Here are traces of blood; a person has been wounded; and on the same spot I find an oregano leaf: that leaf did not come there of itself, consequently that person's wounds have been dressed."

The woman now entered, bearing two ox horns full of harina tostada; they ate their horn of meal heartily, and drank more than one cup of chicha each. As soon as they had ended this light repast, the Indian presented the maté to them, which they tossed off with great pleasure, and then they lit their cigars.

"My sister is kind," Trangoil-Lanec said; "will she talk a minute with us!"

"I will do as my brothers please."

Valentine took two piastres from his pocket, and presented them to the woman, saying, "Will my sister permit me to offer her this trifle to make earrings?"

"I thank my brother," said the poor woman; "my brother is a muruche; perhaps he is the relation of the young paleface girl who was here?"

"I am not her relation," he said, "I am her friend. I confess that if my sister can give me any intelligence of her, she will render me happy."

"Some days ago," said the woman, "a great woman of the palefaces arrived here towards evening, followed by half a score of mosotones; I am not well, and that is why, for a month past, I have remained in the village. This woman asked me to allow her to pass the night in my hut. Towards the middle of the night there was a great noise of horses in the village, and several horsemen arrived, bringing with them a young palefaced maiden of a mild and sad countenance; she was a prisoner to the other, as I afterwards learnt. I do not know how the young girl managed it, but she succeeded in escaping. This woman and the Toqui went in search of the young girl, whom they soon brought back across a horse, with her head cut. The poor child had fainted; her blood flowed in abundance; she was in a pitiable state. I do not know what passed, but the woman suddenly changed her manner of acting towards the young girl; she dressed her wound, and took the most affectionate care at her. After that, Antinahuel and the woman departed, leaving the young girl in my hut, with ten mosotones to guard her. One of these mosotones told me that the girl belonged to the Toqui, who intended to make her his wife."

"Yesterday the paleface squaw was much better, and the mosotones set off with her, about three o'clock."

"And the young girl," Trangoil-Lanec asked, "did she say nothing to my sister before she departed?"

"Nothing," the woman answered; "the poor child wept; she was unwilling to go, but they made her get on horseback by threatening to tie her on."

"Which way did they go?" said Trangoil-Lanec.

"The mosotones talked among themselves of the tribe of the Red Vulture."

"Thanks to my sister," the Ulmen replied; "she may retire, the men are going to hold a council."

The woman arose and left the cuarto.

"Now," the chief asked, "what is my brother's intention?"

"Pardieu! we must follow the track of the ravishers."

"Good! that is also my advice; only, two men are not enough to accomplish such a project."

"True; but what else are we to do?"

"Not to set out till this evening."

"Why so?"

"Because Curumilla will have rejoined us by that time."

Valentine, knowing that he had several hours to pass in this place, resolved to take advantage of the opportunity; he stretched himself upon the ground, placed a stone under his head, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. Trangoil-Lanec did not sleep, but, with a piece of cord which he picked up in a corner of the hut, he measured all the footprints left upon the ground of the hut.

After carefully tying the end of the cord to his belt, he, in his turn, lay down upon the ground close to Valentine.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE AMBUSCADE

Curumilla and his two companions descended the steep sides of the Corcovado; if the ascent had been difficult, the descent was not less so. Everywhere escaped thousands of hideous creatures; and not unfrequently they caught glimpses of snakes, unfolding their threatening rings under the dead leaves which on all sides covered the ground. Sometimes they were obliged to crawl on their knees, at others to jump from branch to branch.

This painful and fatiguing march lasted nearly three hours. At the end of that time they found themselves again at the entrance of the grotto where they had left their horses. The two white men were literally knocked up, particularly the count. As for Curumilla, he was as fresh and active as if he had not gone a step. Physical fatigue seems to have no hold on the iron organisation of the Indians.

"My brothers require test," he said; "we will remain here for them to recover their strength."

A half hour passed away without a word being exchanged. Curumilla had disappeared for a time.

When he returned he drew from his belt a small box which he presented to the count, saying, "Take this."

"Oh!" cried Don Tadeo, joyfully, "coca!"

"Yes," said the Indian, "my father can take some."

"What is all that to do?" said the count.

"My friend," said Don Tadeo, "America is the promised land; its privileged soil produces everything: as we have the herb of Paraguay, which is so good a substitute for tea, we have coca, which, I assure you, advantageously supplies the place of the betel, and has the faculty of restoring the strength and reviving the courage."

"The deuce!" said the young man. "You are too serious, Don Tadeo, to leave me for an instant to suppose you wish to impose upon my credulity; give me quickly, I beg, some of this precious drug."

Don Tadeo held out to the count the coca he had prepared. The latter put it into his mouth without hesitation. Curumilla, after having carefully reclosed the box and returned it to his belt, saddled the horses. All at once a sharp firing was heard.

"What is all that?" Louis cried, springing up.

"The fight beginning," Curumilla replied coolly.

At that moment the cries became redoubled.

"Come!" said Don Tadeo; "one hour's delay cannot cause any great harm to my daughter."

"To horse, then," said the chief.

As they drew nearer, the noise of the fierce fight that was raging in the defile became more distinct; they recognised perfectly the war cry of the Chilians mixed with the howlings of the Araucanos; now and then bullets were flattened against the trees, or whizzed around them.

"Halt!" cried the Ulmen suddenly.

The horsemen checked their horses, which were bathed in sweat. Curumilla had conducted his friends to a place which entirely commanded the outlet of the defile on the side of Santiago. It was a species of natural fortress, composed of blocks of granite, strangely heaped upon one another by some convulsion of nature, perhaps an earthquake. These rocks, at a distance, bore a striking resemblance to a tower; and their total height was about thirty feet. In a word, it was a real fortress, from which a siege might be sustained.

"What a fine position," Don Tadeo observed.

They dismounted: Curumilla relieved the horses of their equipments, and let them loose in the woods. A slight movement was heard from among the leaves, the boughs of the underwood parted, and a man appeared. The Ulmen cocked his gun. The man who had so unexpectedly arrived had a gun thrown on his back, and he had in his hand a sword, crimson to the hilt. He ran on, looking around him on all sides, not like a man who is flying, but, on the contrary, as if seeking for somebody. Curumilla uttered an exclamation of surprise, quitted his hiding place, and advanced towards the newcomer.

"I was seeking my father," he said earnestly.

"Good!" Curumilla replied; "here I am."

"Let my son follow me," said Curumilla, "we cannot stay here."

The two Indians climbed the rocks, at the summit of which Don Tadeo and the young count had already arrived.

The two whites were surprised at the presence of the newcomer, who was no other than Joan; but the moment was not propitious for asking explanations; the four men hastened to erect a parapet. This labour completed, they rested for a while.

"When I saw," he said, "that the prisoner had succeeded in escaping, in spite of the valiant efforts of the men who escorted him. I thought it would be best you should be acquainted with this news, and I plunged into the forest, and came in search of you."

"Oh!" said Don Tadeo, "if that man is free, all is lost."

The four men placed themselves, gun in hand, on the edge of the platform. The number of the fugitives increased every instant. The whole plain, just before so calm and solitary, presented one of the most animated spectacles. From time to time men were to be seen falling, many of them never to rise again; others, more fortunate, who were only wounded, made incredible efforts to rise. A squadron of Chilian horsemen came out at a gallop, driving before them the Araucanos, who still resisted. In advance of this troop a man mounted on a black horse, across the neck of which a fainting woman was reclining, was riding with the rapidity of an arrow. He gained ground constantly upon the soldiers.

"It is he," cried the Don, "it is the general."

At the same time the count and Curumilla fired. The horse stopped short, reared perfectly upright, fought the air with its forefeet, appeared to stagger for an instant, and then fell like lead, dragging its rider down with it.

The Indians, struck with terror at this unexpected attack, redoubled their speed, and fled across the plain.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FORTRESS.

"Quick, quick!" the count cried, springing up, "let us secure the general."

"One instant!" said Curumilla, phlegmatically; "the odds are not equal, let my brother look."

At the moment a crowd of Indians debouched from the defile. But these wore a good countenance. Marching in close older, they withdrew step by step, not like cowards who fled, but like warriors proudly abandoning a field of battle which they contested no longer, but retreated from in good order. As a rearguard a platoon of a hundred men sustained this brave retreat. All at once a fusillade broke out with a sinister hissing, and some Chilian horsemen appeared, charging at speed.

The Indians, without giving way an inch, received them on the points of their long lances. Most of the fugitives scattered over the plain had rallied to their companions and faced the enemy. There was during a few minutes a hand-to-hand fight, in which our adventurers wished to take a part. Four shots were suddenly fired from the temporary fortress, the summit of which was covered with a wreath of smoke. The two Indian chiefs rolled upon the ground. The Araucanos uttered a loud cry of terror and rage, and rushed forward to prevent the carrying off of their fallen chiefs. But with the quickness of lightning Antinahuel and Black Stag abandoned their horses and sprang up, brandishing their weapons, and shouting their war cry.

The Chilians, whose intention was only to drive back their enemies out of the defile, retired in good older, and soon disappeared. The Araucanos continued their retreat.

General Bustamente had disappeared some time before.

"We can continue our route," said Don Tadeo rising. "You see the plain is clear; the Araucanos and the Chilians have retired each their own way.

"There are too many eyes concealed there," said Curumilla, pointing to the forest.

"You are mistaken, chief," Don Tadeo objected; "the Araucanos have been beaten. Why should they persist in remaining here, where they have no longer anything to do?"

"My father is not acquainted with the warriors of my nation," Curumilla replied; "they never leave enemies behind them, when they have any hope of destroying them."

"Which means?" Don Tadeo interrupted.

"That Antinahuel has been wounded, and will not depart without vengeance."

Don Tadeo was struck with the just reasoning of the Indian.

"For all that, we cannot remain here," said the young man. "It is incontestable that in a few days we shall fall into the hands of these demons."

"Yes." said Curumilla.

"Well, I confess," the count continued, "that this prospect is not flattering. But I think there exists no position so bad that men cannot be extricated from."

"Does my brother know any means?" the Ulmen asked.

"In two hours night will be here. Then, when the Indians have fallen asleep, we will depart silently."

"Indians do not sleep," said Curumilla, coolly.

"The devil!" the young man exclaimed; "if it must be so, we will pass over their dead bodies."

"I allow," said Don Tadeo, "that this plan does not appear to me absolutely hopeless, I think, towards the middle of the night we might try to put it into execution."

"Good!" replied Curumilla, "I will act as my brothers please."

Since the departure of Valentine in the morning, the four men had not had time to eat, and hunger began to assert its claims, therefore they took advantage of the repose the enemy allowed them to satisfy it. The repast consisted of nothing but harina tostada soaked in water—rather poor food, but which want of better made our adventurers think excellent.

They were abundantly furnished with provisions—in fact, by economizing them, they had enough for a fortnight; but all the water they possessed did not exceed six leather bottles full, therefore it was thirst which they had most to dread.

The sun declined rapidly towards the horizon; the sky, by degrees, assumed the darkest line; the tops of the distant mountains became lost in thick clouds of mist—in short, everything announced that night would shortly cover the earth.

A troop composed of fifty Chilian lancers issued from the defile; on gaining the plain they diverged slightly to the left, and took the route that led to Santiago.

"They are palefaces," said Curumilla, coolly.

These horsemen formed the escort which Don Gregorio had assigned to Don Ramón, to accompany him to Santiago. All at once a horrible war cry, repeated by the echoes of the Quebradas, resounded close to them, and a cloud of Araucanos assailed them on all sides at once.

The Spaniards, taken by surprise, and terrified by the suddenness of the attack, offered but a feeble resistance. The Indians pursued them inveterately, and soon all were killed or taken. Then, as if by enchantment. Indians and Chilians all disappeared, and the plain once more became calm and solitary.

"Well," said Curumilla to Don Tadeo, "what does my father think now. Have the Indians gone?"

"You are right, chief, I cannot but allow. Alas!" he added, "who will save my daughter?"

"I will, please Heaven!" cried the count. "Listen to me. We have committed the incredible folly of thrusting ourselves into this rathole; we must get out, cost what it may; if Valentine were here his inventive genius would find us means, I am convinced. I will bring him back with me."

"Yes," said Curumilla, "my paleface brothers are right; our friend is indispensable to us: a man shall go, but that man shall he Joan."

With his knife Curumilla cut off a piece of his poncho, about four fingers in width, and gave it to Joan, saying—"My son will give this to Trangoil-Lanec, that he may know from whom he comes."

"Good!" said Joan; "where shall I find the chief?"

"In the toldería of San Miguel."

The three men shook hands with him warmly. The Indian bowed, and began to descend. By the last glimpses of daylight they saw him creep along to the first trees of the mountain of Corcovado; when there, he turned round, waved his hand to them, and disappeared in the high grass. A gunshot, then, almost immediately followed by a second, resounded in the direction taken by their emissary.

"He is dead!" the count cried in despair.

"Perhaps he is!" replied Curumilla, after some hesitation; "but my brother may now perceive that we are really surrounded."

"That is true!" Don Tadeo murmured. And he let his head sink down into his hands.

CHAPTER XV.

PROPOSALS.

Don Tadeo and his companions set to work to fortify themselves. They raised a sort of wall, by piling stones upon one another to the height of eight feet; and as in that country the dews are very heavy, by means of Curumilla's lance, and that of Joan, which he had left behind him, they established something like a tent, by stretching upon them two ponchos.

These labours occupied the greater part of the night. Towards three o'clock in the morning Curumilla approached his two companions, who were struggling in vain against the sleep and fatigue that oppressed them.

"My brothers can sleep for a few hours," he said.

The two men threw themselves down on the horsecloths and very soon were fast asleep. Curumilla now glided down the declivity of the rocks, and arrived at the base of the fortress.

The chief took off his poncho, stretched himself on the ground, and covered himself with it. This precaution being taken, he took his mechero from his belt, and struck the flint without fearing, thanks to the means of concealment he had adopted, that the sparks should be seen in the darkness. As soon as he had procured a light, he collected some dry leaves at the foot of a bush, blew patiently to kindle the fire till the smoke had assumed a certain consistency, then crept away as he had come, and regained the summit of the rocks. His companions still slept.

"Hugh!" he said to himself, with satisfaction, "we need not now be afraid that the marksmen will hide in the bushes beneath us."

Shortly a red light gleamed through the darkness, which increased by degrees. The flames gained so rapidly that the summit of the mountain appeared almost immediately to be on fire.

The object Curumilla had proposed to himself was attained; places which an hour before had offered excellent shelter had become completely exposed. Don Tadeo and the count, awakened by the cries of the Indians, naturally thought an attack was being made, and hastily joined the Ulmen.

"Eh!" said Don Tadeo, "who lighted this bonfire?"

"I!" Curumilla replied; "see how the half-roasted bandits are scuttling away!"

His two companions took part in his glee.

From want of aliment, the fire was extinguished as rapidly as it had been lighted, and the adventurers turned their eyes towards the plain. They uttered a simultaneous cry of surprise and alarm. By the first rays of the rising sun, and the dying flames of the conflagration, they perceived an Indian camp surrounded by a wide ditch.

"Hum!" said the count, "I do not see how we shall extricate ourselves."

"Look there!" Don Tadeo exclaimed, "it seems as if they wanted to demand a parley. Let us hear what they have to say."

Several men had left the camp, and these men were unarmed. One of them, with his right hand, waved over his head one of those starred flags which serve the Araucanos as standards.

"Let one of you come down," a voice shouted, which Don Tadeo recognised as that of General Bustamente, "in order that we may lay before you our conditions."

"If one of us descends," said the count, "will he be at liberty to rejoin his companions if your proposals are not accepted?"

"Yes," the general replied, "on the honour of a soldier."

"I will come," the young man cried.

He then laid down his arms, and with the activity of a chamois, leaped from rock to rock and at the end of five minutes found himself face to face with the leaders of the enemy. They were four: Antinahuel, Black Stag, Bustamente and another. The general and Antinahuel had wounds in the head and the breast, while Black Stag wore his arm in a sling.

"Caballero," said Don Pancho, with a half smile, "the sun is very hot here; are you willing to follow us to the camp? You have nothing to fear."

"Señor," the young man replied, haughtily, "I fear nothing—my actions might satisfy you of that. I will follow."

"If you are afraid, señor," said the general, "you can return."

"General," retorted the young man, haughtily. "I have your word of honour, besides which there is one thing you are ignorant of."

"What is that, señor?"

"That I am a Frenchman, general."

"Your hand, señor," he said; "you are a brave young man, and it will not be my fault, I swear to you, if you do not go back satisfied."

The five personages now proceeded silently for several minutes through the camp, till they came to a tent much larger than the rest, where a number of long lances tied together, with scarlet pennons at their points, stuck in the ground, denoted that it was the hut of a chief. Buffalo skulls, lying here and there, served as seats. In one corner, upon a heap of dry leaves, reclined a woman, with her head enveloped in bandages. This was the Linda. She appeared to be sleeping. On the entrance of the party, however, a flash of her wild-looking eye gleamed through the darkness of the hut.

Everyone seated himself, as well as he could, upon a skull. When all were placed, the general said, in a short, clear manner—

"Now, then, señor, let us know upon what conditions you will agree to surrender?"

"Your pardon, señor," the young man answered; "we do not agree to surrender on any conditions whatever. It is you who have proposals to make."

CHAPTER XVI.

THE MESSENGER.

Joan remained a short time, crouched in the high grass, reflecting. Presently he began to run. Satisfied that he was alone, he unrolled his lasso, pulled out the running noose, and fastened it to the end of a bush. Upon this bush he tied his hat so that it could not fall; he then retreated with great caution, unrolling his lasso as he went. When he had gained the extremity of the lasso, he drew it gently, by little pulls, towards him, giving a slight oscillating movement to the bush.

This movement was perceived by the sentinels; they sprang towards the bush, saw the hat, and fired. In the meantime, Joan scampered away, with the swiftness of a guanaco.

He arrived within sight of San Miguel at three o'clock in the morning. When he entered the toldería, shadow and silence prevailed on all sides; the inhabitants were asleep, a few dogs were baying the moon; he did not know how to find the men he was in search of, when the door of a hut opened, and two men, followed by an enormous Newfoundland dog, appeared upon the road.

Joan remembered having seen at Valdivia, with the Frenchmen, a dog like the one that had given him so formidable a welcome; and, being a man of prompt resolution, he formed his without hesitation, and cried with a loud voice—

"Are you the Muruche, the friend of Curumilla?"

"Curumilla!" Trangoil-Lanec exclaimed, as he drew nearer; "if he sends you to us, you must have something to report to us?"

"Are you the persons I seek?" Joan asked.

"Yes, but in the hut, and by the light of a candle, we shall recognise each other better than here."

The three men entered the hut, followed by the dog. Without losing time, Trangoil-Lanec took out his mechero, struck a light, and lit a candle.

"Good!" he said, "it is he whom Curumilla once sent to Valdivia."

"Yes," Joan replied.

Joan pressed that loyal hand, Trangoil-Lanec turned towards Joan, saying—

"I expected last night, at sunset, the arrival of Curumilla and two friends."

Joan bowed respectfully, and drew from his belt the piece of stuff which Curumilla had sent.

"A piece of Curumilla's poncho!" Trangoil-Lanec exclaimed violently. "Of what terrible news are you the bearer?"

"The news I bring is bad; nevertheless, at the time I left them, Curumilla and his companions were in safety, and unwounded."

"Curumilla cut this piece off his poncho, saying, as he gave it to me, 'Go and find my brothers, show them this stuff, then they will believe you.' I set out, I have travelled twelve leagues since sunset, and here I am."

Joan then made the recital they required of him, to which Valentine and the Ulmen listened with the greatest attention.

What was to be done? These three indomitable men found themselves opposed by an impossibility, which rose implacable and terrible before them. Valentine was the first to decide.

"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "since we have nothing left but to die with our friends, let us hasten to join them."

"Come, then," the two Indians replied. They left the hut just as the sun was rising.

The two men leaned into their saddles. Then commenced a desperate journey. It lasted six hours, then in sight of Corcovado.

"Here we must dismount," said Joan.

The horses were abandoned, and the three companions began to climb the mountain.

"Wait here for me," said Joan; "I will see how the land lies after a while."

His companions threw themselves on the ground, and he crept away. Instead of ascending higher, the Indian soon disappeared behind one of the numerous masses of granite. His absence was so long, that his friends were preparing to resume their march, at whatever risk, when they saw him come running quickly.

"Well, what is going on?" Valentine asked. "What makes you have such a joyful countenance?"

"Curumilla," Joan replied, "has burnt the forest behind the rocks."

"What good advantage can that conflagration procure us?"

"An immense one. The warriors of Antinahuel were concealed among the bushes and beneath the trees; they have been forced to retire."

"Come on, then," cried Valentine.

"Let us be gone," said Valentine, "it will be hard if, with the assistance of these three resolute men, I cannot save my poor Louis."

Followed by his dog Cæsar, who looked at him, wagging his tail, he followed Trangoil-Lanec, who trod in the steps of Joan. In twenty minutes they found themselves at the foot of the rocks, from which Don Tadeo and Curumilla made them joyous signals of welcome.

CHAPTER XVII.

IN THE WOLF'S MOUTH.

We are compelled to interrupt our recital here to relate the various incidents that took place in the camp of the Aucas, after the battle with the Spaniards.

The men placed in ambush at the top of the rocks had made them suffer serious losses. The principal leader, who had escaped safe and sound from the desperate fight of the morning, had been grievously wounded, struck by invisible hands. General Bustamente, thrown from his horse, had received a bullet, which, fortunately for him, had inflicted only a flesh wound. Don Pancho was carried fainting off the field of battle, and concealed in the woods, as was the Linda.

"What line of conduct will my brother pursue?" the general asked.

"The Great Eagle has my word," the chief replied, with an ambiguous look; "let him keep his word."

"I have no double tongue," the general said; "let me regain my power, and I will restore to the people the territory which once belonged to them."

"In that case, let my father command," replied Antinahuel.

A proud smile curled the lips of the general; he perceived all was not lost.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"In ambush In front of the palefaces who so roughly saluted us an hour ago."

"And what is my brother's intention?"

"To capture them somehow," Antinahuel replied.

After speaking these words, he bowed to the general and retired. Don Pancho remained plunged in serious reflection.

He turned round with surprise, and with difficulty repressed a cry of horror—it was Doña Maria, her clothes torn and stained with blood and dirt, and her face enveloped in bandages and bloody linen.

"I appear horrible to you, Don Pancho," she said, in a low voice.

"Señora;" the general began, warmly; but she interrupted him.

"Do not debase yourself by a lie unworthy of you and of me."

"Señora, I beg you to believe——"

"You no longer love me, I tell you, Don Pancho," she replied, bitterly; "besides, have I not sacrificed everything to you? I had nothing left but my beauty—I gave you that, joyfully."

"I will not reply to the disguised recriminations you address to me."

"Oh, a truce with these trivialities," she interrupted violently. "If love can no longer unite us, hatred can, we have the same enemy."

"Don Tadeo de León," he said angrily.

"Yes—Don Tadeo de León."

"Ah! I am free now!" he shouted in a furious tone.

"Thanks to me," she said pointedly.

"Yes," he replied, "that is true."

"Such are women. You are aware of the ability and cool bravery of your enemy; if you give him time, in a few days he will become a colossus."

"Yes," he murmured, as if speaking to himself, "I know it, I feel it."

"Hark!" she said, leaning her head forward, "do you hear that noise?"

There was a great commotion in the wood; it was the escort of Don Ramón being surrounded.

Antinahuel shortly appeared, leading in Don Ramón Sandias. On perceiving the Linda he gave a start of terror.

"Miserable scoundrel!" cried the general.

"Hold!" said the Linda.

"What! do you defend this man?" the astonished general exclaimed. "The accomplice of Cornejo, it was he who inflicted upon you that frightful wound."

"Oh! I know all that," the Linda replied with a smile; "but I forget and forgive Don Ramón Sandias."

"Very well," he said, "since you desire it, Doña Maria; I pardon as you do."

The senator could not believe his ears; but, at all hazards, he seized the extended hand, and shook it with all his might, Antinahuel smiled contemptuously.

"If this is the case," he said, "I will leave you together; it is useless to bind the prisoner."

"Oh! my dear benefactors!" exclaimed Don Ramón, rushing towards them.

"Stop a bit, caballero!" cried Don Pancho; "we must now have a little talk together."

At which words the senator stopped in confusion.

"You are aware, are you not, that you are perfectly in our power!" said the Linda.

"Now," the general added, "answer categorically the questions which will be put to you."

"How came you here?"

"I have just been surprised by the Indians."

"Where were you going?"

"To Santiago."

"Alone?"

"Oh, Lord! no; I had an escort of fifty horsemen."

"What were you going to do at Santiago?"

"Alas! I am tired of politics: my intention was to retire to my quinta in the bosom of my family."

"Had you no other object?" the general asked.

"I was only charged with a despatch; here it is."

The general seized it, broke the seal, and rapidly read its contents.

"Bah!" he said, crushing the paper, "there is not even common sense in this despatch."

Doña Maria put an end to this by saying—

"Go to Antinahuel, Don Pancho; he must demand an interview with the adventurers who are perched like owls at the summit of the rocks."

"I will, as you desire it so earnestly."

The general succeeded; when he rejoined the Linda, she was terminating her conversation with the senator, by saying to him in a sardonic voice—

"Manage it as well as you are able, my dear señor; if you fail, I will give you up to the Indians."

"Hum!" said the terrified senator; "and if they learn it is I who have done that, what will happen?"

"You will be burnt."

"Demonios! the prospect is not an agreeable one."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CAPITULATION.

Let us return to the hut of council, into which the count had been introduced by the general. Don Bustamente had too much personal courage not to like and appreciate that quality in another. Bowing he said, "Your observation is perfectly just, señor——"

"Count de Prébois-Crancé;" the Frenchman finished the sentence with a bow.

"Before any other question," said Don Pancho, "permit me, count, to ask you how you have become personally mixed up with the men we are besieging?"

"In the simplest way possible, señor," Louis replied, with an arch smile, "I am travelling with some friends and servants; yesterday the noise of a battle reached our ears; I naturally inquired what was going on; after this, several Spanish soldiers, running away along the crest or the mountains, intrenched themselves on the rock where I had myself sought refuge. The battle begun in the defile was continued on the plain; the soldiers, listening to nothing but their courage, fired upon their enemy."

The general and the senator knew perfectly what degree of faith to place in the veracity of this narration, in which, nevertheless, as men of the world, they had the appearance of placing the utmost alliance.

"So then, count," the general replied, "you are head of the garrison?"

"Yes, señor—"

"General Don Pancho Bustamente."

"And is this garrison numerous?" he resumed.

"Hum! tolerably so."

"Some thirty men, perhaps?" said the general, with an insinuating smile.

"Thereabouts," the count replied, without hesitation.

The general rose.

"What, count," he exclaimed, with feigned anger, "do you pretend, with thirty men, to resist the five hundred Araucano warriors who surround you?"

"Any why not?" the young man replied coolly.

"Why, it is madness!" the general replied.

"Not at all, señor, it is courage."

The general knitted his brow, for the interview was taking a direction not at all agreeable to him: he resumed, "these are my conditions; you, count, and all the Frenchmen that accompany you, shall free to retire; but Chilians and Aucas, whoever may be found among your troop, shall be immediately given up."

The count's brow became clouded; he, however, bowed to all present with great courtesy, but then walked resolutely straight out of the hut.

"Where are you going, señor?" the general said, "and why do you leave us thus suddenly?"

"Señor," the count remarked, "after such a proposal reply is useless."

Whilst speaking thus the count kept walking on, and the five persons had left the camp, in some sort without perceiving it, and found themselves at a very short distance from the improvised citadel.

"Stay, señor," the general observed; "before refusing, you ought, at least, to warn your companions."

"You are right, general," said the count.

He took out his pocketbook, wrote a few words on one of the leaves, tore it out, and folded it.

"You shall be satisfied on the spot," he added. "Throw down a lasso!" he cried, with a loud voice.

Almost immediately a long leathern cord passed through one of the crevices, and came floating to within a foot of the ground. The count took a stone, enveloped it in the sheet of paper, and tied the whole to the end of the lasso, which was quickly drawn up.

"You will soon have an answer," he said.

All at once the moveable fortifications heaped upon the rock disappeared at if by enchantment, and the platform appeared covered with Chilian soldiers armed with muskets; a little in advance of them stood Valentine and his dog Cæsar.

"Count!" Valentine cried, in a voice that sounded like a trumpet, "in the name of your companions, you have very properly rejected the shameful proposals made to you; we are here a hundred and fifty resolute men, resolved to perish rather than accept them."

"That is understood," he cried to Valentine; then addressing the chief—"You see," he said, "my companions are of my opinion."

"What does my brother wish then?" Antinahuel demanded.

"Pardieu! simply to go away," the young man replied.

Antinahuel, Black Stag, and the general consulted for a moment; then Antinahuel said—"We agree to your terms; my young paleface brother is a great heart."

"That is well," the count replied; "you are a brave warrior, chief, and I thank you; but I have still one favour to ask you."

"Let my brother explain; if I can grant it I will," Antinahuel observed.

"Well!" the young man replied; "you yesterday took many prisoners—give them up to me."

"Those prisoners are free," the Toqui said with a forced smile; "they have already rejoined their brothers."

Louis now understood whence the unexpected increase of the garrison had come.

"I have nothing more to do, then, but to retire," he continued.

"Oh! your pardon! your pardon!" the senator exclaimed, "I was one of the prisoners!"

"That is true," Don Pancho observed; "what does my brother say?"

"Oh! let the man go," Antinahuel replied.

Don Ramón did not require this to be repeated; he followed the count closely. Louis bowed courteously to the chiefs, and regained the summit of the rock, where his companions awaited him with great anxiety.

A few hours later the gorge had fallen back again into its customary solitude, which was alone troubled at intervals by the flight of condors, or the terrified course of guanacos.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE APPEAL.

The Araucanos had faithfully observed the conditions of the treaty; and the Chilians quietly retired, without perceiving a single enemy's scout. They took the road to Valdivia. But it was night; the darkness which enveloped the earth confounded all objects, and rendered the march exceedingly painful. The tired horses advanced with difficulty, stumbling at every step. Valentine dreaded with reason, losing his way in the darkness; when they arrived, therefore, on the bank of a river, which he recognised as that which, a few days before, had been the spot where the treaties had been renewed, he halted and encamped for the night. Everyone rummaging in his alforjas, a species of large pockets, drew forth the charqui and harina tostada which were to comprise his supper. The repasts of men fatigued with a long journey are short, for sleep is their principal want. An hour later, with the exception of the sentinels, who watched over the common safety, all the soldiers were sleeping soundly. Seven men alone, seated round an immense fire, in the centre of the camp, were talking and smoking.

"My friends," said Valentine, taking his cigar from his mouth, "we are not far, I think, from Valdivia."

"Scarcely ten leagues," Joan replied.

"I believe, with deference to better advice," Valentine continued, "that we shall do best before we take that rest of which we stand so much in need, to examine our position."

All bowed in sign of assent.

"What occasion is there for discussion, my friend?" said Don Tadeo warmly; "tomorrow, at daybreak, we will proceed toward the mountains, leaving the soldiers to continue their march to Valdivia, under the conduct of Don Ramón."

"That is the best plan," said the senator: "we are all well armed; the few leagues before us present no appearance of serious danger: tomorrow, at daybreak, we will separate."

"Now then, I will ask our Araucano friends," Valentine went on, "if they still intend to follow us?"

"It is now a long time since my brothers quitted their village; they may have a desire to see their wives and children again."

"My brother has spoken well," said Trangoil-Lanec: "his is a loyal heart; when he speaks his heart is always on his lips, so that his voice comes to my ear like the melodious song of the maukawis. I am happy when I listen to him. Trangoil-Lanec is one of the chiefs of his nation. Antinahuel is not his friend! Trangoil-Lanec will follow his paleface friend wherever he may go."

"Thanks, chief; I was sure of your answer."

"Good!" said Curumilla, "my brother will say no more upon the subject."

"Faith, not I!" Valentine answered gaily; "I am but too happy to have terminated the affair."

Here Cæsar, who had been crouching comfortably near the fire, began to bark furiously.

"Hello!" said Valentine, "what is going to happen now?"

Everyone listened anxiously, whilst seeking his arms instinctively.

"To arms!" Valentine commanded in a low voice; "We know not with whom we may have to do, it is as well to be on our guard."

In a few minutes all the camp was roused. The noise drew nearer and nearer.

"¿Quién vive?" the sentinel cried.

"Chile!" replied a powerful voice.

"¿Qué gente?" went on the soldier.

"Gente de paz," said the voice, and immediately added, "Don Gregorio Peralta."

"Come on! come on!" cried Valentine.

"Caspita! caballeros," Don Gregorio replied warmly, shaking the hands that were on all sides held out to him—"what a fortunate chance."

With Don Gregorio thirty horsemen entered the camp.

"What do you mean by 'quickly?'" Don Tadeo asked. "Were you in search of us, my friend?"

"Caray! It was expressly to find you that I left Valdivia a few hours ago."

"I do not understand you," said Don Tadeo.

Don Gregorio did not appear to notice him, but, making a sign to the two Frenchmen and Don Tadeo to follow him, he retired a few paces.

"You have asked me why I sought you, Don Tadeo;" he continued, "Yesterday I set out, sent to you by our brothers, the patriots, and by all the Dark Hearts of Chili, of whom you are the leader and the king, with the mission to repeat this to you when I met with you: 'King of Darkness, our country is in danger! One man alone can save it; that man is yourself."

Don Tadeo made no reply; he seemed a prey to a poignant grief.

"Listen to the news I bring you," Don Gregorio continued. "General Bustamente has escaped!"

"I knew he had," he murmured faintly.

"Yes; but what you do not know is, that the scoundrel has succeeded in winning the Araucanos to his interests."

"This news——" objected Don Tadeo.

"Is certain," Don Gregorio interrupted warmly; "a faithful spy has brought it to us."

"You know, my friend, I resigned all power into your hands."

"When you resigned the power into my hands, Don Tadeo, the enemy was conquered and a prisoner—the liberty was victorious: but now everything is changed. The peril is greater than ever."

"My friend," Don Tadeo replied, with an accent of profound sadness, "another voice calls me likewise."

"Public safety is superior to family affections! Remember your oath!" said Don Gregorio sternly.

"But my daughter!—my poor child!—the only comfort I possess!" he exclaimed.

"Remember your oath, King of Darkness!" Don Gregorio repeated with the same solemnity of voice.

"Oh!" the unhappy father exclaimed, "will you not have pity on a parent?"

"It is well," Don Gregorio replied with asperity. "I will go back, Don Tadeo. For ten years we have sacrificed everything for the cause you now betray; we know how to die for that liberty which you abandon! Farewell, Don Tadeo! The Chilian people will succumb, but you will recover your daughter. Farewell! I know you no longer!"

"Oh, stop! stop!" Don Tadeo cried, "Retract those frightful words! I will die with you! Let us be gone!—Let us be gone! My daughter!" he added—"pardon me!"

"Oh! I have found my brother again!" Don Gregorio exclaimed. "No! with such a champion liberty can never perish!"

"Don Tadeo," Valentine cried, "go where duty calls you; I swear to you by my God that we will restore your daughter to you!

"Yes." said the count, pressing his hand, "if we perish in the attempt!"

Don Gregorio was not willing to pass the night in the camp. Every horseman took a foot soldier behind him, and set off, as fast as their horses could bear their double load, on their way to Valdivia.

The troop of Chilians soon disappeared, and there remained in the camp only Valentine, the count, Curumilla, Joan, and Trangoil-Lanec.

The five adventurers wrapped themselves in their ponchos, lay down with their feet to the fire, and went to sleep under the guardianship of Cæsar.

CHAPTER XX.

THE COUNCIL.

About midnight the storm broke out, but towards morning the hurricane became a little calmer, and the sun on rising, quite dispersed it. It was then that the five adventurers were able to discover the disasters produced by the tempest; some trees were broken and twisted like straws, while others, uprooted by the blast, lay with their roots in the air. The prairie was one vast marsh. The river, generally so calm, so limpid, so inoffensive, had invaded everything, rolling muddy waters, laying flat grass and plants, and digging deep ravines. Valentine congratulated himself on having in the evening established his camp upon the declivity of the mountain instead of descending into the plain, swallowed up by the furious waters.

The first care of the travellers was to rekindle their fire. Trangoil-Lanec looked about for a large flat stone. Upon this stone he laid a bed of leaves, with which the fire was at length lighted. Upon the damp earth it would have been impossible to obtain any. Soon a column of clear flame ascended towards the heavens, and revived the courage of the travellers. When breakfast was ended, gaiety returned, the sufferings or the night were forgotten, and the five men only thought of past miseries as an encouragement to support patiently those which still awaited them. Valentine began—

"We were wrong last night," he said, "to let Don Tadeo leave us."

"Why so?" Louis asked.

"Good Heavens! we were at that moment under the effects of a terrible impression, and did not reflect on one thing which has just occurred to me."

"And what is that?"

"This: as soon as Don Tadeo has accomplished the duties of a good citizen, it is evident to all of us that he will resign immediately a power he has accepted quite against his will."

"That is evident enough."

"What, then, will be his most anxious desire?"

"To set off in search of his daughter," said Louis.

"Or to join us."

"That is all the same thing."

"Granted; but there an impassable obstacle will rise."

"And what can that be?"

"The want of a guide to conduct him to us."

"That is true," the four men exclaimed.

"What is to be done?" Louis asked.

"Fortunately," Valentine continued, "it is not yet too late. Don Tadeo requires to have with him a man entirely devoted to him, perfectly acquainted with the country we propose to search, who could follow us on our track."

"Yes," said Trangoil-Lanec.

"Well," Valentine resumed, "that man is Joan."

"That is true," the Indian observed, "I will be his guide."

"Joan will leave us, I will give him a letter which Louis will write, and in which I will inform Don Tadeo of the mission with which our friend is charged."

"Good," said Curumilla, "our friend thinks of everything; let Louis write the letter."

"Well," cried Valentine, "now I think of it, it is all the better that this idea did not occur to me before."

"Why so?" said Louis in astonishment.

"Because poor Don Tadeo will be so happy to hear from us."

"That is true," said the count.

"Is it not? Well then, write the note, brother."

The count did not require to be told twice, but set to work immediately, Joan on his side.

"Brother," Valentine said to him on giving him the note, which the Indian concealed under the ribbon which bound his hair, "I have no instructions to give you; you are an experienced warrior."

"Has my brother nothing to say to me?" Joan replied, with a smile. "I leave my heart with you; I shall know where to find it again."

He bowed to his friends; then the brave Indian departed rapidly, bounding like a guanaco through the high grass.

"Brave fellow!" Valentine exclaimed, as he re-seated himself before the fire.

"He is a warrior," Trangoil-Lanec said proudly.

"Now, chief," continued the spahi, "suppose we have a little chat."

"I listen to my brother."

"Well, I will explain myself; the task we have undertaken is a difficult one! I would even add, it is impossible, if we had not you with us; Louis and I, notwithstanding our courage, would be obliged to renounce it; for in this country, the eyes of the white man, however good they may be, are powerless to direct him."

Trangoil-Lanec reflected for a few minutes, and then replied—

"My brother has spoken well; yes, the route is long and bristling with perils, but let my pale brothers leave it to us; brought up in the desert, it has no mysteries for us."

"That is exactly what I mean, chief," said Valentine; "as to us, we have only to obey."

"This point agreed upon," the count observed, "there is another not less important."

"What is that point, brother?" Valentine asked.

"That of knowing which way we are to direct our course, and when we shall set off."

"Immediately," Trangoil-Lanec replied; "only we ought to adopt a line from which we will not deviate."

"That is reasoning like a prudent man, chief; submit your observations to us."

"I think," said Trangoil-Lanec, "that to recover the track of the pale blue-eyed maiden, we must return to San Miguel."

"That is my opinion," said Valentine; "I cannot, indeed, see how we can do otherwise."

Curumilla shook his head dissentingly.

"No," he said, "that track would mislead us."

The two Frenchmen looked at him with astonishment, whilst Trangoil-Lanec continued smoking.

"I do not comprehend you, chief," said Valentine.

"Let my brothers listen," exclaimed Curumilla. "Antinahuel is a powerful and formidable chief; he is the greatest of the Araucano warriors. He has declared war against the palefaces; this war he will carry on cruelly, because he has with him a Huincas man and woman, who, for their own purposes, will urge him to invade their country. Antinahuel will assemble his warriors, but he will not return to his village. The blue-eyed maiden was carried off by the woman with a viper's heart, in order to induce the chief to enter upon this war. In order to discover the track of the female puma, the hunters follow that of the male; to find the track of the maiden, we must follow that of Antinahuel."

He ceased, reclined his head upon his breast, and waited.

"In good truth," said the count, "the reasons the chief has given seem good."

"Yes," Valentine added, "I believe that my brother Curumilla has hit the mark. It is evident that Antinahuel loves Doña Rosario, and that it was for the purpose of giving her up to him that that hideous creature had the poor girl carried off. What do you think, Trangoil-Lanec?"

"Curumilla is one of the most prudent Ulmens of his nation; he has the courage of the jaguar and the cunning of the fox. He alone has judged properly."

"Let us then follow the track of Antinahuel," said Valentine gaily. "That will not be difficult."

Trangoil-Lanec shook his head.

"My brother is mistaken; we will follow the track of Antinahuel, but we will do so after the Indian fashion."

"That is to say?"

"In the air."

"Pardieu!" Valentine said, stupefied.

The chief could not help smiling.

"If we were to blindly follow the track of the Toqui," he said, "as he has two days in advance of us, and he is on horseback, and we on foot."

"Caramba!" said the young man, "that is true. I did not think of that. How can we procure horses?"

"We do not require any in the mountains; we travel more quickly on foot. We will cut the track in a straight line; every time we fall in with it we will carefully note its direction, and we will continue acting thus till we feel certain of finding that of the pale maiden."

"Yes," Valentine replied; "your plan is ingenious; you are certain not to lose your way or your time."

"Let my brother be satisfied on those points."

"Tell me, travelling thus, as the bird flies, when do you think we are likely to overtake the man?"

"By the evening of the day after tomorrow."

"What! so quickly as that? It is incredible!"

"My brother will reflect; whilst our enemy will travel four leagues across the plain, by following the road we are about to take, we shall travel eight on the mountains."

"Pardieu! we must apply to you to know how to overcome distance. Act exactly as you think best, chief."

"Shall we start at once, then?" Valentine asked.

"Not yet," replied the Ulmen; "everything is a guide in the desert; if it should happen that we who pursue, should, in our turn, be pursued, your boots would betray us. Take them off, and the Araucano warriors will be blind."

Without making a reply, Valentine took off his boots, and took moccasins.

"Now," said the Parisian, laughing, "I suppose I may as well throw the boots into the river."

"By no means, my brother!" Trangoil-Lanec replied seriously; "the boots must be taken care of."

The two young men had each a leathern knapsack, which they carried on their shoulders, and containing their absolute necessaries. Without a word, they fastened the boots to the knapsack, and buckled it on their shoulders. Curumilla had soon finished his job, and he gave each of them a pair of moccasins, exactly like his own, which he tied on for them.

CHAPTER XXI.

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

As soon as the Chilians had evacuated the rock, Antinahuel turned with an air of ill-humour towards General Bustamente.

"I have done as my brother desired," he said; "what more does he wish?"

"Nothing at present, chief, unless you, on your part, consent also to depart."

"My brother is right; we are no longer of any use."

"Absolutely none; but since, henceforward, we are free to act as we please, if agreeable to my brother we will go to the council lodge."

"Good!" the Toqui replied, following with a malevolent glance the last ranks of the Chilian soldiers.

The general placed his hand resolutely on his shoulder, at which the Toqui turned sharply round.

"What does the white chief want?" he asked.

"To tell you this, chief," the general replied, coolly; "of what consequence are thirty men, when you can immolate thousands? What you have done today is the height of policy. By sending away these soldiers, you appear to accept your defeat, and renounce, as feeling yourself too weak, all hopes of vengeance."

The brow of the chief expanded, and his look became less savage.

"Yes," he murmured, as if speaking to himself, "there is truth in what my brother says; in war we must often abandon a hen to obtain a horse afterwards. Let us go to the council lodge."

Antinahuel and the general, followed by Black Stag, returned to the toldo.

"That young man who presented himself here possesses a great heart," Antinahuel said, looking at Don Pancho; "my brother, doubtless knows him?"

"On my word no," the general remarked; "I saw him this morning for the first time; he is one of those vagabonds from Europe who come to rob us of our wealth."

"No; that young man is a chief."

"Hum I you seem interested about him."

"Yes; as we are naturally interested in a brave man. I should be happy to meet him again."

"Unfortunately," the general said, "that is not very probable."

"Who knows?" the chief observed in a pensive tone, "but let my brother listen; a Toqui is going to speak."

"I listen," the general replied.

"Whilst that young man was here," Antinahuel resumed impassively, "I examined him attentively; when he did not think my brother was looking at him, he cast strange glances at him."

"I do not know him, I tell you, chief," the general replied; "and suppose he should be my enemy?"

"An enemy should never be despised," said Antinahuel; "the meanest are often the most dangerous. But let us return to the subject of our meeting: what are my brother's present intentions?"

"Listen to me in your turn, chief; we are henceforward bound to each other by our common interests. I am convinced that if we mutually aid each other, and support each other frankly and loyally, we shall obtain magnificent results."

"Good! my brother will explain his views."

"I will not beat about the bush; this is the treaty I propose to you: help me frankly in recovering the power I have lost—give me the means of avenging myself on my enemies, and I will abandon to you for ever, in full proprietorship, not only the entire province of Valdivia, but, still further, that of Concepción as far as Talca."

At this magnificent offer the countenance of Antinahuel did not betray the least trace of emotion.

"My brother," said he; "gives what is not his."

"That is true," the general replied, curtly; "but I shall have it if you assist me, and without me you will never have it."

The chief slightly knitted his brow; the general feigned not to perceive it, but continued—

"It is for you to take it or leave it, chief; time passes."

The matter being put to him so shortly, the Toqui reflected a minute, then turned towards the general.

"Who will guarantee the execution of my brother's promise?" he said, looking him full in the face.

"Let my brother name what guarantee he demands," said the general.

"A smile of undefinable expression curled Antinahuels lips. He made a sign to Black Stag, who rose and left the tent."

"Let my brother wait a moment," said the Toqui.

The general bowed without replying. At the end of a few minutes Black Stag returned, followed by an Araucano warrior bearing a kind of rickety table, hastily knocked together, of badly-jointed pieces of wood. Upon this table the Toqui silently placed paper, pens, and ink.

"The palefaces," he said, "possess much learning; they know more than we poor ignorant Indians do; my brother knows that. I have been among the whites, and have seen many of their customs; let my brother take this pen, and let him repeat to me there," he added, "what he has just said to me; then, as I shall keep his words, the wind will not be able to carry them away."

The general seized the pen, and dipped it in the ink.

"Since my brother mistrusts my words," he said, in a tone of pique, "I am ready to do what he desires."

"My brother has ill-understood my words," Antinahuel replied, "I have the greatest confidence in him, I in no way mean to offend him; only I represent my nation."

Don Pancho saw there remained no subterfuge by which he could escape. Turning towards Antinahuel, therefore, he said with a smile—

"So be it! My brother is right; I will do what he desires."

The Toqui bowed gravely, the general placed the paper before him, wrote a few lines rapidly, and signed them.

"There, chief," he said, presenting the paper to Antinahuel; "that is what you require."

"Good!" the latter replied, taking it.

He turned it this way and he turned it that, as if to make out what the general had written; but as may be supposed, all his efforts produced no results. Don Pancho and Doña Maria watched him closely. At the expiration of a minute, the chief made another sign to Black Stag, who went out, but in a very short time returned, followed by two Indians leading a Chilian soldier between them.

"Moro Huinca," he said, in a rough voice, "can you explain what is set down on this paper?"

"What?" the soldier replied.

The general then added:—

"The chief asks you if you can read."

"Yes, señor," the wounded man stammered.

"Good!" said Antinahuel; "then explain it."

And he gave him the paper.

The soldier took it mechanically. It was evident that the poor wretch, stupefied by terror, did not understand what was required of him.

"My friend," said the general, "as you know how to read, have the goodness to explain to us what is written on this paper. Is not that what you desire, chief?" he said, addressing the Toqui.

The soldier, whose terror was a little calmed by the friendly tone of the general, at last comprehended what was expected of him; he cast his eyes over the paper, and read as follows:—

"I, the undersigned, Don Pancho Bustamente, general of division, ex-minister at war of the Chilian republic, engage, in favour of Antinahuel, grand Toqui of the Araucanos, to abandon, in all proprietorship, to him and to his people, to enjoy and dispose of at their pleasure now and for ever, without anyone being able to contest with them the legitimate proprietorship: first, the province of Valdivia; second, the province of Concepción, to within twenty miles of the city of Talca. This territory shall belong, in all its breadth and in all its length, to the Araucano people, if the Toqui Antinahuel, by the help of an army, reinstates me in the power I have lost, and gives me the means to retain it in my hands."

"In faith of which I have signed with my name, prenames, and qualities."

"Don Pancho Bustamente,"
"General of Division, ex Minister of
War of the Chilian Republic."

Whilst the soldier was reading, Antinahuel leaning over his shoulder, appeared endeavouring to read also; when he had ended, with one hand he snatched the paper roughly from him, and with the other he plunged his poniard into his heart.

"What have you done?" the general said.

"Wah!" the chief replied; "this fellow might have talked hereafter, perhaps."

"That is true." said Don Pancho.

An Araucano warrior took up the body, placed it upon his shoulders, and carried it out of the toldo.

"Well?" the general resumed.

"My brother may depend upon me," said Antinahuel; "I must now return to my village."

"Stay, chief," the general objected; "that is losing time."

"Interests of the highest importance oblige me."

"That is useless," said Doña Maria, coolly.

"What does my sister mean?" Antinahuel asked.

"I have comprehended the impatience which devours the heart of my brother; this morning I myself despatched a chasqui after the mosotones who were conducting the pale maiden to the toldería of the Puelches, with an order to retrace their steps."

The countenance of the chief cleared up.

"My sister is good!" he said; "Antinahuel, he will remember."

"Let my brother consent, then, to do what the great warrior of the palefaces desires."

"Let my brother speak," the chief continued gravely.

"We must, if we wish to succeed, act with the rapidity of lightning," said Don Pancho; "collect all your warriors, and let their rendezvous be upon the Bio Bio. We will gain possession of Concepción by a coup-de-main; and if our movements are prompt, we shall be masters of Santiago, the capital, before they have time to raise the necessary troops to oppose their passage."

"Good!" Antinahuel replied. "My brother is a skilful chief; he will succeed."

"Yes, but we must use despatch above everything."

"My brother will see," the Toqui said, laconically.

"My brother," he added to Black Stag, "will send off the quipu and the lance of fire; in ten suns, thirty thousand warriors will be assembled on the plain of Conderkanki. I have spoken—begone."

The Black Stag bowed, and left the cuarto without reply.

"Is my brother content?" asked Antinahuel.

"Yes," the general replied; "and I will soon prove to my brother that I also can keep my promises."

The Toqui gave orders for striking the camp. An hour later, a long file of horsemen disappeared in the depths of the virgin forest which formed the limits of the plain.

Doña Maria and Bustamente were in high spirits; they both thought their object nearly obtained; they imagined they were on the point of seeing realised the hope they had so long nourished.

CHAPTER XXII.

DELIRIUM.

It had been very unwillingly that Don Tadeo de León consented to resume that power which he had so gladly once laid down when he thought tranquillity was re-established. Dull and silent he followed the troop, who appeared rather to escort a state prisoner than the man they judged to be alone able to save his country.

For some time the storm had been expending its fury, and Don Tadeo seemed to be revived by the fiery breath of the tempest; he cast away his hat, that the rain might bathe his burning brow; with his hair flowing in the wind and his eyes flashing wildly, he dug his spurs into his horse's sides, and rushed forward shouting—

"Hurrah! hurrah! my faithful fellows! hurrah for our country! forward! forward!"

His companions, in the sinister flashes of the lightning, caught occasional glimpses of the imposing shadow galloping before them, his horse bounding over every obstacle that came in his way. Suddenly electrified by this strange vision, they rushed wildly forward in pursuit of him, uttering cries resembling his own, across the inundated plain, through trees twisted and tortured by the powerful hand of the hurricane, which roared furiously. A mad ride, beyond the power of language to describe, then ensued. Don Tadeo, with his eyes flashing fire, felt himself fatally carried away by the furious delirium which compressed his temples like a vice. At intervals he turned sharply round, uttering inarticulate cries, and then, as suddenly, he lifted his horse with his spurs and his knees, and galloped forward in pursuit of some imaginary enemy.

The soldiers, terrified at this terrible crisis, of which they could not divine the cause, and filled with grief at seeing him in this unhappy state, rode after him without knowing in what way to restore him the reason which seemed to be abandoning him.

On approaching Valdivia, although still at some distance from it, they were surprised to see, at this advanced hour of the night, innumerable lights shining in the direction of the city. Don Gregorio, Don Tadeos most faithful friend, was overpowered with grief at beholding him in such a dreadful state, and tried every means to restore to him that reason which appeared every moment to be about to leave him perhaps for ever.

All at once an idea struck him, and Don Gregorio urged his horse forward, pricking it with point of his dagger to increase its speed. The noble animal lowered its head, snorted loudly, and darted off like an arrow. After a few minutes of this wild course, Don Gregorio turned his horse short round upon its hind quarters, and without relaxing his speed, retraced his steps like a whirlwind. He and Don Tadeo were now galloping in a contrary direction, and must inevitably cross or clash. As they met, Don Gregorio seized the curb rein of his friend's horse with a grasp of iron, and giving it a sudden check, stopped it short.

"Don Tadeo de León!" Don Gregorio cried; "have you forgotten Doña Rosario, your daughter?"

At the name of his daughter, a convulsive trembling ran over Don Tadeos limbs.

"My daughter!" he cried in a piercing tone, "oh I restore me my daughter!"

Suddenly a cadaverous paleness covered his countenance, his eyes closed, the reins dropped from his hands, and he sank backwards. But, quick as thought, his friend had sprung to the earth, and caught him in his arms; Don Tadeo had fainted.

"He is saved!" said Don Gregorio.

All these rough soldiers, whom no danger had the power to astonish or move, breathed a sigh of relief at hearing this word of hope. Several blankets and cloaks were quickly suspended to the branches of the tree under which the chief was placed for shelter. And all, mute and motionless, with their bridles passed under their arms, stood awaiting with anxiety the restoration to life of the man whom they loved as a father.

Nearly an hour passed away. Don Gregorio, bending over his friend, watched with an anxious eye the progress of the crisis. By degrees, the convulsive trembling which shook the body grew calmer, and he sank into complete immobility. Then Don Gregorio tore open Don Tadeo's sleeve, stripped his right arm, drew his dagger and opened a vein. No blood issued at first; but, at length, after a few seconds, a black drop, of the size of a pins head, appeared at the mouth of the wound; it increased progressively, and, at length, then followed by a second, and at the expiration of two minutes, a long stream of foaming black blood sprang from the orifice.

At length his teeth, which had remained clenched moved, and he heaved a sigh. The blood had lost the bituminous colour it at first wore, and had become red. He opened his eyes, and cast around an astonished look.

"Where am I?" he murmured faintly.

"Thank God! you are safe, dear friend!" Don Gregorio answered, he placed his thumb upon the wound; "what a fright you have given us!"

"What does all this mean?" said Don Tadeo, in a firmer voice; "tell me, Don Gregorio, what has happened?"

"Faith! it is all my fault," the latter replied. "This will teach me to choose my horses myself another time, and not leave it to a peon."

"Pray explain yourself, my friend; I do not understand you; I am so weak."

"Well you may be; you have had a terrible fall."

"Ah!" said Don Tadeo, "do you think so?"

"Caspita! Do I think so? Ask these caballeros. A miracle has saved you!"

"It is very singular! I cannot recollect anything of what you speak. When we left our friends all at once, the storm broke out."

"That was it! and your recollection is correct. Your horse took fright at a flash of lightning and ran away. When we came up with you, you were lying senseless in a ravine."

"What you say must be true, for I feel bruised, and my whole frame seems weak and exhausted."

"That is it! But, I repeat, fortunately you are not wounded; only I thought it best to bleed you."

"I thank you; the bleeding has done me good, my head is not so hot, my ideas are more calm! Thank you, my friend," he added, taking his hand.

"Perhaps you are not strong enough yet to sit on horseback." he said.

"Yes, I assure you, my strength is completely restored; besides, time presses."

Saying these words, Don Tadeo rose, and asked for his horse. A soldier was holding it by the bridle. Don Tadeo examined it attentively. The poor animal was filthy; it looked as if it had literally been rolled in the mud. Don Tadeo knitted his brow; he could not make it out. Don Gregorio laughed in his sleeve; it was by his orders that, to mislead his friend, the horse had been put in this condition.

"I can but wonder," said Don Tadeo, "when looking at this poor beast, how we both escaped!"

"Is it not incomprehensible?" Don Gregorio replied; "we can none of us account for it."

"Are we far from the city?"

"A league at most."

"Let us hasten on, then;" and the troop set off at a gallop.

This time Don Tadeo and his friend rode side by side, talking as they went, in a low voice of the means to be taken to thwart the attempts of General Bustamente. Don Tadeo had recovered all his coolness. His ideas had again become clear. One man alone was a stranger to all we have related. This was Don Ramón Sandias. The poor senator, soaked with rain, terrified at the storm, and muffled in his cloak up to the eyes, seemed to live quite mechanically. He only wished for one thing, and that was to gain some place of shelter; so he kept on and on, without knowing what he did, or whether the others followed him or not. He arrived in this manner at Valdivia, and was about to pass on when he was stopped by a man who seized his bridle.

"Hola? eh, caballero, are you asleep?" a rough voice cried.

He started with fear, and ventured to uncover one eye.

"No," he said, in a hoarse voice; "on the contrary, I am but too wide awake."

"Where do you come from, alone, so late?" the man who had before spoken continued.

"What do you mean by 'alone'?" said Don Ramón, recovering his spirits a little—"do you take my companions for nothing?"

"Your companions! What companions are you talking about?" cried several voices.

Don Ramón looked round with a terrified air.

"Well, that's true!" he said. "I am alone. What on earth has become of the others?"

"What others?" the first speaker rejoined; "we see nobody."

"Caramba!" the senator impatiently replied, "I mean Don Gregorio and his soldiers."

"What! are you part of Don Gregorios troop?" the people cried from all sides.

"To be sure I am," said the senator; "but pray let me get under shelter, for the rain pours terribly."

"You need not mind that," said a joker; "you can't be wetter than you are!"

"That's true," he replied.

"Do you know whether Don Gregorio has met with Don Tadeo de León?" Several voices asked simultaneously.

"Yes, they are coming together."

"Are they far off?"

"How the devil can I tell?"

At hearing this, the people who had stopped him dispersed in all directions, crying. "Don Tadeo is coming!" without taking any further notice of the half-drowned senator, who implored them in vain to direct him to a place of shelter. No one replied to him; all were busy lighting torches, or rousing the inhabitants of the houses, either by knocking at their doors, or calling them by their names.

"Válgame Dios!" the senator murmured in despair; "these people are all mad to run about the streets in such weather as this! Am I going to be present at another revolution?"

And spurring his horse, which was almost knocked up, he moved on with much ado, shaking his head dismally, to seek some hospitable roof where he might dry his clothes and get a few hours of repose.

CHAPTER XXIII.

PLAN OF CAMPAIGN.

Don Tadeo's entrance into Valdivia was truly a triumphant one. Notwithstanding the rain, which fell in torrents, the whole population was drawn up in the streets as he passed through, holding in their hands torches, whose flames, agitated by the wind, shed a pale, broken light, which was mingled with that of the constant electric flashes. The cries of joy of the inhabitants, the rolling of drums, were mingled with the peals of thunder and the furious hissing of the tempest.

Don Tadeo was much moved by this proof of love which the population offered him. He felt that, however great private interests may be, they are small in comparison with those of a people; that it is great and noble to sacrifice them to it, and that he who knows how to die bravely for the welfare of his fellow citizens fulfils a holy and a grand mission. His determination was formed at once. He drew his head proudly up, and saluted with a smile the joyous groups which pressed around him on his passage, clapping their hands and shouting "¡Viva Chile!" He arrived at the cabildo thus escorted.

He dismounted, ascended the steps of the palace, and turned towards the crowd. The immense square was paved with heads. The windows of the houses were thronged with people; and all the crowd were uttering deafening cries of joy. Don Tadeo saw that a few words were expected from him. He made a gesture, and a profound silence immediately prevailed.

"Dear fellow citizens!" said the King of Darkness, "my heart is touched more than I can express with the extraordinary mark of sympathy you have given me. You shall always see me in the front rank of those who fight for liberty. Be always united for the public welfare, and tyranny will never succeed in conquering you."

This little warm address was hailed with reiterated "¡Bravos!" and prolonged cries of "¡Viva Chile!"

Don Tadeo entered the palace. He there found assembled the superior officers, the alcaldes, and the principal leader of the Dark Hearts. All rose at his entrance. Since the King of Darkness had regained his popular enthusiasm he had recovered all his faculties.

"Caballeros," he said, "I am happy to find you assembled at the cabildo. Moments are precious. General Bustamente has allied himself with Antinahuel, the Grand Toqui of the Araucanos, in order the more easily to regain his power. This is the reason why he made his pronunciamiento in this remote province. Delivered by the Araucanos, he has taken refuge among them. We shall soon see him at the head of those ferocious warriors, invading our frontiers and desolating our richest provinces. I repeat to you our moments are precious! A bold initiative alone can save us. But, to take the initiative, I must have on my part, I whom you have made your leader, regular powers granted by the senate."

These words, whose justice every one acknowledged, created a profound sensation. To the serious objection raised by Don Tadeo, it was difficult to make a reply. Don Gregorio approached him, holding a folded paper in his hand.

"Take this," he said, presenting the open paper to Don Tadeo: "this is the reply of the senate of Santiago to the manifesto you addressed to them after the fall of the tyrant; it is an order which invests you with supreme power. As, after the victory, you resigned the power into my hands, I had kept this order secret. The moment is come to render it public. Don Tadeo de León! you are our leader."

At this intelligence all present arose with delight, crying with enthusiasm, "¡Viva Don Tadeo de León!"

He took the paper and ran his eyes over the contents.

"That is well," he said, returning it to Don Gregorio, with a smile, "now I am free to act."

The members of the assembly resumed their seats.

"Caballeros," Don Tadeo continued, "as I told you, a bold initiative alone can save us. We must defeat our adversary by promptness. You know the man, you know he possesses all the necessary qualities for a good general; he will not therefore fall asleep in a false security; while his ally, Antinahuel, is an intrepid chief, endowed with boundless ambition. These two men, united by the same interests, may, if we do not take care, give us a great deal to do; we must therefore attack them both at once. This is what I propose: if the plan I am about to submit to you appears vicious, as we are assembled in council, you will discuss it."

He continued—

"We will divide our forces into two parts; the first shall go by forced marches, and attack Arauca. This expedition, the sole object of which is to divide the forces of our adversaries, ought to be made in a manner which will oblige them to send important reinforcements. A second division, composed of all the men in the province capable of bearing arms, will march upon the Bio Bio, in order to lend a hand to the troops of the province of Concepción.

"But," a superior officer objected, "permit me, Don Tadeo, to say that in your plan you forget one thing."

"What is that, señor?"

"Is not this province more exposed than any other?"

"You connect the events which are about to take place there with those that have preceded them."

"Doubtless I do."

"And that is where your error lies. When Don Pancho Bustamente caused himself to be proclaimed in Valdivia, he had good reasons. This province is remote—isolated; the general hoped to make a war depot of it, and to establish himself solidly there, thanks to his allies. That plan was well conceived, it offered great chances of success. But at the present moment the question is completely changed: the general has no longer anything to rely on in this province. In my opinion we must bar his road to the capital, and force him to accept battle. As to the province of Valdivia, it is not threatened in any way; only, as in such circumstances we cannot employ too much prudence, a civil militia must be instituted in order to defend its hearths. Don Gregorio, you will take the command of the troops destined to act against Arauca. I reserve for myself the command of the army of the Bio Bio. This morning, at daybreak, Señor the Alcalde Mayor, you will cause a bando to be published in all the provinces announcing that voluntary enrolments, at a demi-piastre per day, are opened. You, Colonel Gutierrez, I name governor of the province; your first care must be to organise the civic guard."

"Your Excellency may depend upon me," the colonel replied.

"I have known you for a length of time, colonel, and I know I can leave you to act with full confidence," said Tadeo, with a smile.

The members of the assembly retired, after having again proclaimed their devotion to the good cause. Don Tadeo and Don Gregorio were left alone. Don Tadeo was quite another man. Don Gregorio looked at him with astonishment.

"Brother," said Don Tadeo, "this time we must conquer or die. You will be near me in the hour of battle; you will leave your command when at a few leagues from the city, for it is at my side you must fight."

"Thanks!" said Don Gregorio, "thanks."

"This tyrant, against whom we are going once more to measure ourselves must die."

"He shall die."

"From among the Dark Hearts select ten men, who must be employed specially in pursuit of Bustamente."

"Depend upon me."

"Send directly Don Ramón Sandias to the governor of Concepción, to warn him to be upon his guard."

Don Gregorio bowed, and retired laughing.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A DISAGREEABLE MISSION.

Instead of taking a few hours of repose, Don Tadeo, as soon as he was alone, seated himself at a table, and began to send off orders.

Several hours had passed away thus; the morning was advanced, and Don Tadeo had despatched all his couriers. At this moment Don Ramón Sandias appeared.

"Well, Don Ramón," Don Tadeo said in a friendly accent, "you are still among us."

"Yes, Excellency," the senator replied.

"Have you cause to complain, Don Ramón?" asked Don Tadeo.

"Oh, no!" said the senator, "quite the contrary."

"I am ready to weep tears of blood when I reflect that I have allowed myself to be seduced by a silly ambition, which—"

"Well, what you have lost, if you like, I will restore to you," said Don Tadeo.

"Oh! speak! speak! what would I not do for that?"

"Even return among the Aucas?" said Don Tadeo.

"Why, no—"

"Stop a moment!" Don Tadeo interrupted; "this is what I expect of you: listen attentively."

"I listen, your Excellency," the senator replied, bowing humbly.

Don Gregorio entered.

"What is the matter?" asked Don Tadeo.

"The Indian named Joan, who once served you as a guide, has just arrived."

"Let him come in! let him come in!" cried Don Tadeo, rising.

Joan now entered.

"What brings you here?" asked Don Tadeo. "Speak! my friend!"

"The white chiefs are preparing to set out upon the track of Antinahuel."

"God bless them! they are noble hearts!" Don Tadeo exclaimed.

"My father was sad last night when he parted from us."

"Yes, yes," the poor father murmured.

"Before taking the track, Don Valentine felt his heart softened at the thoughts of the uneasiness you would doubtless experience; he therefore made his brother with the dove's eyes trace this necklace."

Saying these words, he drew out the letter which was carefully concealed under the ribbon that confined his hair, and presented it to Don Tadeo.

"Thanks!" cried the father as he placed the letter in his bosom and held out his hand graciously to the warrior; "thanks to those who sent you, and thanks to you, my brother: you shall remain with me, and when the moment arrives you shall conduct me to my daughter."

"I will do so; my father may depend upon me."

"I do depend upon you, Joan."

"I am at the service of my father, as is the horse which the warrior mounts," Joan replied, respectfully.

"One instant," said Don Tadeo, clapping his hands, to which a servant responded.

"I desire," he said, in an emphatic manner, "that every respect he paid to this warrior: he is my friend, and is at liberty to do just as he likes; let everything be given to him that he asks for."

The Indian warrior left the apartment.

"A noble nature!" cried Don Tadeo.

"Yes." said Don Ramón, "for a savage."

The King of Darkness was recalled to himself by the voice which thus mingled its harsh notes with his thoughts; his eyes fell upon the senator, whom he no longer thought of.

"Ah!" said he, "I had forgotten you, Don Ramón."

The latter bit his tongue and repented too late.

"Did you not tell me," Don Tadeo resumed, "that you would give a great deal to be at your hacienda?"

The senator shook his head affirmatively.

"I will offer you," Don Tadeo continued, "a chance of regaining the happiness you sigh for. You will set out immediately for Concepción. One would think you did not like the mission."

"I will go."

"That is well; a pleasant journey to you."

The senator asked—

"If the Araucanians surprise me, and get possession of this paper?"

"You will be shot—that's all," said Don Tadeo.

"Why, this is a trap!" the terrified senator exclaimed.

"You have but twenty minutes to make the preparations for your departure."

The senator seized the letter eagerly, and, without replying, rushed out of the room like a madman. Don Tadeo could not repress a smile at his extreme terror, and said to himself—

"Poor devil! he little suspects that I should be highly pleased if the Araucanians obtained the paper."

"Everything is ready," said Don Gregorio, entering.

"That is well. Let the troops be drawn up in two bodies just outside the city. Where is Joan?"

"I am here," the latter replied, coming forward.

"I wish to confide to my brother a mission of life and death."

"I will accomplish it, or die in the attempt."

"Deliver this necklace to the Spanish general, Fuentes, who commands in Concepción." Don Tadeo drew from his breast a dagger of a curious shape, the bronze knob of which served as a seal. "My brother will also take this dagger; on seeing it the general will know that Joan comes from me."

"Good," the warrior replied, taking the weapon.

"That weapon is poisoned—: the slightest scratch will inflict certain death."

"Oh—oh!" said the Indian, "that is indeed a good weapon! When shall I set out?"

"A horse shall be given to my brother, to whom I have only one more word to say: let him take care not to get killed; I would have him return to me."

"I shall come back again," said the Indian, confidently. "Farewell."

Don Tadeo and Don Gregorio left the cabildo. The orders of the King of Darkness had been executed with the greatest punctuality and promptitude. Two bodies of troops were drawn up; one, of nine hundred men, was charged with the attack on Arauca, the other, of nearly two thousand, under the immediate orders of Don Tadeo himself.

In addition to a numerous troop of cavalry, the Chilians took with them ten pieces of mountain artillery. The troops filed off at a quick step before the inhabitants, who saluted them with hearty shouts.

When they were about to separate, Don Tadeo took his friend aside.

"This evening, when you have established your camp for the night, Don Gregorio," he said, "you will give up the command to your lieutenant and rejoin me."

"That is understood; I thank you for the favour you confer upon me."

After a last shake of the hands the two leaders separated, to place themselves at the head of their respective troops, which were advancing rapidly into the plain.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE KITE AND THE DOVE.

General Bustamente had taken advantage of the sudden good-will that Antinahuel had shown towards him; so that two days after the events we have related the Araucanian army was strongly entrenched upon the Bio Bio. Antinahuel, like an experienced chief, had established his camp at the summit of a wooded hill. A screen of trees had been left to conceal the presence of the army. The various contingents had arrived in great haste at the rendezvous, and more came in every minute. The total force of the army was, at that moment, about nine thousand men. Black Stag, with a troop of chosen warriors, beat the country in all directions, in order to surprise the enemy's scouts.

Antinahuel had retired under his toldo with the Linda and Doña Rosario. She bore upon her pale countenance traces of the fatigues she had undergone. She stood, with downcast eyes, before the Toqui.

"My brother sees that I have kept my promise," said the Linda.

"Yes," the Toqui replied; "I thank my sister."

"My brother is a great warrior, he has but one word; before entering the territories of the Huincas, it will be as well to determine the fate of his prisoner."

"This young maiden is not my prisoner," Antinahuel remarked; "she shall be my wife."

"So be it," said the Linda, shrugging her shoulders.

"My sister is fatigued," said the chief. "A toldo is prepared for my sister; she shall repose a few hours."

"Chief," she replied, "my body feels no fatigue; I am strong. Your mosotones were very kind to me."

"Their chief had ordered them to do so," Antinahuel said, gallantly.

"I thank you for having given these orders."

"I love my sister," said the Toqui.

The young lady did not at all understand this blunt declaration of love.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, innocently, "you love me—you have pity on me."

"I will make every effort to make my sister happy."

"Oh! it would be so easy to do that, if you really wished it!" she cried.

"What must I do for that? I am ready to obey my sister."

"Is that really true?"

"Let my sister speak," said the chief.

"The tears of a poor girl can only render a great warrior like you sad!"

"That is truth," he remarked, mildly.

"Restore me to my friends!" she cried, in an excited manner.

Antinahuel drew back quite astounded, biting his lips with anger. The Linda burst into a loud laugh.

"You see," she said, "it is very easy for you to render her happy."

The chief knitted his brow still more ferociously.

"Come, brother," the Linda continued, "do not be angry; leave me to have a moment's chat with her."

"What to do?" the Toqui asked, impatiently.

"Caramba! why, to explain your intentions clearly to her."

"Well, then——"

"Only be so kind as to observe that in nowise will I answer for disposing her in your favour."

"Ah! To what purpose, then, will you talk?"

"I will undertake that, after our conversation, she shall know perfectly what she has to expect from you with regard to herself."

"My sister has a golden tongue—she will prevail."

"Hum! I do not think so; nevertheless I will try, in order to make myself agreeable," she added.

"Very well; and during that conversation I will visit the camp."

"Do so," said the Linda.

Antinahuel went out, after darting at the young girl a look which made her cast down her eyes. Left alone with Rosario, the Linda examined her for an instant with such an expression of malignant hatred, that the poor girl felt herself tremble. The sight of this woman produced upon her the strange effect attributed to the look of the serpent; she felt herself fascinated by the cold glance of the green eyes that were fixed upon her in a manner which she could not endure. After a few minutes the Linda said, in a cutting voice—

"Poor girl! Although you have been nearly a month a prisoner, can you at all divine what induced me to have carried you off?"

"I do not comprehend you, señora," the young lady replied, mildly; "your words are enigmas to me; I in vain endeavour to discover their meaning."

"Oh! poor, innocent thing!" the courtesan replied, with a mocking laugh; "and yet I fancy that on the night we were face to face at the village of San Miguel, I spoke to you pretty plainly."

"All it was possible for me to understand, señora, was, that you hate me."

"As the fact exists, of what importance is the reason? Yes, I hate you, insignificant thing! But I do not even know you! While avenging myself upon you, it is not you I hate; but the man who loves you; whose heart is broken at your tears! But the torments I reserve for you are nothing, if he is ignorant of them."

"God is just, señora," the maiden replied, firmly. "I do not know what crimes you meditate, but He will watch over me."

"God! miserable, puny creature!" cried the Linda. "God is but a word; He does not exist."

"He will not fail me, señora," Doña Rosario replied. "Beware! lest soon bowed by His powerful hand, you, in your turn, may implore His mercy in vain."

"Begone, miserable child; your threats only inspire me with contempt."

"I do not threaten, señora; I am an unfortunate young girl. I only endeavour to soften you."

"Vain are your prayers," she added; "when my hour comes I will ask for no more mercy than I have had for you."

"God pardon you the evil you wish to do."

For the second time the Linda experienced an indefinable emotion, of which she in vain sought to explain the cause; but she fortified herself against this secret presentiment which appeared to warn her that her vengeance would mislead herself.

"Listen!" she said, in a short, sharp tone; "it was I who had you carried off, as you are aware; but you know not for what purpose, do you? The man who has just left us, Antinahuel, the chief of the Araucanos, is a vile wretch! He has conceived a passion for you, an impure, monstrous passion. His mother wished to divert his mind from this passion, and he killed his mother."

"Oh!" the young girl exclaimed, penetrated with horror.

"You tremble, do you not?" the Linda continued; "that man is an abject being! He has no heart but for crime! He knows no laws but those which his passions and vices impose upon him! Well, this hideous being—this odious villain loves you; I tell you he is in love with you—do you understand me?"

"Oh, you cannot have sold me to this man!" the maiden shrieked in a state of stupefaction.

"I have," she replied, grinding her teeth; "and were it to be begun again, I would do it again! Oh, you do not know what happiness I experience in seeing you, a white dove, rolled in the mud."

"But have you no heart, señora?"

"No, I no longer have; it is long since it was tortured and broken by despair."

For a moment the maiden was overcome.

"Pity, señora!" she cried, in a piercing tone; "oh, you have said you had a heart once! You have loved! In the name of him you loved, have pity—pity for me."

"No, no pity, none was felt for me!" and she pushed her away.

"Señora! in the name of one you have loved, pity."

"I love nothing now but vengeance!" she cried; "it is good to hate; a woman forgets her insults through it."

Doña Rosario did not hear these frightful words; a prey to despair, she continued to weep and supplicate; but the word child struck her ear; a light flashed across her brain.

"Oh, señora!" she cried, "I knew you were good, and that I should succeed in softening you!"

"What does this folly mean?" said the Linda.

"Señora!" Rosario implored, "you have had children! you have loved them! oh, loved them dearly!"

"Silence, unhappy wretch!" cried the Linda; "silence; speak not to me of my daughter!"

"Yes," Rosario continued, "that is it; it was a daughter. Oh, you adored her, señora!"

"Adored my daughter!" cried the Linda, with the roar of a hyena.

"In the name of that beloved daughter, pity!"

The Linda broke suddenly into a frantic laugh. "Miserable fool! what a remembrance have you evoked!—It is to avenge my daughter! my daughter! who was stolen from me, that I wish to make of you the most unhappy of creatures."

Doña Rosario remained for an instant as if struck by a thunderbolt, but looking the courtesan full in the face, said—

"Señora, you have no heart—be then accursed. As to me, I shall be taught how to extricate myself from the outrages you vainly threaten me with."

And, with a movement as quick as thought, she snatched from the girdle of the Linda a narrow, sharp-pointed dagger.

The Linda sprang towards her.

"Stop, señora," the maiden said to her, resolutely; "one step farther, and I stab myself! Oh, I no longer fear you!"

Doña Rosarios look was so firm, her countenance so determined, that the Linda stopped.

"Well," Rosario resumed, with a smile of contempt, "you no longer triumph now; you are no longer certain of your vengeance; let the man you threaten me with dare to approach me, and I will plunge this dagger into my heart."

The Linda looked at her, but made no reply; she was conquered.

At that moment a great tumult was heard in the camp; hurried steps approached the toldo in which the two women were. The Linda resumed her seat, and composed her features. Doña Rosario, with a joyful smile, concealed the dagger.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE END OF DON RAMÓN'S JOURNEY.

In the meantime Don Ramón had left Valdivia. This time the senator was alone—alone with his horse, a poor, lean, half-foundered beast, which hobbled along with its head and ears down, and appeared in all points to harmonise with the sad thoughts which doubtless occupied its master's mind.

The future by no means appeared to him pleasant. He had left Valdivia under a threat of death; at every step he expected to be aimed at by some invisible gun. Being conscious that he could not impose upon the enemies, doubtless disseminated over his route, by any appearance of strength or power, he determined to impose upon them by his weakness—that is to say, he got rid of all his arms. At a few leagues distance from Valdivia he had been passed by Joan. Don Ramón watched him for a long time with a look of envy.

"What happy fellows these Indians are!" he grumbled; "the desert belongs to them. Ah!" he added, with a sigh; "if I were but at Casa Azul."

Casa Azul was the senator's quinta—that quinta with white walls, green blinds, and leafy bowers, which he so much regretted having left in a moment of silly ambition, and which he never hoped to see again. When he passed by a wood, or along a narrow way between two mountains, he cast terrified glances around him, and entered the suspicious passage, murmuring—

"This is where they are waiting for me!"

And when the wood was passed, and the dangerous lane cleared, instead of felicitating himself upon being still safe and sound, he said, with a shake of the head—

"Hum! the Pícaros! they know very well I cannot escape them, and they are playing with me as a cat does with a mouse."

And yet two days had passed away without a mishap, nothing had occurred to corroborate the senator's suspicions and uneasiness. He had that morning crossed the ford of the Carampangne, and was drawing near to the Bio Bio which he hoped to reach by sunset.

But the Bio Bio had to be crossed, and there lay the difficulty. The river has but one ford, a little above Concepción. The senator knew it perfectly well but a secret presentiment told him not to approach it. Unfortunately Don Ramón had no choice, he could take no other road.

The senator hesitated as long as Cæsar did at the famous passage of the Rubicon; at length, as there were no means of doing otherwise, Don Ramón very unwillingly spurred on his horse, and advanced towards the ford, recommending himself to the protection of all the saints of the Spanish golden legend.

The horse was tired, but the smell of the water renovated its strength, and it cantered gaily on with the infallible instinct of these noble beasts, without pausing in the inextricable windings which crossed each other in the high grass. Although the river was not yet visible, Don Ramón could hear the roaring of the waters. He was passing by, at the moment, a dark hill, from the thickly-wooded sides of which proceeded, at intervals, sounds which he could not make out. The animal too, as much alarmed as its master, pricked up its ears and redoubled its speed. Don Ramón scarcely ventured to breathe, and looked in all directions with the greatest terror. He was close to the ford, when suddenly a rough voice smote his ear and rendered him as motionless as if he had been changed into a block of marble. Half a score Indian warriors surrounded him on all sides; these warriors were commanded by Black Stag.

It was a strange circumstance, but when the first moment of terror was past, the senator completely recovered himself—now that he knew what he had to trust to, the danger which he had so long dreaded was before him, but less terrific than he had supposed it to be. Black Stag examined him carefully, and at length placed his hand upon the bridle of his horse, saying, as he endeavoured to recall a half-effaced remembrance—

"It seems to me that I have seen the paleface somewhere?"

"To be sure," the senator replied; "we are old friends."

"I am not the friend of the Huincas," the Indian said, sternly.

"I mean," Don Ramón corrected himself, "we are old acquaintances."

"Good! what is the Chiapla doing here?"

"Hum!" the senator said; "I am doing nothing."

"Let the paleface reply clearly; a chief is questioning him," Black Stag said, frowning.

"I ask no better," Don Ramón replied, in a conciliating tone. "Question me."

"Where is the paleface going?"

"Where am I going? When you stopped me I was preparing to cross the Bio Bio."

"Good! And when you had crossed the Bio Bio?"

"Oh, then I should have hastened to gain my quinta, which I am very sorry I ever quitted."

"Doubtless the paleface is charged with some mission?"

"Who, I?" said the senator, in the most careless way possible; "Who do you think would charge me with a mission?"

"Good! Where is the necklace?"

"What necklace do you mean?"

"The one which you have to deliver to the chief of Concepción."

"Who! I?"

"Yes, you."

"I have none."

"My brother speaks well: Aucas warriors are not women, they know how to discover what is hidden."

Any resistance was impossible, and if it had not been, Don Ramón was not the man to have attempted it; hence he obeyed, and his horse was led away.

"The paleface will follow me," Black Stag commanded.

"Hum!" said Don Ramón, "where are you going?"

"To the Toqui and the Great Eagle of the Whites."

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" said Don Ramón to himself.

The warriors led their prisoner among the coppice. After a short ascent they arrived at the camp. General Bustamente and Antinahuel were conversing as they walked about.

"What have you there?" asked the general.

"A prisoner," Black Stag replied.

"Eh, what!" said the general, "it is my honourable friend, Don Ramón!"

"Yes—worse luck—"

"How can that be? Were you not seeking me?"

"God forbid!" the senator cried.

"Look there, now; why, then, where were you going alone thus?"

"I was going to my own home."

The general and Antinahuel exchanged a few words.

"Come with us, Don Ramón," the general rejoined, "the Toqui wishes to have some conversation."

"With pleasure," said Don Ramón; and cursing his evil star he followed the two men into the toldo.

The warriors who had brought the senator remained without, to execute the orders they might receive.

"You said," the general continued, as soon as they were in the toldo, "that you were going home at Casa Azul."

"Yes, general."

"Why that sigh? nothing that I am aware of will be opposed to the continuation of your journey."

"Do you mean that?" the senator exclaimed.

"Hum! that depends entirely upon yourself."

"How so?"

"Deliver up to the Toqui the order which Don Tadeo de León has charged you."

"What order do you mean, general?"

"Why, the one you probably have."

"You are mistaken, general; I am not charged with any mission to General Fuentes, I am sure."

"And yet the Toqui asserts the contrary."

"This man lies; he must have a necklace," said Antinahuel.

"It is very easy to ascertain that." said the general, coolly. "Black Stag, my friend, please to have this caballero suspended by the thumbs to the next tree."

The senator shuddered.

"I beg you to observe," the general continued, "that we do not commit the rudeness of searching you."

"But I assure you I have no order."

"Bah! and I am certain you will find one—there is nothing like being suspended by the thumbs."

"Come," said Black Stag.

The senator bounded away from him with fear.

"Well, I think I recollect——" he stammered.

"There, you see."

"That I am the bearer of a letter."

"Just as I said you were."

"But I am ignorant of its contents."

"Caramba! that is very likely."

"Well, to General Fuentes, I suppose. But if I give you up the paper shall I be free?" he asked.

"Hum! the position is changed. If you had given it up with a good grace I could have guaranteed your freedom."

"Still!"

"Come, give it to me."

"Here it is," said the senator, drawing it from his bosom.

The general took the paper, ran his eye rapidly over it, then drawing Antinahuel to the other extremity of the toldo, they talked together for some minutes in a low voice. At length the general turned towards the senator.

"Unhappy fool!" he said, sternly; "Is it thus you betray me, after the proofs of friendship I have given you?"

"I assure you, general—" the other began.

"Silence, you miserable spy!" the general replied; "You wished to sell me to my enemies, but God has not permitted the execution of so black a project."

The senator was annihilated.

"Take away this man," said Antinahuel.

The poor wretch struggled in vain in the hands of the Indian warriors, who seized him roughly, and dragged him out of the toldo, in spite of his cries and tears. Black Stag led them to the foot of an enormous espino, whose thick branches formed a wide shadow on the hill. When they arrived there, Don Ramón made a last and powerful effort, escaped from the hands of his surprised guards, and darted away like a madman up the steep acclivity of the mountain.

But this wild race lasted only a few minutes, and quite exhausted his strength. When the Indian warriors overtook him, which they easily did, terror had already nearly killed him. The warriors placed the noose of a lasso round his neck, and then threw it up over the principal branch of the espino. But he was dead when they hanged him—fright had killed him. It was written that poor Don Ramón Sandias, the victim of a foolish ambition, should never see Casa Azul again.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE AUCA-COYOG.

The tragical death of the senator was only the consequence of his well-known pusillanimity. If the general had believed it possible to place any reliance upon his word, he would have released him immediately.

Immediately after the execution of the senator, the heralds convened the chiefs to a grand Auca-coyog. Thirty Ulmens and Apo-Ulmens were quickly assembled at the place appointed. Antinahuel soon appeared, followed by General Bustamente. Antinahuel held in his hand the letter taken from Don Ramón, and he spoke as follows:—

"Ulmens, Apo-Ulmens, and chiefs of the four Uthal-mapus of the Araucanian confederacy, I have convoked you by the heralds to communicate to you a necklace taken from the spy who by my order has just been put to death. This necklace will cause us to alter our arrangements, I think, for the malocca, on account of which we have assembled. Our ally, the Great Eagle of the Whites, will explain it to you. Let my brother read," he added, turning towards the general.

The latter read with a loud voice:—

"'MY DEAR GENERAL,—I have submitted to the council assembled at Valdivia the objections you have thought it your duty to make on the subject of the plan of the campaign. These objections have been found just; consequently the following plan has been modified according to your observations. You will continue, then, to cover the province of Concepción, by holding the line of the Bio Bio, which you will not cross without fresh orders. On my side, with seven thousand men, I will march upon Arauca, of which I will take possession and destroy. This plan offers us the more chances of success, from the enemy being, as we learn from trustworthy spies, in a deceitful security with regard to our movements. The bearer of this order is a person you know, whose nullity itself will facilitate the means of passing through the enemy's lines. You will get rid of this individual by sending him to his home, with an injunction not to leave it.'"

"'Signed,
DON TADEO DE LEÓN,'"
"'Dictator and General-in-Chief of'"
"'the Army of Liberation."

The reading of this despatch was listened to by the chiefs with the deepest attention.

"This necklace," said Antinahuel, "was traced in private characters, which our brother the paleface has succeeded in deciphering. What do the Ulmens think?"

One of the ancient Toquis arose.

"The palefaces are very cunning," he said; "they are foxes in malice and jaguars in ferocity. This order is a snare for the good faith of the Aucas. But Aucas warriors are wise; they will laugh at the machinations of the Huincas, and will continue to guard the ford of the Bio Bio. The communications of the whites are cut off, like a serpent whose body has been divided by a stroke of the hatchet: they in vain seek to unite the various trunks of their army, but they will not succeed. I have spoken."

This speech, pronounced in a firm, clear voice, by one of the most justly respected chiefs of the nation, produced a certain effect.

"The chief has spoken well," said the general; "I coincide entirely with his opinion."

Another chief then arose and spoke in his turn.

"The whites are very cunning, as my father has said; they are foxes without courage—they can only massacre women and children, and run away at the sight of an Aucas warrior. But this necklace tells the truth, and translates their thoughts literally. Chiefs, we all have wives and children, and we ought in the first place to think of their safety. Let us be prudent, chiefs; let us not throw ourselves into a snare while we think we are laying one for our enemies."

The Araucanos have a deep affection for their families; and the idea of leaving them behind, exposed to the disasters of war, gave them great uneasiness. General Bustamente anxiously followed the fluctuations of the council.

"What my brother has remarked is just, but his opinions only rest upon an hypothesis; the whites do not employ forces in such numbers to attempt an invasion of the Araucano territory. Let my brothers leave in the camp a thousand resolute warriors to defend the passage, and at nightfall cross the Bio Bio boldly, and I will answer for their success."

"My brother is a skilful warrior," said Antinahuel; "the plan he proposes shows his experience. As he says, until I have proof to the contrary, I shall believe the necklace to be a deceit; and that we ought, this very night, to invade the territories of the whites."

The general breathed freely; his cause, he thought, was gained. Suddenly Black Stag entered, and took his place in the assembly.

"What is going on?" the Toqui asked.

"Listen!" said Black Stag, in a solemn tone; "Illecura, Borea, and Nagotten have been given up to the flames, and the inhabitants put to the sword; another body of troops, still more considerable than the first, is acting in the flat country in the same manner as the other in the maritime country."

The most violent agitation seized on the Ulmens; nothing was heard but cries of rage and despair.

"What do we wait for, chiefs of the Aucas?" cried the chief who had advised retreat, in a shrill, excited tone; "Do you not hear the cries of your wives and children calling upon you for succour? Do you not see the flames which are consuming your dwellings and devouring your harvests? To arms! warriors, to arms!"

"To arms!" the warriors yelled, rising as one man.

Indescribable confusion followed. General Bustamente retired with death in his heart.

"Well!" the Linda asked, on seeing him enter, "what is going on? What mean these cries and this frightful tumult? Have the Indians revolted?"

"No," the general explained, "Don Tadeo, that demon, bent upon my destruction, has disconcerted all my plans. The Indian army is about to retreat."

"To retreat!" the Linda cried furiously, and rushing towards Antinahuel—

"What! you! you fly! you confess yourself conquered! Don Tadeo de León, the executioner of your family, is marching against you, and you are frightened! Coward! coward! put on petticoats; you are not a warrior! you are not a man; you are an old woman."

The Toqui put her back with disdain.

"Woman, you are mad!" he said. "What can one man do against fate? I do not fly from my enemy, I go to meet him."

"My sister cannot remain here," he said, in a softened tone; "the camp is about to be broken up."

The poor girl followed mechanically, without reply.

A few minutes later the camp was struck, and the Araucanos abandoned the impregnable position. At the reiterated entreaties of Bustamente, Antinahuel consented to leave a chosen band of eight hundred warriors to defend the passage.

Black Stag was a prudent warrior. As soon as the night came on, he dispersed scouts in all directions upon the banks of the river. Yielding, in spite of himself, to the influence produced by the report of the spies, he had, in the first moment, advised retreat; but, upon reflection, it was not long before he suspected a ruse de guerre.

His suspicions had not deceived him. Between eleven and twelve o'clock at night, his scouts came hastily in to warn him that a long line of horsemen had lately left the Chilian bank, and were gliding along like an immense serpent near the ford. Black Stag had but two hundred and fifty warriors armed with guns, so he placed them in the first line upon the bank, supported by his lancers. When they deemed them within range the Araucano warriors made a discharge upon the horsemen who were crossing the river. Several fell. At the same instant four pieces of cannon were unmasked on the opposite bank, which spread death and terror among the Indians.

A strong detachment had, in the meantime, cleared the ford, and fell upon them with the utmost fury. From that time the struggle had no equality. The Aucas, notwithstanding their courage, were obliged to give ground, leaving nearly two hundred dead on the banks of the river.

The plan conceived by Don Tadeo de León had completely succeeded. The army of General Fuentes had forced the passage of the Bio Bio. Thus, thanks to the ruse employed by the dictator, the ground upon which the quarrel was to be decided was changed, and the Aucas were forced to defend themselves at home. Instead of invaders, as they wished to be, they found themselves, on the contrary, the invaded; the campaign might now be terminated by the gaining of a single battle.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE HUMAN SACRIFICE.

The army commanded by General Fuentes was composed of two thousand foot, eight hundred horse, and six pieces of cannon. It was an imposing force for these countries, where the population is very small, and where infinite pains are often required to raise an army half as numerous. As soon as the passage was effected, and the banks cleared of the fugitives, the general encamped his troops, resolved to give them a few hours' repose before resuming his march to form a junction with Don Tadeo de León. After giving these orders, as he was entering his marquee, an Indian came towards him.

"What do you want, Joan?" asked he.

"The great chief no longer needs me; Joan wishes to return to him who sent him."

"You are at liberty to do as you please, my friend; but I think you had better accompany the army."

The Indian shook his head.

"I promised my father to return immediately," he said.

"Go, then; I neither can nor wish to detain you; you can report what you have seen; a letter might compromise you in case of a surprise."

"I will do as the great chief commands."

"Well, good fortune attend you; but be particularly careful not to be taken in passing the enemy's lines."

"Joan will not be taken."

"Farewell! then, my friend," said the general, waving his hand as he entered his tent.

Joan took advantage of the permission granted and left the camp without delay. The night was dark; the moon was concealed behind thick clouds. The Indian directed his course with difficulty in the obscurity. He was more than once forced to retrace his steps, and to go wide about to avoid places which he thought dangerous. He proceeded thus, feeling his way as it were, till daybreak. At the first glimmering of dawn he glided like a serpent through the high grass, raising his head occasionally, and trembling in spite of himself, for he found he had, in the darkness, stumbled upon an Indian encampment. He had, inadvertently, got into the midst of the detachment commanded by Black Stag, who had succeeded in collecting the remains of his troops, and who, at that moment, formed the rearguard of the Araucanian army, whose bivouac fires smoked on the horizon, within distance of two leagues at the most.

But Joan was not a man to be easily disconcerted; he noticed that the sentinels had not yet perceived him, and he did not despair of getting out of the scrape he had blundered into. He did not, however deceive himself or attempt to fancy his position not critical; but as he confronted it coolly, he resolved to do all he could to extricate himself, and took his measures accordingly. After reflecting for a few seconds, he crept in a direction opposite to that he had before followed, stopping at intervals to listen. Everything went on well for a few minutes; nothing stirred. A profound silence seemed to hover over the country; Joan was beginning to breathe freely; in a few minutes he should be safe. Unfortunately, at that moment chance brought Black Stag directly before him; the vigilant chief had been making the round of his posts. The vice-Toqui turned his horse towards him.

"My brother must be tired; he has crept through the grass like a viper so long," he said, with an ironical smile; "he had better change his position."

"That is just what I am going to do," said Joan, without displaying the least astonishment.

And bounding up like a panther, he leaped upon the horse behind the chief, and seized him round the body.

"Help!" Black Stag cried, in a loud voice.

"One word more and you are a dead man!" Joan whispered in a threatening tone.

But it was too late; the chief's cry of alarm had been heard, and a crowd of warriors hastened to his succour.

"Cowardly dog!" said Joan, who saw his chance was gone, but who did not yet despair; "die then!" He plunged his poisoned dagger between his shoulders and cast him onto the ground, where the chief writhed in the agonies of death, and expired as if struck by thunderbolt. Joan lifted his horse with his knees and dashed full speed against the Indians who barred his passage. This attempt was a wild one. A warrior armed with a gun took a steady aim, the horse rolled upon the ground, with its skull crushed, and dragging its rider with it in the fall. Twenty warriors rushed upon Joan, and bound him before he could make a movement to defend himself. But he had time to conceal the dagger, which the Indians did not even think of looking for, as they did not know what weapon he had employed.

The death of Black Stag, one of the most respected warriors of the nation, threw the Araucanos into a state of consternation. An Ulmen immediately took the command in his place, and Joan and a Chilian soldier captured in the preceding combat, were sent together to the camp of Antinahuel. The latter felt great regret at receiving the news of the death of Black Stag; it was more than a friend he had lost, it was a right arm!

Antinahuel, in order to reanimate the courage of his people, resolved to make an example, and sacrifice the prisoners to Guecubu, the genius of evil—a sacrifice which we must admit is becoming more and more rare among the Aucas, but to which they have recourse sometimes when they wish to strike their enemies with terror, and to prove that they mean to carry on a war without mercy. Time pressed, the army must continue its march, therefore Antinahuel determined that the sacrifice should take place at once.

At some distance beyond the camp the principal Ulmens and warriors formed a circle, in the centre of which was planted the Toqui's hatchet. The prisoners were brought thither. They were not bound, but in derision were mounted upon a horse without ears and without a tail. Joan, as the more culpable, was to be sacrificed last, and witness the death of his companion as a foretaste. But if at that fatal moment everything seemed to have abandoned the valiant Indian, he had not abandoned himself.

The Chilian prisoner was a rough soldier, well acquainted with Araucanian manners, who knew perfectly what fate awaited him. He was placed near the hatchet, with his face turned toward the Chilian frontiers. They made him dismount from his horse, placed in his hands a bundle of small rods and a pointed stick, with which they obliged him to dig a trench, in which to plant one after the other the little wands, while pronouncing the names of the Araucano warriors he had killed in the course of his long career. To every name the soldier pronounced, he added some cutting speech addressed to his enemies who replied to him by horrible execrations. When all the wands were planted Antinahuel approached.

"The Huinca is a brave warrior," said Antinahuel; "he will fill up this trench with earth in order that the glory and valour of which he has given proofs during his life may remain buried in this place."

"So be it!" said the soldier; "but you will soon see that the Chilians possess more valiant soldiers."

And he carelessly threw the earth into the trench. This terminated, the Toqui made him a sign to place himself close to the hatchet; the soldier obeyed. Antinahuel raised his club and crushed his skull. The poor wretch fell, but was not quite dead, and he struggled convulsively. Two machis immediately sprang upon him, opened his breast and tore out his heart, which they presented, palpitating as it was, to the Toqui. The latter sucked the blood, and then passed the heart to the Ulmens, who followed his example.

In the meantime, the crowd of warriors seized upon the carcass, which they cut to pieces in a few minutes, reserving the bones to make war whistles of. They then placed the head of the prisoner on a pike, and danced round it to the sound of a frightful song, accompanied by the pipes made from the bones.

Joan's eye and ear were on the watch at the moment when this frightful saturnalia were at their apogee, he judged the time propitious, turned his horse, and fled as fast as he could. A few minutes confusion ensued, of which Joan took full advantage; but the Araucanos hastened to pursue him. He soon perceived that the distance between him and his enemies rapidly diminished. He was passing by the side of a hill, whose steep ascent could not be climbed by horses, and with the quickness of conception peculiar to brave men he divined that this would be his only chance of safety. He guided his horse so as, in a manner, to brush the hill, and get upright in his saddle. The Araucanos came up, uttering loud cries. All at once, seizing a strong branch of a tree, he sprang from his saddle, and climbed up the branch with the velocity of a tiger cat. The warriors shouted with rage and astonishment at beholding this extraordinary feat.

Nevertheless, the Araucanos had by no means given up all hopes of retaking their prisoner. They left their horses at the foot of the mountain, and half a score of the most zealous and active set off upon Joan's track. But the latter had now some space in advance. He continued to mount, clinging by feet and hands, and only stopping when nature commanded to take breath.

But he found that a longer struggle would be useless; that at length he was really lost.

The Araucanos came up panting from their long run, brandishing their lances and clubs with cries of triumph. They were not more than fifty paces from him at the most. At this awful moment Joan heard a voice whisper—

"Lower your head!"

He obeyed, without thinking of what was going on around him, or of whence this recommendation could come. The sound of four shots rattled sharply in his ears, and four Indian warriors rolled lifeless on the ground before him. Restored to himself by this unhoped-for succour, Joan bounded forward and stabbed one of his adversaries, whilst four fresh shots stretched four more upon the earth.

Joan was saved! He looked around him to ascertain to whom he owed his life. Valentine, Louis, and the two Indian chiefs stood beside him. These were the four friends who, watching from a distance the camp of the Araucanos, had witnessed the desperate flight of Joan, and had come bravely to his aid.

"Well, Joan, old fellow!" said Valentine, laughing, "you have had a narrow escape!"

"Thanks!" said Joan, warmly; "I shall not forget."

"I think we should act wisely if we now placed ourselves in safety," Louis observed.

"Don Louis is right." said Trangoil-Lanec.

The five men plunged into the woods of the mountain; but they had no occasion to dread an attack. Antinahuel, upon hearing the reports which the warriors who had escaped the Frenchmen's rifles gave of the number of enemies they had to combat, was persuaded that the position was occupied by a strong detachment of the Chilian army: consequently, he struck his camp, and went away in one direction, whilst the adventurers escaped in another.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE KING OF DARKNESS.

Don Tadeo de León had manoeuvred with the greatest skill and promptitude: supporting his left upon the sea, and pivoting upon Arauca, the capital of the confederation, he had extended his right along the mountains, so as to cut off the communications of the enemy, who, by his junction with General Fuentes, found themselves placed between two fires.

Antinahuel, deceived by the false message found on Don Ramón, had committed the unpardonable fault of raising his camp of the Bio Bio, and thus leaving a free passage for General Fuentes. General Bustamente had viewed with despair the faults his ally had committed, faults which the latter would not allow till it was too late to remedy.

Doña Maria, the woman who had been his evil genius, abandoned him now. The Linda, faithful to her hatred, only thought of one thing—to make Doña Rosario suffer as much as she could.

Antinahuel had endeavoured to throw himself into the mountains, but all his efforts had been in vain, and he had only obtained the result he wished to avoid—that is to say, he had placed himself between three corps d'armée, which, by degrees, closed round him, and had ended by placing him in the annoying obligation of fighting upon ground which it pleased the enemy to choose instead of in his own country, Don Gregorio Peralta closed up his passage towards the sea; Don Tadeo de León on the side of the Arauca; whilst General Fuentes defended the approach to the mountains.

All the marches and counter-marches which led to this result had lasted a fortnight. Don Tadeo was anxious to strike a great blow, and terminate the war in a single battle. On the day with which we resume the course of our narrative, the Araucanos and Chilians were at length in presence: Don Tadeo de León, shut up in his tent with Don Gregorio, General Fuentes, and several other superior officers of his staff, was giving them his last orders, when a summons of trumpets was heard from without. The Chilians immediately replied; an aide-de-camp entered the tent, and announced that the Grand Toqui of the Araucanos demanded an interview.

"Do not go, Don Tadeo," said General Fuentes; "it is nothing but some villainy these demons have planned."

"I am not of your opinion, general," the dictator replied. "I ought, as leader, to seek every means of preventing the effusion of blood; that is my duty, and nothing will make me fail in it."

"Caspita!" said Don Gregorio, "you wish to prevent our taking them in spite of you."

The place chosen for the conference was a small eminence, situated between the two camps. A Chilian flag and an Araucanian flag were planted at twenty paces from each other; at the foot of these flags forty Aucas lancers on the one side, and a similar number of Chilian soldiers placed themselves. When these diverse precautions were taken, Don Tadeo, followed by two aides-de-camp advanced toward Antinahuel, who came to meet him with two Ulmens. When they arrived near their respective soldiers, the two leaders ordered their officers to wait for them, and met in the space left free for them. Antinahuel was the first to break the silence.

"The Aucas know and venerate my father," he said, bowing courteously; "they know that he is good, and loves his Indian children. A cloud has arisen between him and his sons; is it impossible to dissipate it?"

"Chief," said Don Tadeo, "the whites have always protected the Indians. Often have they given them arms to defend themselves with, corn to feed them, and warm clothing to cover them in winter. But the Araucanos are ungrateful—when the evil is past they forget the service rendered. Why have they today taken up arms against the whites? Let the chief reply in his turn; I am ready to hear all he can advance in his defence."

"The chief will not defend himself," Antinahuel said, deferentially; "he acknowledges his errors; he is convinced of them; he is ready to accept the conditions it shall please his white father to impose."

"Tell me, in the first place, what conditions you offer, chief; I shall see if they are just."

Antinahuel hesitated, and then said—

"My father knows that his Indian sons are ignorant. A great chief of the whites presented himself to them; he offered them immense territories, much pillage, and fair women if the Araucanos would consent to defend his interests. The Indians are children; they allowed themselves to be seduced by this man who deceived them."

"Very well," said Don Tadeo.

"The Indians," Antinahuel continued, "are ready, if my father desires it, to give up to him this man."

"Chief," replied Don Tadeo, with indignation, "are these the proposals you have to make me? What! Do you pretend to expiate one treachery by committing one still greater and more odious? The Araucanian people are a chivalrous people, unacquainted with treachery: not one of your companions can have possibly suggested anything so infamous; you alone, chief, you alone must have conceived it!"

Antinahuel knitted his brows; but quickly resuming his Indian impassiveness, he said—

"I have been wrong; my father will pardon me: I wait to hear the condition he will impose."

"The conditions are these: the Araucanian army will lay down their arms, the two women who are in their camp will be placed this very day in my hands, the Grand Toqui, and twelve of the principal Apo-Ulmens, shall remain as hostages at Santiago, until I think proper to send them back."

A smile, of disdain curled the thin lips of Antinahuel.

"Will my father not impose less harsh conditions?"

"No," Don Tadeo answered, firmly.

The Toqui drew himself up proudly.

"We are ten thousand warriors resolved to die; my father must not drive us to despair," he said.

"Tomorrow that army will have fallen under the blows of my soldiers, like corn beneath the sickle of the reaper."

"Listen, you who impose such arrogant conditions upon me," the chief replied; "do you know who I am—I who have humbled myself before you?"

"Of what consequence is it to me? I will retire."

"One instant more! I am the great-grandson of the Toqui Cadegual; a hereditary hatred divides us; I have sworn to kill you, dog! rabbit! thief!"

And, with a movement as quick as thought, he drew out his hand, and struck Don Tadeo with a dagger full in the breast. But the arm of the assassin was seized and dislocated by the iron-muscled hand of the King of Darkness, and the weapon was broken like glass against the cuirass which he had put on under his clothes, to guard against treachery.

"Do not fire!" he said to the soldiers; "the wretch is sufficiently punished, since his execrable project has failed. Go back, assassin!" he added, contemptuously; "return and hide your shame among your warriors. Begone, unclean dog!"

Without saying a word more, Don Tadeo turned his back and regained his camp.

"Oh!" Antinahuel said, stamping with rage, "all is not ended yet! Tomorrow I shall have my turn."

"Well," Don Pancho asked, as soon as he saw him, "what have you obtained?"

Antinahuel gave him an ironical glance.

"What have I obtained?" he replied; "that man has baffled me."

"Tomorrow we will fight," said the general. "Who knows? All is not lost yet."

"Who knows?" the chief exclaimed, violently; "Tomorrow, if it costs me all my warriors, that man shall be in my power!"

Without condescending to give any further explanation, the Toqui shut himself up in his toldo with some of his chiefs.

Don Tadeo returned to his tent.

"Well!" cried General Fuentes, "I told you to beware of treachery!"

"You are right, general," the dictator replied, with a smile. "But the wretch is punished."

"No," the old soldier retorted, somewhat angrily; "when we meet with a viper in our path, we crush it without mercy beneath the heel of our boot; if we did not, it would rise and bite the imprudent man who had spared it or disdained it."

"Come, come, general!" Don Tadeo said, gaily; "you are a bird of ill-omen. Think no more about the wretch, other cares call upon us."

The general shook his head with an air of doubt, and went to visit the outposts.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE BATTLE OF CONDERKANKI.

It was the fourth of October.

The Araucano warriors came out proudly from their entrenchments, and drew up in order of battle to the sound of their warlike instruments. The Araucanos have a system of battle from which they never deviate: this unchangeable order is as follows: the cavalry form the two wings, and the infantry is in the centre, divided by battalions. The ranks of these battalions are by turns composed of men armed with pikes and men armed with clubs, so that between two pikes there is always one club. The vice-Toqui commands the right wing, an Apo-Ulmen the left wing. As to the Toqui, he flies to all points, exhorting the troops to fight courageously for liberty.

The Araucanian army, drawn up as we have described, had an imposing and martial appearance. All these warriors knew they were supporting a lost cause, that they were marching to an almost certain death, and yet they waited impassively, their eyes burning with ardour for the signal for battle. Antinahuel, with his right arm tied down to his body by leather strap, brandishing a heavy club in his left hand, mounted a magnificent courser, as black as jet, which he governed with his knees, and rode through the ranks of his warriors.

Before leaving the camp, General Bustamente exchanged a few words with the Linda. Their short conversation ended with these words, which did not fail to make an impression upon the woman's heart—

"Farewell, señora!" he said, in a melancholy voice; "I am going to die—thanks to the bad influence you have exercised over me—in the ranks of those to whom my duty orders me to be opposed! I am going to die the death of a traitor, hated and despised by all! I pardon you the evil you have done me. Repent!—there is still time! Farewell!"

He coldly bowed to the dejected Doña Maria, and rejoined the troop.

The Chilian army was formed in squares of echelons.

At the instant Don Tadeo was leaving his tent he uttered an exclamation of joy at beholding two men.

"Don Louis! Don Valentine!" he exclaimed; "you here?"

"Faith! yes, here we are," Valentine replied, laughing; "Cæsar and all, who has a great inclination to taste an Araucano; haven't you, old dog?" he said.

"We thought," said the count, "that on a day like this you could not have too many of your friends round you; we have left the two chiefs concealed in the woods a short distance off, and have come to you."

"I thank you. You will not leave me, I hope."

"Pardieu! we came on purpose to stick to you."

Don Tadeo ordered each to be furnished with a superb charger, and all three set off at a gallop to place themselves in the centre square.

The plain of Conderkanki, into which Don Tadeo had at length succeeded in driving the Indians, has the form of an immense triangle. The Araucanos occupied the summit of the triangle, and found themselves hemmed in between the sea and the mountains.

"Well," Valentine asked Don Tadeo, "is not the battle going to begin?"

"Directly," the latter replied, "and be assured you will find it sharp enough."

The dictator then raised his sword. The drums beat, the bugles sounded the charge, and the Chilian army advanced at quick step. The signal being given, the Araucanos advanced in their turn resolutely, uttering frightful yells. As soon as their enemies were within a proper distance the Chilian lines opened—a discharge of artillery roared forth its thunders, and swept the front ranks of the Araucanos; then the squares as suddenly closed, and the soldiers waited in their ranks, with bayonets at charge.

The shock was terrible. The Aucas, decimated by the artillery which ploughed their ranks, front, flank, and rear, faced about on all sides at once, and rushed with fury upon the Chilian bayonets. As soon as the first rank succumbed beneath the bullets, the second and third resolutely replaced it. And yet the savage warriors retained self-command in all their eagerness; they followed with exactness and rapidity the orders of their Ulmens, and executed with the greatest regularity the various evolutions which were commanded.

In spite of the close discharges of the musketry which cut them to pieces, they rushed headlong upon the front ranks of the Chilians, and at length attacked them hand to hand. The Chilian cavalry then dashed in, and charged them to the very centre.

But General Bustamente had foreseen this movement. On his side he executed the same manoeuvre, so that the two bodies of cavalry came in contact with a noise like thunder. Calm and cool at the head of his squadron, the general charged.

As Don Tadeo had predicted to Valentine, the battle was rudely contested along the whole line; the Araucanos, with their tenacity which nothing can repel, and their contempt of death, allowed themselves to be slaughtered by the Chilian bayonets without yielding. Antinahuel was in the van of his warriors, animating them with his gestures and his voice.

"What men!" the count could not refrain from exclaiming; "what mad rashness!"

"Is it not?" Don Tadeo replied; "They are demons."

"Pardieu!" Valentine cried. "What brave soldiers! Why, they will all be killed if they go on so."

"All!" Don Tadeo replied.

The principal efforts of the Araucanians were directed against the square where the general-in-chief was, surrounded by his staff. There the fight was changed into a butchery; firearms had become useless, bayonets, hatchets, sabres, and clubs furrowed breasts and crushed skulls. Antinahuel looked around him. His followers were falling like ears of ripe corn; the forest of bayonets which barred their passage must be broken through at all hazards.

"Aucas!" he cried, in a voice of thunder "forward!"

With a movement rapid as thought, he lifted his horse, made it plunge, and hurled it upon the front ranks of the enemy. The breach was opened by this stroke of extraordinary audacity; the warriors rushed in after him. A frightful carnage ensued—a tumult impossible to be described! With every blow a man fell. The Aucas had plunged like a wedge into the square, and had broken it.

"Well," Don Tadeo asked of Valentine, "what do you think of these adversaries?"

"They are more than men!" he answered.

"Forward, forward! Chili! Chili!" Don Tadeo shouted, urging on his horse.

Followed by about fifty men, among whom were the two Frenchmen, he plunged into the thickest of the enemy's ranks. Don Gregorio and General Fuentes had divined from the persistency with which the Araucanos attacked the great square that their object was to take the general-in-chief prisoner. Therefore, they had hastened their movements, effected their junction, and enclosed the Aucas within a circle of steel.

At a glance Antinahuel perceived the critical position in which he was placed. He shouted to Bustamente a cry of anxious appeal. He also was aware of the dangerous position of the Indian army.

"Let us save our warriors," he shouted.

"We will save them," the Indians howled.

All at once the general found himself immediately opposed to the squadron commanded by Don Tadeo.

"Oh!" he cried, "I shall die at last."

From the commencement of the action Joan had fought by the side of Don Tadeo, who, intent upon his duties as leader, often neglected to parry the blows aimed at him; but the brave Indian parried them for him, and seemed to multiply himself for the sake of protecting the man he had sworn to defend. Joan instinctively divined the intention of General Bustamente.

"Oh!" the general shouted; "my God, I thank thee. I shall not die by the hand of a brother."

Joan's horse came full in contact with that of the general.

"Ah! ah!" the latter murmured, "you also are a traitor to your country; you also are fighting against your brothers. Die, wretch!"

And he aimed a heavy sabre stroke at the Indian. But Joan avoided it, and seized the general round the body. The two horses, abandoned to themselves, and rendered furious by the noise of the battle, dragged along the two men, who clung to each other like serpents. This furious struggle could not last long, and both men rolled on the ground. They disengaged themselves from their stirrups, and instantly stood face to face. After a contest of skill for a few minutes, the general, who was an expert swordsman, succeeded in planting a sabre cut which cleft the skull of the Indian; but before falling Joan collected his strength, and threw himself headlong upon his antagonist, who was surprised by this unexpected attack, and plunged his poisoned dagger into his breast. The two enemies staggered for a moment, and then fell, side by side—dead!

CHAPTER XXXI.

CONQUEROR AND PRISONER.

On seeing General Bustamente fall, the Chilians uttered a loud cry of triumph.

"Poor Joan!" Valentine murmured, as he cleft the skull of an Indian; "poor Joan! he was a brave, faithful fellow."

"His death was a glorious one," Louis replied.

"By dying thus bravely," Don Tadeo observed, "Joan has rendered us a last service.

"Bah!" Valentine philosophically rejoined, "he is happy. Must we not all die, one day or another?"

Valentine was in his element; he had never been present at such a festival, he absolutely fought with pleasure.

"Pardieu! we did wisely in quitting France," he said, "there is nothing like travelling."

Louis laughed heartily at hearing him moralize.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, brother," he said.

"Prodigiously." Valentine replied.

His courage was so great, so audacious, so spontaneous, that the Chilians looked at him with admiration, and felt themselves electrified by his example. Cæsar, covered by his master with a kind of cuirass of leather and armed with an enormous collar edged with steel points, inspired the Indians with the greatest terror—they knew not what to make of such a creature.

The battle raged as fiercely as ever; both Chilians and Araucanos fought upon heaps of carcases. The Indians gave up all hopes of conquering, but they did not even think of flying; resolved all to die, they determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible, and fought with the terrible despair of brave men who neither expect nor ask for quarter. The Chilian army drew nearer and nearer around them. A few minutes more and the Araucano army would have ceased to exist.

Antinahuel shed tears of rage; he felt his heart bursting in his breast at seeing his dearest companions thus fall around him. All these men, the victims of the ambition of their chief, died without a complaint, without a reproach. Suddenly a smile of strange character curled his thin lips; he beckoned to the Ulmens, who were fighting near him, and exchanged a few words.

After making a sign of acquiescence in reply to the orders they had received, the Ulmens immediately regained their respective posts, and during some minutes the battle continued to rage with the same fury. But all at once a mass of fifteen hundred Indians simultaneously rushed with inexpressible force against the centre squadron, in which Don Tadeo fought, and enveloped it on all sides.

"Caramba!" shouted Valentine, "we are surrounded! Mon Dieu! we must disengage ourselves, or these demons will cut us up."

And he dashed headlong into the thickest of the combatants, followed by the rest of his party. After a hot struggle of three or four minutes, they were safe and sound outside of the fatal circle.

"Hum!" said Valentine, "rather sharp work. But, thank God, here we are."

"Yes," the count replied, "we have had a narrow escape! But where is Don Tadeo?"

"That is true," Valentine observed. "Oh," he added, striking his brow with anger, "I see it all now. Quick, to the rescue!"

The two young men placed themselves at the head of the horsemen who accompanied them, and rode back furiously into the mêlée. They soon perceived the person they were in search of; Don Tadeo, supported by only four or five men, was fighting desperately.

"Hold out! hold out!" Valentine shouted.

"We are here! Courage, we are here!" the count cried.

Their voices reached Don Tadeo, and he smiled.

"Thanks," he replied despondingly; "but all is useless. I am lost."

"Caramba!" said Valentine, biting his moustache with rage; "I will save him, or perish with him."

And he redoubled his efforts. In vain the Aucas warriors opposed his passage, every stroke of his sabre cut down a man. At length the impetuosity of the two Frenchmen prevailed over the courage of the Indians, and they penetrated into the circle—Don Tadeo had disappeared.

All at once, the Indian army, feeling, no doubt, the impossibility of maintaining a longer contest with superior forces which threatened to annihilate them, dispersed.

The victory of the Chilians was brilliant, and, probably, for a long time the Araucanos would have no inclination to recommence a war. Of ten thousand warriors who had formed their line of battle, the Indians had left seven thousand on the field. General Bustamente, the instigator of this war, was killed; his body was found with the dagger still sticking in his breast; and, strange coincidence! The pommel of the dagger bore the distinctive sign of the Dark Hearts.

The results obtained by the winning of this battle were immense. Unfortunately, these results were lessened, if not compromised, by a public disaster of immense consequence, which was the disappearance, and perhaps the death, of Don Tadeo de León, the only man whose energy and severity of principles could save the country. The Chilian army in the midst of its triumph was plunged in grief.

The army encamped upon the field of battle; Valentine, the count, and Don Gregorio, passed the whole night in searching amongst this immense charnel house, upon which the vultures had already fallen with hideous cries of joy. The three men had the courage to lift and examine heaps of carcases; but all without success, they could not find the body of their friend.

The next morning at daybreak the army set forward on its march towards the Bio Bio, to re-enter Chili. It took with it, as hostages, thirty Ulmens.

"Come with us," said Don Gregorio; "now our friend is dead, you can have nothing more to do."

"I am not of your opinion," Valentine replied; "I do not think Don Tadeo is dead."

"What makes you suppose that?" Don Gregorio asked; "have you any proofs?"

"Unfortunately, none."

"And yet you must have some reason?"

"Why, yes, I have one."

"Then tell it me."

"I am afraid it will appear futile to you."

"Well, but tell it me, nevertheless."

"Well, since you insist upon it, I must confess that I feel a secret presentiment."

"Upon what do you ground that supposition? You are too intelligent to jest."

"You only do me justice. I perceived the absence of Don Tadeo. I went back again, in quick time. Don Tadeo, though closely pressed, was fighting vigorously, and I shouted out to him to stand his ground."

"And did he hear you?"

"Certainly he did, for he answered me. I redoubled my efforts—he had disappeared, and left no traces behind."

"And you thence conclude—"

"That his numerous enemies seized him and carried him off."

"But who can tell whether, after having killed him, they have not carried away the body?"

"Why should they do that? Don Tadeo dead, could only inconvenience them, whereas, as prisoner, they probably hope that by restoring him to liberty. Or perhaps, by threatening to kill him, they will have their hostages given up."

Don Gregorio was struck with the justness of this reasoning.

"It is possible," he replied; "there is a great deal of truth in what you say—what do you mean to do?"

"A very simple thing, my friend. In the environs are concealed two Indian chiefs."

"Well?"

"These men are devoted to Louis and me, and they will serve us as guides."

Don Gregorio looked at him for an instant in deep emotion, and tears glistened in his eyes; he took the young man's hand pressed it warmly, and said, in a voice tremulous with tenderness—

"Don Valentine, pardon me I did not know you; I have not appreciated your heart at its just value. Don Valentine, will you permit me to embrace you?"

"With all my heart, my brave friend," the young man replied.

"Then you are going?" Don Gregorio resumed.

"Immediately."

"Come on," said Valentine to his foster brother, as he whistled to Cæsar and clapped spurs to his horse.

"I am with you," Louis replied, promptly.

And they set off.

CHAPTER XXXII.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

For some time the young men followed at a distance the march of the Chilian army, which advanced slowly, though in good order, towards the Bio Bio. They crossed, at a foot's pace, the plain where the day before the sanguinary battle had been fought between the Indians and the Chilians.

"Why do we not hasten to quit this accursed place?" Valentine asked.

"We have a duty to fulfil," Louis replied solemnly.

"A duty to fulfil?" said Valentine.

"Yes," the young me continued, "would you leave our poor Joan without sepulture?"

"Thank you for having reminded me of it; oh, you are better than I am, you forget nothing."

"Do not calumniate yourself."

In a short time they arrived at the spot where Joan and General Bustamente had fallen. The foster brothers remained for a few instants, drew their sabres and dug a deep hole, in which they buried the two enemies.

"Farewell!" said Valentine. "Farewell, Joan! Sleep in peace, at the spot where you valiantly fought; the remembrance of you will not be easily effaced."

"Farewell, Joan!" said the count, in his turn. "Sleep in peace, good friend."

Cæsar had watched with intelligent attention the movements of his masters; at this moment he placed his forepaws upon the grave, smelt the earth, and then gave two lugubrious howls.

The young men felt their spirits very much depressed; they remounted their horses silently, and after having taken one last farewell look at the spot where the brave Araucano lay, they departed.

They had by degrees diverged a little towards the right to get nearer to the mountains and were following a narrow path traced along the rather sharp descent of a wooded hill. Cæsar suddenly pricked up his ears, and sprang forward, wagging his tail.

"We are getting near," said Louis.

"Yes," Valentine replied, laconically.

They soon reached a place where the path formed a bend, round which the Newfoundland disappeared. After passing this elbow, the Frenchmen suddenly found themselves in front of a fire, before which a quarter of a guanaco was roasting; two men, reclined upon the grass at a short distance, were smoking comfortably, whilst Cæsar, gravely seated on his tail, followed with a jealous eye the progress of the cooking of the guanaco. These two men were Curumilla and Trangoil-Lanec. At the sight of their friends, the Frenchmen dismounted. Valentine led the horses up to those of the Indians, hobbled them, unsaddled them, and gave them some provender; then he took his place by the fire. Not a word had been exchanged between the four men.

"Well?" Trangoil-Lanec asked, at length.

"The battle has been a fierce one," Valentine replied.

"I know it has," said the Indian, shaking his head; "the Araucanos are conquered; I saw them flying."

"They supported a bad cause," observed Curumilla.

"They are our brothers," Trangoil-Lanec said.

Curumilla bowed his head at this reproach.

"He who placed arms in their hands is dead," said Valentine.

"Good! And does my brother know the name of the warrior who killed him?"

"Yes, I know it," Valentine said mournfully.

"Let my brother tell me that name that I may keep it in my memory."

"Joan, our friend, killed that man."

"That is true," said Curumilla; "but why is not Joan here?"

"My brothers will never see Joan again," said Valentine.

The two chiefs exchanged a look of sorrow.

"He had a noble heart," they murmured.

"Yes," added Valentine; "and he was a friend."

A short silence ensued; then the two chiefs suddenly rose and went towards their horses, without speaking a word.

"Where are our brothers going?" the count asked.

"To give sepulture to a warrior; the body of Joan must not become the prey of urubus," Trangoil-Lanec replied, gravely.

"My brothers can take their places again," Louis said.

The chiefs re-seated themselves silently.

"Do Trangoil-Lanec and Curumilla know their brothers so ill," Louis continued, "as to suppose they would leave the body of a friend without sepulture? Joan was buried by us before we rejoined our brothers."

"Good!" said Trangoil-Lanec.

"The Muruches are not Huincas," Curumilla said.

"But a great misfortune has happened to us," Louis continued sorrowfully; "Don Tadeo, our dearest friend—"

"Well?" Curumilla interrupted.

"He is dead," said Valentine; "he was killed in the battle yesterday."

"Is my brother certain of what he states?"

"At least I suppose so, as his body has not been found."

"Let my brothers be consoled," said the Ulmen; "the Great Eagle of the Whites is not dead."

"Does the chief know that?" the two young men exclaimed in a breath.

"I do know it," replied Trangoil-Lanec. "Let my brothers listen. Curumilla and I are chiefs in our tribe; if our opinions prevented us from fighting for Antinahuel, they prevented us also from bearing arms against our nation. Our friends wished to go and join the Great Eagle; we left them to act as they pleased. They wished to protect a friend; they were right. We allowed them to go; but after their departure we thought of the young maiden of the palefaces, and we reflected that if the Aucas lost the battle, the maiden, according to the orders of the Toqui, would be the first placed in safety; in consequence we squatted among the bushes by the side of the road which, according to all probability, the mosotones would take when flying with their charge. The battle lasted long; as they always do, the Aucas died bravely."

"You may justly be proud of them, chief," Valentine exclaimed warmly.

"For that reason they are called Aucas—free men," replied Trangoil-Lanec.

"Suddenly a noise like thunder struck our ears, and between twenty and thirty mosotones passed by us like the wind. They took with them two women; one was the viper face, and the other the blue-eyed maiden."

"Oh!" the count exclaimed.

"A few minutes later," Trangoil-Lanec continued, "another troop, much more numerous than the first, arrived with equal swiftness; this was led by Antinahuel in person."

"He is wounded," Valentine observed.

"By his side galloped the Great Eagle of the Whites."

"Was he wounded?" Louis asked, anxiously.

"No, he carried himself upright."

"Oh! if he is not dead, we will save him."

"Save him? Yes, Don Valentine."

"When shall we take the track?"

"At daybreak. We will save the daughter, and we will deliver the father," said Trangoil-Lanec.

"Good, chief," Valentine replied with delight; "I am happy to hear you speak so; all is not lost yet."

"Far from it," said the Ulmen.

"Now, my brothers, that we feel reassured," Louis observed, "if you will take my advice, we will enjoy a few hours of repose."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

FIRST HOURS OF CAPTIVITY.

Trangoil-Lanec had not been deceived, it was really Don Tadeo whom he had seen galloping by the side of the Toqui. The King of Darkness was not dead, he was not even wounded, but he was the prisoner of Antinahuel.

After Don Tadeo saw his faithful followers fall one after the other by his side, and he was left alone, he still continued fighting. It was then that he heard the cries of encouragement from Valentine and the count. Antinahuel had also heard the shouts of the Frenchmen, and on seeing the incredible efforts they made to succour their friend, he perceived that if he delayed the capture, his prey would escape him; hence he tore off his poncho and threw it skilfully over the head of Don Tadeo, who, blinded and embarrassed in the folds of the ample woollen vestment, was disarmed.

Antinahuel, whilst flying with the swiftness of an arrow, contrived to rally around him a good number of horsemen, so that at the end of about twenty minutes, he found himself at the head of five hundred warriors. The Toqui formed of these warriors a compact squadron, and turning round several times, like a tiger pursued by the hunters, he charged the Chilian horse vigorously. When arrived at a certain distance, and the conquerors had renounced the pursuit, he stopped to look after his prisoner, and allow his troop to take breath.

Since his capture Don Tadeo had given no signs of life, and Antinahuel feared with reason that, deprived of air, and shaken by the rapidity and roughness of the course, he should find him in a dangerous state. He hastened to untie the lasso, the numerous twists of which cut the prisoner in all parts of his body, and then took off the poncho which covered him—Don Tadeo had fainted. Want of air alone caused this result, so that as soon as he breathed freely he opened his eyes. At this happy result a smile of indefinable meaning lighted the features of the Toqui for a second.

Don Tadeo cast around a look of astonishment, and appeared to sink into deep reflection; memory, however, returned by degrees, he recollected what had taken place, and how he came into the hands of the chief. He rose crossed his arms upon his breast, and looking steadfastly at the great chief—waited.

"Does my father feel himself better?"

"Yes," Don Tadeo replied laconically.

"Can we then set on again?"

"Is it for me to give you orders?"

"If my father were not sufficiently recovered to sit on horseback we would wait a little."

"Oh, oh!" said Don Tadeo.

"I should be very sorry if any inconvenience befell my father."

Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and Antinahuel resumed—

"We are about to depart; will my father give me his word of honour not to attempt to escape? If he do so, I will allow him to be free amongst us."

"Will you have faith in my word?"

"I am but a poor Indian, my father is a caballero."

"Before I reply, tell me whither you are taking me."

"I am taking my father to the country of the Puelches, my brothers."

A feeling of joy rushed into the prisoner's heart, he should see his daughter.

"How long is this journey likely to last?"

"Only three days."

"I give you my word of honour not to attempt to escape for three days."

"Good," the chief replied, in a solemn voice.

"When my father is ready, we will depart," Antinahuel said.

Don Tadeo mounted, the Toqui followed his example, and the troop set off at a smart pace.

The sun had sunk low in the horizon when the chief commanded a halt. The spot was admirably chosen; it was a narrow valley, situated on the not very high summit of a hill, the position of which rendered a surprise almost impossible.

Antinahuel seemed to have forgotten his hatred for Don Tadeo; he spoke to him with the greatest deference. Confiding in his word of honour, he left him entirely free. As soon as the repast was terminated, sentinels were placed, and everyone sought repose. Don Tadeo in vain courted sleep, for a too powerful anxiety devoured him to allow him to close his eyes. Seated at the foot of a tree, his head reclining on his breast, he passed the whole night in reflecting upon the strange events which for some months passed had assailed him.

The rising sun found him plunged in these sad thoughts, and sleep had not for an instant closed his weary eyelids. But everybody was in motion in the camp; the horses were saddled, and after a hasty repast the march was continued. The day passed away without any incident worthy of being recorded. In the evening they encamped, as they had done the night before, on the summit of a hill; the sole difference was that, as the Araucanos now knew themselves to be beyond the danger of a surprise, they did not take such great precautions as on the preceding occasion; but still they raised entrenchments.

Don Tadeo, overcome by fatigue, sank into a leaden sleep, from which he was not roused till the moment for departure.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE ULTIMATUM.

Antinahuel had rejoined the mosotones to whom he had confided Doña Rosario two days previously. The two troops now formed but one. The Toqui had at first entertained the intention of crossing the first plateau of the Andes. But the battle they had lost had produced terrible consequences; their principal tolderías had been burned by the Spaniards, their towns sacked, and the inhabitants either killed or carried away. Such as had been able to fly had at first wandered about the woods without an object; but as soon as they learned that the Toqui had succeeded in escaping, they re-assembled, and sent envoys to him to demand assistance.

Antinahuel rejoiced at the movement of reaction which was going on among his countrymen. He changed his itinerary, and had, at the head of a hundred men only, returned back in the direction of the Bio Bio; whilst by his order his other warriors dispersed throughout the Aucas territory for the purpose of rousing the people to arms. The Toqui had no intention now of extending the Araucanian dominions; his only desire now was to obtain, arms in hand, a peace which might not be too disadvantageous for his country.

For a reason only known to Antinahuel, Don Tadeo and Rosario were completely ignorant that they were so near to each other.

Antinahuel had pitched his camp at the summit of the mountain, where some days before he had been with the whole Indian army, in the strong position which commanded the ford of the Bio Bio.

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon. With the exception of a few Araucanian sentinels, leaning motionless upon their long lances, the camp appeared a desert; silence reigned everywhere. Suddenly a trumpet call was sounded from the opposite side of the river. The Ulmen charged with the care of the advanced posts ordered a reply to be sounded, and went out to inquire the cause. Three horsemen, clothed in rich uniforms, stood upon the bank; close to them was a trumpeter, waving a flag of truce. The Ulmen hoisted a similar flag, and advanced into the water to meet the horsemen.

"What do the chiefs of the white faces want?" the Ulmen asked, haughtily.

One of the horsemen immediately replied—

"Go and tell the Toqui that a general officer has an important communication to make to him."

The wild eye of the Indian flashed at this insult; but he said, disdainfully—

"I will go and inquire whether our great Toqui is disposed to receive you; but I much doubt whether he will condescend to listen to Cheapolo-Huincas."

"Fool!" the other replied angrily; "make haste."

"Be patient, Don Gregorio, in Heaven's name!" one of the two officers exclaimed.

At the expiration of a few minutes a sign was made from the bank that the Chilians might advance. Antinahuel, seated under the shade of a magnificent espino, awaited the officers. They stopped before him, and remained motionless.

"What is your will?" he asked, in a stern voice.

"Listen to my words, and mark them carefully," Don Gregorio replied.

"Speak, and be brief," said Antinahuel.

Don Gregorio shrugged his shoulders disdainfully,

"Don Tadeo de León is in your hands," he said.

"Yes; the man is my prisoner."

"Very well. If tomorrow, by the third hour of the day, he is not given up to us safe and sound, the hostages we have taken, and more than eighty others, will be shot within sight of the two camps."

"You will do as you please, but this man shall die!" the chief replied, coldly.

"Oh! that is the case, is it? Very well! I, Don Gregorio Peralta, swear to you, on my part, that I will strictly keep the promise I have made you."

And turning his horse sharply round he departed.

And yet there was more bravado than anything else in the threat made by Antinahuel. If pride had not prevented him, he would have renewed the parley. He returned to his camp buried in thought, and went straight to his toldo. The Linda, who was seated in a corner upon sheepskins, was as much absorbed in thought as the chief; Doña Rosario had fallen asleep. At the sight of the young girl the chief experienced a peculiar emotion, the blood flowed back forcibly to his heart, and springing towards her, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her half-open lips, Doña Rosario, suddenly awakened, bounded to the extremity of the toldo, uttering a cry of terror.

"What is the meaning of all this?" the chief exclaimed angrily; "Whence comes this terror?"

And he took several steps towards her.

"Advance no further! advance no further! in Heavens name!" she shrieked.

"What is the use of all this folly? You are mine."

"Never!" she said, in an agony of grief.

"Nonsense!" he said; "I am not a paleface, the tears of women have no effect upon me."

And he advanced again towards her. The Linda, still apparently buried in her reflections, seemed not to be aware of what was going on.

"Señora, señora!" the maiden cried; "in the name of all that is sacred defend me, I implore you!"

The Linda raised her head, looked at her coldly, and, with a dry nervous laugh, said—

"Have I not told you what you had to expect?"

Then she thrust her roughly from her.

"Oh!" cried Doña Rosario, in a piercing voice, "maldición on you, heartless woman!"

Again the chief approached, and again his victim darted to the other side of the apartment, but unfortunately as she passed he caught her dress in his iron grasp. And now the noble energy that never deserts virtue in distress returned to her. She drew herself up proudly, and fixed her eyes steadfastly on her pursuer. "Stand back!" she cried, brandishing her dagger. "Stand back! or I will kill myself!"

In spite of himself the demon stood motionless. He was convinced that it was not a vain threat the girl uttered. At that moment the hideous, scarred, grinning face of the Linda was bent towards his ear.

"Appear to yield," she whispered; "I will tame her, leave her to me!"

Antinahuel looked at her with a suspicious eye. The Linda smiled.

"Do you promise me?" he said, in a hoarse voice.

"On my soul I do," she replied.

In the meantime Doña Rosario—her arm elevated and her body bent forward—awaited the denouement of this frightful scene. With a facility which the Indians alone possess, Antinahuel composed his countenance so as entirely to change its expression.

"My sister will pardon me," he said, in a soft voice; "I was mad, reason is restored to my mind."

After again bowing to the young lady, who did not know to what to attribute this sudden change, he left the toldo.

Upon reflection, Antinahuel resolved to strike his camp and depart.

The Linda and Doña Rosario were sent in advance, under the guard of some mosotones. The young girl, weakened by the terrible emotions she had undergone, could scarcely sit her horse; a burning fever had seized her. "I am thirsty—so thirsty!" she murmured.

At a sign from the Linda one of the mosotones approached her, and unfastened a gourd.

"Let my sister drink," he said.

The maiden seized the gourd eagerly, applied it to her lips, and drank a large draught.

"Good!" said the Linda to herself.

"Thank you," Doña Rosario murmured, restoring the gourd almost empty. But ere long her eyes gradually grew heavy, and she sank back, murmuring in a faint voice—

"Good Heaven! what can be the matter with me? I am dying."

One of the mosotones caught her in his arms, and placed her before him on his saddle. All at once she for a moment recovered herself as if by an electric shock, opened her eyes, and cried with a piercing voice, "Help, help!" and relapsed into insensibility.

On hearing this agonised cry, the Linda, in spite of herself, felt her heart fail her, but quickly recovering, she said, with a bitter smile—

"Am I growing foolish?"

She made a sign to the mosotone who carried Doña Rosario to draw nearer, and examined her attentively.

"She is asleep," she muttered, with an expression of satisfied hatred; "when she awakes I shall be avenged."

At this moment Antinahuels position was very critical. Too weak to attempt anything serious against the Chilians, whom he wished to induce to make a peace advantageous for his country, he endeavoured to gain time by moving about on the frontier, so that his enemies, not knowing where to find him, could not force conditions upon him which he ought not to accept. Although the Aucas responded to the appeal of his emissaries, and rose eagerly to come and join his ranks, it was necessary to give the tribes, most of them remote, time to concentrate upon the point he had named.

On their side the Spaniards, whose internal tranquillity was for the future secured by the death of General Bustamente, had very little desire to carry on a war which had no longer any interest for them. They stood in need of peace to repair the evils created by the civil war, they therefore confined themselves to arming their frontiers, and endeavoured by every means to bring about serious conferences with the principal Araucan chiefs. Don Gregorio Peralta had been blamed for the threat he had so hastily made to Antinahuel, and he himself acknowledged the folly of his conduct when he heard of the Toquis departure with his prisoner. Another system had in consequence been adopted. Only ten of the principal chiefs were detained as hostages. The others, well instructed and loaded with presents, were set at liberty. Everything rendered it probable that these chiefs on their return to their respective tribes would employ their influence to conclude a peace, and unmask before the council the proceedings of Antinahuel, proceedings which had brought the nation to the verge of ruin.

The Araucanos are passionate in their love of liberty; for them every consideration gives way to that of being free. Hence it was easy to foresee that the Aucas, in spite of their veneration for their Toqui, would not hesitate to depose him when their chiefs on the one part and the friendly captains on the other, made it clear to them that that liberty was compromised, and that they exposed themselves to being deprived of it forever, and falling under the Spanish yoke if they continued their aggressive policy.

CHAPTER XXXV.

A FURY.

After a march of five or six leagues at most, Antinahuel ordered his troop to bivouac. The warriors who accompanied him were almost all of his own tribe. As soon as the fires were lighted the Linda approached him.

"I have kept my promise," she said.

"Then, the young girl——?" he asked.

"Is asleep!" she replied, with a hideous smile.

"Good," he murmured, joyfully, and bent his steps towards the toldo, erected in haste, beneath which his victim had been transported. "No," he said, "presently!" and then turning to his accomplice added, "For how long a time has my sister sent the young girl to sleep?"

"She will not awake before daybreak."

A smile of satisfaction lit up the chief's features.

"That is well—my sister is skilful, and I should like to show my sister," he continued, "that I am not ungrateful, and that I also keep my word faithfully."

The Linda fixed a searching look upon him.

"Of what word is my brother speaking?"

"My sister has an enemy whom she has pursued for a long time, without being able to destroy him," Antinahuel said, with a smile.

"Don Tadeo?"

"Yes, and that enemy is also mine."

"Well?"

"He is in my power."

"Don Tadeo is my brother's prisoner?"

"He is here."

"At last," she cried, triumphantly. "Then I will repay him all the tortures he has inflicted upon me."

"Yes; she is at liberty to make him undergo all the insults her inventive spirit can furnish her with."

"Oh!" she cried, in a voice that almost made the hardened chief shudder, "I will only inflict one punishment upon him, but it shall be terrible."

"But be careful, woman." Antinahuel replied; "be careful not to let your hatred carry you too far; this man's life is mine, and I will deprive him of it with my own hands."

"Oh!" she said, with a hideous, mocking laugh, "do not be afraid; I will return your victim to you safe and sound. I am not a man—my weapon is my tongue."

"Yes; but that weapon is double-edged,"

"I will restore him to you, I tell you."

"There," the chief replied, pointing to a hut made of branches; "but beware forget not what I said."

"I will not forget," she retorted, with a savage leer.

And she sprang towards the hut.

"It is only women that know how to hate," Antinahuel murmured, looking after her.

A score of warriors waited for their chief at the entrance of the camp. He sprang into his saddle and departed with them.

Although through pride he had allowed nothing to appear, the threats of Don Gregorio had produced a strong impression upon Antinahuel. He had reason to fear that the Chilian officer would massacre his prisoners and hostages. The consequences of this action would be terrible to him, and would make him lose beyond recovery the prestige he still enjoyed among his compatriots; therefore, forced for the first time in his life to bend, he had resolved to retrace his steps, and confer with this man.

Endowed with great finesse, Antinahuel flattered himself he could obtain from Don Gregorio a delay which would enable him to sacrifice his prisoner without being called to an account for it. But time pressed.

It was scarcely eight o'clock in the evening, and Antinahuel had but six leagues to ride; he flattered himself, therefore, that if nothing thwarted his plans, he should arrive long before the time, and even return to his camp ere sunrise.

We have said that the Linda entered the hut which sheltered Don Tadeo. She found him seated upon a heap of dry leaves in a corner of the hut, his back leaning against a tree, his arms crossed upon his breast, and his head drooping on his chest. Absorbed by the bitter thoughts which weighed upon his heart, he did not perceive the entrance of the Linda, who, standing motionless within two paces of him, contemplated him with an expression of rage and satisfied hatred.

"Well?" said a shrill, incisive voice, "What are you thinking of, Don Tadeo?"

He started at the too well-known sound, and raised his head.

"Ah!" he replied, bitterly, "is that you? I wondered I had not seen you before."

"It is strange, is it not?" she replied. "Well, we are once more face to face."

"Like a hyena, the odour of blood attracts you."

"Who—I, Don Tadeo? You mistake my character strangely. No, no; am I not your wife—the woman whom you loved so much?"

Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders with an expression of disgust.

"You ought to be grateful for what I do," she replied.

"Listen to me," said Don Tadeo, "your insults can never rise to the height of my contempt. Do, act, speak, insult me, invent the most atrocious calumnies your infernal genius can inspire, I will not answer you! Concentrated in myself, your insults, like a vain sound, will strike my ear without my mind making the least effort to understand them."

"Oh!" she cried, "I know well how to compel you to listen to me, my beloved husband. You men are all alike! You arrogate to yourselves all the rights, as you have done all the virtues! We are contemptible beings, creatures without heart; condemned to be your very humble servants, and to endure, with a smile upon our lips, all the insults you please to heap upon us! It was I who was always wrong; you are right; it was I who stole your child from you, was it not?"

At the end of a minute she resumed—

"Come, let there be no feigning between us; let us speak for the last time openly. You are the prisoner of your most implacable enemy; the most frightful tortures await you. In a few instants, perhaps, the punishment which threatens you will fall like a thunderbolt upon your proud head. Well, I can enable you to escape this punishment; that life, which you now reckon only by seconds, I can restore to you, happy, long, and glorious! In a word, I can with one sentence, one gesture, one sign, restore you to liberty immediately! I only ask one thing of you—I mistake, not a thing, a word—utter that word, Don Tadeo, where is my daughter?"

Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a gesture of fury, "this man is a bar of iron; nothing can touch him—no words are sufficiently strong to move him! Demon! demon! oh, with what joy I could tear you to pieces! But no," she added, after a moment's pause, "I am wrong, Don Tadeo; pardon me, I know not what I say; grief makes me mad! Have pity on me! I am a woman—I am a mother. I adore my child, my poor little girl whom I have not seen so long, who has lived deprived of my kisses and my love! Restore her to me, Don Tadeo. See, I am on my knees at your feet! I supplicate you, I weep! Don Tadeo, restore me my child!"

She cast herself at the feet of Don Tadeo, and seized his poncho.

"Begone, señora, begone!"

"And is that all?" she cried, in a choked, husky voice; "Is that all? I implore you, I drag myself panting with grief through the dust at your feet, and you laugh at me. Prayers and threats are equally powerless with you. Beware, Don Tadeo, beware!"

Don Tadeo smiled disdainfully.

"What punishment can you impose upon me more terrible than your presence?" he said.

"Senseless man!" she resumed; "Fool! Do you imagine, then, that you alone are in my power?"

"What do you mean by that?" Don Tadeo cried, starting up.

"Ah, ah!" she exclaimed, with an expression of ferocious joy, "I have hit the mark this time, have I?"

"Speak, speak!" he exclaimed, in great agitation.

"And suppose I should not please to do so?" she replied ironically. And she laughed like a demon.

"But no," she continued, in a bitterly sarcastic tone, "I cannot bear malice: come along with me, Don Tadeo; I will lead you to her whom you have so long sought for in vain, and whom but for me you would never see again. And see how generous I am," she added, jeeringly. "Come along with me, Don Tadeo."

She hastily left the hut, and Don Tadeo followed her, struck by a horrible presentiment.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A THUNDERCLAP.

The Araucanos, spread about the camp, saw with surprise these two persons, both in apparent agitation, pass them. Doña Maria rushed into the toldo, followed by Don Tadeo. Doña Rosario was fast asleep upon a bed of dry leaves, covered with sheepskins. She had the appearance of a dead person. Don Tadeo, deceived by this, sprang towards her, exclaiming in a tone of despair—

"She is dead! oh, heavens, she is dead!"

"No, no," said the Linda, "she is asleep."

"Still," he exclaimed, "this sleep cannot be natural, for our coming in should have awakened her."

"Well! perhaps it is not natural."

Don Tadeo cast an inquiring glance at her.

"Oh," she said, ironically, "she is alive; only it was necessary to send her to sleep for awhile."

Don Tadeo was mute with confused astonishment.

"You do not understand me," she resumed. "Well, I will explain; this girl whom you love so much—"

"Oh, yes, I love her!" he interrupted.

"It was I who took her from you," said the Linda, with a bitter smile.

"Wretch, miserable wretch!"

"Why, I hated you, and I avenged myself; I knew the deep love you bear this creature. To take her from you was aiming a blow at your heart."

"Miserable!" Don Tadeo cried.

"Ah, yes," the Linda replied, smiling, "that revenge was miserable; it did not at all amount to what I intended; but chance offered me what could alone satisfy me, by breaking your very heart."

"What frightful infamy can this monster have imagined?" Don Tadeo murmured.

"Antinahuel, the enemy of your race, your enemy, became enamoured of this woman."

"What!" he exclaimed, in a tone of horror.

"Yes, after his fashion, he loved her," she continued, coolly; "so I resolved to sell her to him, and I did so; but when the chief wished to avail himself of the rights I had given him, she resisted, and arming herself suddenly with a dagger, threatened to plunge it into her own heart."

"Noble girl!" he exclaimed, deeply affected.

"Is she not?" said the Linda, with her malign vacant smile; "so I took pity on her, and as I had no particular wish for her death, but a very anxious one for her dishonour, I this evening gave her some opium, which will place her, without means of defence, in the power of Antinahuel. Have I attained my object this time?"

Don Tadeo made no reply, this utter depravity in a woman absolutely terrified him.

"Well," she continued, in a mocking tone, "have you nothing to say?"

"Mad woman, mad woman!" he cried, in a loud voice, "you have avenged yourself, you say? Mad woman! Could you a mother, pretending to adore your daughter, coolly, unhesitatingly, conceive such crimes? I say, do you know what you have done?"

"My daughter, you named my daughter! Restore her to me! Tell me where she is, and I will save this woman. Oh! if I could but see her!"

"Your daughter, wretch? You serpent bursting with venom! Is it possible you think of her?"

"Oh, if I found her again, I would love her so."

"Do you fancy that possible?" said Don Tadeo.

"Oh, yes, a daughter cannot hate her mother."

"Ask herself, then!" he cried, in a voice of thunder.

"What! what! what!" she shrieked. In a tone of thrilling agony, and springing up as if electrified; "What did you say? What did you say, Don Tadeo?"

"I say, miserable wretch! that the innocent creature whom you have pursued with the inveteracy of a hungry hyena, is your daughter!—do you hear me? your daughter! She whom you pretend to love so dearly, and whom, a few minutes ago, you demanded of me so earnestly."

The Linda remained for an instant motionless, as if thunderstruck; and then exclaimed, with a loud, demoniac laugh—

"Well played, Don Tadeo! well played, by Heaven! For a moment I believed you were telling the truth."

"Oh!" Don Tadeo murmured, "this wretched being cannot recognise her own child."

"No, I do not believe it! It is not possible! Nature would have warned me that it was my child!"

"God renders those blind whom He would destroy, miserable woman! An exemplary punishment was due to His insulted justice!"

The Linda turned about in the toldo like a wild beast in a cage, uttering inarticulate cries, incessantly repeating in a broken voice—

"No, no! she cannot be my daughter!"

Don Tadeo experienced a feeling of deadly hatred, in spite of his better nature, at beholding this profound grief; he also wished to avenge himself.

"Senseless woman," he said, "had the child I stole from you no sign, no mark whatever, by which it would be possible for you to recognise her?"

"Yes, yes," she cried, roused from her stupor; "wait! wait!"

And she threw herself down upon her knees, leant over the sleeping Rosario, and tore the covering from her neck and shoulder.

"My child!" she exclaimed; "it is she! it is my child!"

She had perceived three small moles upon the young girl's right shoulder. Suddenly her body became agitated by convulsive movements, her face was horribly distorted, her glaring eyes seemed staring from their sockets; she, clasped her hands tightly to her breast, uttered a deep rattle, more like a roar than a sound from a human mouth, and rolled upon the ground, crying with an accent impossible to describe—

"My daughter! my daughter! Oh, I will save her!"

She crawled, with the action of a wild beast, to the feet of the poor girl.

"Rosario, my daughter!" she cried, in a voice broken by sobs; "it is I, it is your mother! Know me, dear!"

"It is you who have killed her," Don Tadeo said, implacably; "unnatural mother, who coolly planned the dishonour of your own child."

"Oh, do not speak so!" she cried, clasping her hands; "She shall not die! I will not let her die! She must live! I will save her, I tell you!"

"It is too late."

"I tell you I will save her," she repeated, in a deep tone.

At this moment the steps of horses resounded.

"Here is Antinahuel!" said Don Tadeo.

"Yes," she replied, with a short, determined accent, "of what consequence is his arrival? Woe be to him if he touch my child!"

The curtain of the toldo was lifted by a firm hand, and an Indian appeared: it was Antinahuel. A warrior followed with a torch.

"Eh, eh!" said the chief, with an ironical smile.

"Yes," Linda replied smiling; "my brother arrives opportunely."

"Has my sister had a satisfactory conversation with her husband?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Good! the Great Eagle of the Whites is an intrepid warrior; the Aucas warriors will soon put his courage to the test."

This brutal allusion to the fate that was reserved for him was perfectly understood by Don Tadeo.

"Men of my temperament do not allow themselves to be frightened by vain threats," he retorted.

The Linda drew the chief aside.

"Antinahuel is my brother," she said, in a low voice; "we were brought up together."

"Has my sister anything to ask for?"

"Yes, and for his own sake my brother would do well to grant it me."

Antinahuel looked at her earnestly.

"Speak," he said, coolly.

"Everything my brother has desired I have done."

The chief bowed his head affirmatively.

"This woman, who resisted him," she continued, "I have given up to him without defence."

"Good!"

"My brother knows that the palefaces have secrets which they alone possess?"

"I know they have."

"If my brother pleases it shall not be a woman cold, motionless, and buried in sleep, that I surrender to him."

The eye of the Indian kindled with a strange light.

"I do not understand my sister," he said.

"I am able," the Linda replied, earnestly, "in three days so completely to change this woman's feelings for my brother, that she will be towards him loving and devoted."

"Can my sister do that?" he asked, doubtingly.

"I can do it," she replied, resolutely.

Antinahuel reflected for a few minutes.

"Why did my sister wait so long to do this?"

"Because I did not think it would be necessary."

"Ooch!" said the Indian, thoughtfully.

"Besides," she added, carelessly, "if I say anything about it now, it is only from friendship for my brother."

Whilst pronouncing these words, an internal shudder agitated her whole frame.

"And will it require three days to effect this change?"

"Three days."

"Antinahuel is a wise chief—he will wait."

The Linda experienced great inward joy; if the chief had refused, her resolution was formed—she would have stabbed him to the heart.

"Good!" she said; "my brother may depend upon my promise."

"Yes," the Toqui replied; "the girl is sick; it would be better she should be cured."

The Linda smiled with an undefinable expression.

"The Eagle will follow me," said Antinahuel; "unless he prefers giving me his word."

"No!" Don Tadeo answered.

The two men left the toldo together. Antinahuel commanded his warriors to guard the prisoner strictly.

At sunrise the camp was struck, and the Aucas marched during the whole day into the mountains without any determinate object.

"Has my sister commenced?" asked the chief of Linda.

"I have commenced," she replied.

The truth was she had passed the whole day in vainly endeavouring to induce the maiden to speak to her; the latter had constantly refused, but the Linda was not a woman to be easily repulsed. As soon as the chief had left her, she went to Doña Rosario, and stooping to her ear, said in a low, melancholy voice—

"Pardon me all the ill I have done you—I did not know who you were; in the name of Heaven, have pity on me—I am your mother!"

At this avowal, the young girl staggered as if she were thunderstruck. The Linda sprang towards her, but Doña Rosario repulsed her with a cry of horror, and fled into her toldo.

"Oh!" the Linda cried, with tears in her eyes, "I will love her so that she must pardon me."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

UPON THE TRACK.

It was the evening of the eighth day, after twenty leagues from Arauca. In a virgin forest of myrtles, cypresses, and espinos, which cover with their green shade the lower parts of the Cordilleras—four men were seated round a fire. Of these four men, two wore the Indian costume, and were no other than Trangoil-Lanec and Curumilla; the others were the count and Valentine.

The spot on which our travellers had halted was one of those glades so common in American forests. It was a vast space covered with the trunks of trees that have died from age, or been struck by lightning, deeply inclosed between two hills.

The Indians were too experienced to commit the fault of stopping of their own accord in this place; and it was only from the impossibility of going further that they had consented to pass the night there.

The day had been a rough one, but the night promised to be mild and tranquil. The travellers attacked their supper bravely, in order to be the sooner able to enjoy the repose they stood so much in need of. They did not exchange a word during the repast; the last morsel swallowed, the Indians threw upon the fire a few armfuls of dry wood, of which they had an ample provision at hand, then folded themselves in their ponchos, and fell asleep. Valentine and Cæsar alone were left to keep guard.

It was almost an hour since he had taken Valentine's place, when Cæsar, who had till that time lain carelessly stretched before the fire, sharply raised his head, sniffed the air in all directions, and gave a surly growl.

"Well, Cæsar," said the young man whilst patting the animal, "what's the matter, my good dog?"

The Newfoundland fixed his large intelligent eyes upon the count, wagged his tail, and uttered a growl much stronger than the first.

"Very well," said Louis; "we will go on the lookout. Come along, Cæsar."

The count examined his rifle and his pistols, and made a sign to the dog, who watched all his motions.

"Now, Cesar," he said, "look out, my fine fellow!"

The animal, as if he had only waited for this order, sprang forward, followed step by step by his master, who examined the bushes, and stopped at intervals to cast an inquiring glance around him.

At length, after numberless windings, the dog crouched, turned its head towards the young man, and uttered one of those plaintive howls, so like a human complaint, which are peculiar to the race. The count started; putting the bushes and leaves apart with precaution, he looked, and with difficulty repressed a cry of painful astonishment at the strange spectacle which presented itself to his eyes. Within twenty paces from him, in the centre of a vast glade, fifty Indians were lying round a fire, buried in the sleep of intoxication, as could be divined from the leather bottles scattered without order upon the sand, some full of aguardiente, others empty.

But what attracted the particular attention of the young man was the sigh of two persons, a man and a woman, firmly bound to two trees. The head of the man reclined upon his breast, his large eyes were flooded with tears; deep sighs seemed to rise from his very heart, as he looked towards a young girl standing bound before him.

"Oh!" the count murmured, "Don Tadeo de León! My God! Grant that that woman be not his daughter!"

Alas! it was she. At their feet lay the Linda, bound to an enormous post.

The young man felt the blood flow back to his heart; forgetful of his own preservation, he seized a pistol in each hand, and was about to spring forward, when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered in his ear—

"Prudence!"

"Prudence!" the young man repeated, in a tone of painful reproach; "look there!"

"I have seen," replied Trangoil-Lanec, "but my brother will look in his turn," he added.

And he pointed to a dozen Indians, who, awakened by the cold of the night, or perhaps by the involuntary noise made by the two men, in spite of their precaution, rose and looked suspiciously around.

"That is true!" Louis murmured, quite overcome. "Oh, my God! Will you not come to our aid?"

The chief took advantage of the momentary prostration into which his friend had fallen, to lead him back a little, so as to avoid increasing the aroused suspicions of the Indians.

"Still," the young man exclaimed, "we shall save them, shall we not, chief?"

The Araucano shook his head.

"At this moment it is impossible," he replied.

"Brother, now that we have recovered their track, which we had lost, they must be saved."

A smile passed over the lips of the Indian warrior.

"We will try," he said.

"Thanks! thanks, chief," the young man cried.

"Let us return to the camp," said Trangoil-Lanec. "Patience, my brother," the Indian added in a solemn voice; "nothing is urgent—in an hour we shall be on their track again."

"That is true," the young man said, hanging down his head with forced resignation.

The two men regained their encampment, where they found Curumilla and Valentine still asleep.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE LYNX.

In the course of the past few days certain events had taken place in Araucania which we must explain. The policy adopted by General Fuentes had produced the best results. The chiefs restored to liberty had returned to their tribes, where they had warmly persuaded their mosotones to conclude a definite peace. These persuasions had been eagerly listened to.

The Huiliches, who asked no better than to resume the course of their peaceful labours in safety, warmly gave their adhesion to the conditions their Ulmens submitted to them.

A grand council was solemnly convoked on the banks of the Carampangne, at the closing of which six deputies, chosen from among the wisest and most respected chiefs, having at their head an Apo-Ulmen named the Lynx, and followed by a thousand well-armed horsemen, were sent to Antinahuel, in order to communicate to him the resolutions of the council, and demand his assent.

When he perceived at a distance this numerous troop advancing amidst clouds of dust, Antinahuel breathed a sigh of satisfaction, thinking what a noble reinforcement was coming: for the malocca which he was so anxious to attempt upon the Chilian frontier.

The troop which Antinahuel had perceived continued to approach, and soon came within speaking distance. The Toqui then observed with secret dissatisfaction that it was commanded by the Lynx, who had always been tacitly opposed to him. When the horsemen had arrived within ten paces of the camp the Lynx made a sign, and the troop halted; a herald stopped in front of the chiefs, and saluted them respectfully.

"Toqui of the four Uthal-mapus," he said, in a loud voice, "and you Ulmens who hear me—the Lynx, the venerated Apo-Ulmen of Arauca, followed by six Ulmens no less celebrated than himself, is sent to you to enjoin obedience to the orders emanating from the supreme Auca-coyog."

After speaking thus the herald bowed respectfully and retired. Antinahuel and his Ulmens looked at each other in astonishment, for they could not comprehend what it all meant. The Toqui alone suspected some treachery planned against himself; but his countenance remained impassive, and he asked his Ulmens to accompany him to the council fire. At the expiration of a minute the Lynx arose, made two steps forward, and spoke as follows:—

"The grand Auca-coyog of Arauca, in the name of the people, to all persons who are at the head of warriors, salutation! Certain that all our compatriots keep their faith, we wish them peace in that genius of goodness, in which alone reside true health and holy obedience. This is what we have resolved: war has fallen unexpectedly upon our rich plains, and has changed them into deserts; our harvests have been trampled under the feet of horses, our cattle have been killed or driven away by the enemy, our crops are lost, our toldos are burnt, our wives and children have disappeared in the tempest. We will have no more war, and peace must be immediately concluded with the palefaces. I have spoken."

A profound silence followed this speech. Antinahuel's Ulmens were struck with stupor, and looked towards their chief with great anxiety.

"And upon what conditions has this peace been concluded?" asked the Toqui.

"The conditions are these," the Lynx replied; "Antinahuel will immediately release the white prisoners; he will dismiss the army; the Araucanos will pay the palefaces two thousand sheep, five hundred vicunas, and eight hundred head of cattle; and the war hatchet is to be buried."

"Hum!" said the Toqui with a bitter smile; "these are hard conditions. If I should on my part refuse to ratify this shameful peace?"

"But my father will not refuse," the Lynx suggested.

"But I do refuse!" he replied, loudly.

"Good! my father will reflect; it is impossible that can be his last word."

Antinahuel, cunning as he was, had no suspicion of the snare that was laid for him.

"I repeat to you. Lynx," he said, in a loud voice, "and to all the chiefs who surround me, that I refuse to ratify these dishonourable conditions. So, now you can return whence you came."

"Not yet!" said the Lynx, in his turn, as sharply as the Toqui. "I have not finished yet!"

"What else have you to tell me?"

"The council, which is composed of the wise men of all the tribes, has foreseen the refusal of my father."

"Ah!" Antinahuel cried. "What have they decreed in consequence?"

"This: the hatchet of Toqui is withdrawn from my father; all the Araucanian warriors are released from their oath of fidelity to him; fire and water are refused to my father; he is declared a traitor to his country, as are all those who do not obey, and remain with him. The Araucanian nation will no longer serve as a plaything, and be the victim of the wild ambition of a man unworthy of commanding it."

During this terrific peroration Antinahuel had remained motionless, his arms crossed upon his breast.

"Have you finished?" he asked.

"I have finished," the Lynx replied; "now the herald will go and proclaim in your camp what I have told you at the council fire."

"Well, let him go!" Antinahuel replied. "You are welcome to withdraw from me the hatchet of Toqui. Of what importance is that vain dignity to me? You may declare me a traitor to my country; I have on my side my own conscience, which absolves me; but what you wish above all else to have you shall not have and that is my prisoners. Farewell!"

And with a step as firm as if nothing had happened to him, he returned to his camp. But there a great mortification awaited him. At the summons of the herald all his warriors abandoned him. One after the other, some with joy, others with sorrow. He who five minutes before counted more than eight hundred warriors under his orders, saw their numbers diminish so rapidly that soon only thirty-eight were left.

The Lynx called out an ironical farewell to him from a distance, and departed at a gallop with all his troop. When Antinahuel counted the small number of friends left to him, an immense grief weighed upon his heart; he sank down at the foot of a tree, covered his face with his poncho, and wept.

In the meantime, thanks to the facilities which the Linda had procured Don Tadeo, the latter had been able for some days past to approach Rosario. The presence of the man who had brought her up was a great consolation to the young lady; but when Don Tadeo, who had thenceforward no reasons for secrecy, confessed to her that he was her father, an inexpressible joy took possession of the poor child. It appeared to her that she now had no longer anything to dread, and that since her father was with her she should easily escape the horrible love of Antinahuel. The Linda, whom Don Tadeo allowed from pity to be near her, beheld with childish joy the father and daughter talking together.

This woman was really a mother, with all the devotedness and all the abnegation which the title implies. She no longer lived for anything but her daughter.

Whilst the events we have described were taking place, the three Chilians, crouched in a corner of the camp, absorbed by their own feelings, had attended to nothing—seen or heard nothing. Don Tadeo and Rosario were seated at the foot of a tree, and at some distance the Linda, without daring to mingle in their conversation, contemplated them with delight. His first grief calmed, Antinahuel recovered himself, and was as haughty and as implacable as ever. On raising his eyes his looks fell mechanically upon his prisoners.

Antinahuel, whose attention was roused, had watched Maria carefully, and was not long in acquiring the moral proof of a plot being laid against him by his ancient accomplice. The Indian was too cunning to let them be aware of his suspicions; still he held himself on his guard, waiting for the first opportunity to change them into certainty. He ordered his mosotones to tie each of his prisoners to a tree, which order was immediately executed.

At sight of this, the Linda forgot her prudence; she rushed, dagger in hand, towards the chief, and reproached him with his baseness. Antinahuel disdained to reply to her reproaches; he merely snatched the dagger from her hand, threw her down upon the ground, and ordered her to be tied to a large post with her face turned towards the ground.

"Since my sister is so fond of the prisoners," he said "it is but just that she should share their fate."

"Cowardly wretch!" she replied, vainly endeavouring to release herself. The chief turned from her in apparent contempt; then, as he fancied that he must reward the fidelity of the warriors who followed his fortunes, he gave them several bottles of aguardiente. It was at the end of these orgies that they were discovered by the count, thanks to the sagacity of the Newfoundland dog.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE BLACK SERPENTS.

As soon as Curumilla and Valentine had been awakened, they saddled the horses, then the Indians sat down by the fire, making a sign to the Frenchmen to imitate them. The count was driven to despair by the slowness of his friends; if he had only listened to his own feelings, he would have instantly set out in pursuit of the ravishers; but he could not help seeing how necessary the support of the Ulmens must be to him in the decisive struggle he was about to undertake, whether for attack, defence, or following the track of the Aucas.

After a tolerably long interval, employed by our four personages in conscientiously burning their tobacco leaf, the last, Trangoil-Lanec spoke—

"The warriors are numerous," he said, "therefore we cannot hope to conquer by force. Since we have been upon their track many events must have occurred; we ought to ascertain what Antinahuel means to do with his prisoners, and whether they are really in danger. Antinahuel is ignorant of the ties which connect me with those who are in his power, he will not suspect me."

"Very well!" said Curumilla, "my brother is prudent, he will succeed. But let him carefully calculate his actions and his words whilst he is amongst them."

Valentine looked at his foster brother with astonishment.

"What does all this mean?" he asked. "Is Antinahuels track found again?"

"Yes, brother," Louis replied, in a melancholy tone, "Doña Rosario and her father are within half a league of us, and in danger of death!"

"Vive Dieu!" the young man cried, "and we are here prating."

"Alas!" Louis murmured, "what can four men do against fifty?"

"That is too true," he replied, returning dejectedly to his place. "As Trangoil-Lanec says, fighting will not avail us, we must manoeuvre."

"Chief," Louis observed, "your plan is good, but I think of two material ameliorations."

"My brother can speak, he is wise," Trangoil-Lanec replied, bowing courteously.

"We must provide against all that may happen. Go to the camp, we will follow your steps; but if you cannot rejoin us as quickly as we may wish, agree upon a signal which may inform us why, and agree also upon another signal in case your life may be in danger."

"Very well," said Curumilla; "if the chief requires our presence, he will imitate the cry of the water-hawk; if he is obliged to remain with the Aucas the song of the goldfinch will warn us of it."

"That is settled," Trangoil-Lanec answered; "but what is my brother's second observation?"

The count rummaged in his haversack, took out some paper, wrote a few words upon a sheet, which he folded and handed to the chief, saying—

"It is particularly important that those whom we wish to deliver should not thwart our plans; perhaps Don Tadeo may not recognise my brother. The chief will slip this necklace into the hands of the young pale woman."

"That shall be done; the young blue-eyed maiden shall have the necklace, the chief replied with a smile.

"Well, now," said Curumilla, "let us take the track."

"Yes, time presses," said Valentine.

Towards the evening of the second day, Trangoil-Lanec, leaving his companions to establish their encampment upon the declivity of a little hill, at the entrance of a natural grotto, clapped spurs to his horse, and was soon out of sight. He directed his course towards the spot where the Black Serpents had stopped for the night—a spot announced to the clear-sighted Indian by a thin thread of white smoke. When he arrived at a certain distance from the camp, the chief saw two Indian Black Serpents suddenly spring up before him, clothed in their war costume.

"Where is my brother going?" one of the Black Serpents asked, advancing towards him.

"Good!" the chief replied, throwing his gun, which he held in his left hand, on his shoulder. "Trangoil-Lanec has recognised the trail of his brothers the Black Serpents, and he wishes to smoke at their fire."

"My brother will follow me," the Indian remarked.

He made an imperceptible sign to his companion, who quitted his hiding place. Trangoil-Lanec followed them, casting around an apparently careless glance. In a few minutes they reached the camp, whose situation was admirably chosen.

The arrival of the warrior created a stir in the camp, which was, however, quickly repressed. Trangoil-Lanec was conducted into the presence of the chief, and as his reputation was high among his compatriots, Antinahuel, to do him honour, received him in the most elevated part or the camp. The two chiefs saluted each other.

"Is my brother Antinahuel hunting with his young men?" asked Trangoil-Lanec.

"Yes," the Toqui replied, laconically.

"Has my brother been fortunate in his hunting?"

"Very fortunate," said Antinahuel, with a sinister smile; "let my brother open his eyes."

"Wah!" said Trangoil-Lanec, "palefaces! My brother has had good sport indeed; he will get a heavy ransom for his prisoners."

"The toldo of Antinahuel is solitary—he wants a squaw to inhabit it."

"Good! I understand; my brother will take one of the pale women."

"The blue-eyed maiden will be the wife of a chief."

"Wah! but why does my brother detain the Great Eagle?"

Antinahuel only replied by a smile, the expression of which the chief could not mistake.

"Oh, good!" he rejoined; "my brother is a great chief—who is able to fathom his thoughts?"

The Araucano warrior rose, quitted Antinahuel, and walked about the camp, the order and position of which he feigned to admire, but in reality he drew nearer and nearer, in an almost imperceptible manner, to that part at which the prisoners were seated.

"Let my brother look," Antinahuel said, pointing to Doña Rosario; "does not that woman deserve to espouse a chief?"

"She is pretty!" Trangoil-Lanec replied, coldly; "But I would give all the palefaces in the world for one bottle of such firewater as I have here."

"Has my brother some firewater?" Antinahuel asked, whose eyes sparkled at the thought.

"Yes," the chief replied; "look!"

The Toqui turned round, and the Aucas profited by the movement to cleverly let fall upon Rosario's lap the paper committed to his charge by Louis.

"Look!" he said "the sun is sinking, the maukawis is singing his first evening song; my brother will follow me, he and his warriors will empty these bottles."

The two chiefs walked away, and a few minutes after all the Indians were satisfactorily employed in emptying the bottles brought by the Ulmen.

Doña Rosario could not at first imagine what a message sent to her in such a curious manner could mean, and she looked at her father.

"Read, my Rosario!" Don Tadeo said, softly.

The young girl tremblingly took the note, opened it, and read it with a secret joy. It contained only these few laconic words, but they were sufficient to cause a smile.

"Take courage, señorita, we are preparing everything for saving you at last."

After having read, or rather devoured these words, she gave the note to her father.

"Who can this friend be who is watching over us? What can he do?"

"Why should we doubt the infinite goodness of God, my child?" said Don Tadeo. "Ungrateful girl! Have you forgotten the two brave Frenchmen?"

The young girl smiled through her tears, leaning fondly upon her father.

The Linda could not suppress a feeling of jealousy at this caress of which she had no share; but the hope that her daughter would soon be liberated, rendered her quite happy.

In the meantime the Indians continued drinking. Many of the Aucas were in a helpless state of intoxication. Trangoil-Lanec and Antinahuel were at length the only drinkers. But even the strength of the renowned Toqui was not of avail against the insidious poison he quaffed so greedily; his eyes closed, and he fell backwards—fast asleep.

Trangoil-Lanec waited for a few moments, carefully surveying the camp in which he and the prisoners were the only persons awake; then, when he had ascertained to a certainty that the Black Serpents had really allowed themselves to be caught in the snare he had laid for them, he rose cautiously, made a sign of encouragement to the prisoners, and disappeared into the forest.

"Is that an enemy or a friend?" murmured the Linda anxiously.

"Oh, I have long known that man!" replied Don Tadeo; "his is a noble heart! He is devoted body and soul to our friends."

CHAPTER XL.

THE HURRICANE.

Louis had not been able to restrain himself; instead of waiting, he had persuaded Valentine and Curumilla to follow him, and all three had advanced, gliding through bushes and underwood, to within twenty paces of the Indian camp, so that Trangoil-Lanec met them almost immediately.

"Well?" the count asked anxiously.

"All is right! Come on!"

The chief quickly retraced his steps, and led his friends towards the prisoners. At the sight of the four men a smile of ineffable sweetness lit up the beautiful countenance of Rosario; even her prudence could not repress a half-uttered cry of joy, Don Tadeo arose, and was beginning to thank them.

"Caballero," cried the count, who was upon hot coals, "let us be quick. These men will soon be awake again."

"Yes," Valentine added; "because if they were to surprise us we should be compelled to have a brush."

All were aware of the justness of this observation and Trangoil-Lanec having unfastened the horses of the prisoners, which were grazing quietly among those of the Aucas, Don Tadeo and his daughter mounted. The Linda, of whom nobody seemed to take any notice, sprang upon a horse. If Valentine had not been afraid of her giving the alarm, he would have compelled her to remain behind. The little troop set off without impediment, and directed their course towards the natural grotto where the horses had been left. As soon as they arrived, Valentine made a sign.

"You had better rest here for a short time," he said; "the night is very dark; in a few hours we will set off again; you will find in this grotto two beds of leaves."

These words, pronounced in the usual blunt, offhand style of the Parisian, brought a cheerful smile to the lips of the Chilians. When they had lain down upon the leaves heaped up in the grotto, the count called his sagacious dog to him, and said—

"Pay attention to what I order you, Cæsar: you see this young lady, do you not, my good dog? You must be answerable for her to me."

Cæsar listened to his master, staring at him with his large intelligent eyes and gently wagging his tail; he then laid himself quietly down at the feet of Rosario, licking her hand. The young girl seized his great head in her arms, and hugged him several times, smiling at the count. Poor Louis blushed to the eyes, and left the grotto, staggering like a drunken man—happiness almost deprived him of his senses. He went and threw himself on the ground at a short distance to think over, at leisure the joy which inundated his heart. He did not observe Valentine, who leaning against a tree, followed him with a melancholy look, for Valentine also loved Doña Rosario.

Yes, the sight of Doña Rosario had revealed to him a thing which he had hardly thought possible, and that was, that besides this so warm and so strong feeling, there was in his heart room for another at least as warm and as strong.

Leaning against a tree, with his eye fixed upon the entrance to the grotto, and his chest heaving, he recalled the smallest incidents of his meeting with the young lady, their journey through the forest, the words she addressed to him and smiled delightedly at the remembrance of those delicious moments, without suspecting the danger of these remembrances of the new feeling which had been just born in his soul.

Two hours had thus glided away, and Valentine had taken no heed of their passage, so absorbed was he in his fantastic contemplation, when the two Indians came up to him—

"Is our brother asleep that he does not see us?"

"No," Valentine replied, passing his hand over his burning brow, "I was thinking."

"My brother was with the genius of dreams; he was happy," Trangoil-Lanec remarked, with a smile.

"Do you want me?"

"Whilst my brother has been reflecting, we have returned to the camp of the Black Serpents. We have taken their horses, and after leading them to a considerable distance have let them loose on the plain."

"If that is the case we may be at our ease for a few hours?" Valentine suggested.

"I hope so," said Trangoil-Lanec, "but we must not be too confident, the Black Serpents are cunning fellows."

"What had we better do, then?"

"Mislead our enemies by putting them upon a false track. I will set off with the three horses of the palefaces, whilst my brother, his friend, and Curumilla descend the rivulet, walking in its bed."

Trangoil-Lanec cut a reed a foot and a half long, and fastened each extremity of it to the bits of the horses, in order that they might not be able to approach each other too near, and then set off. Valentine entered the grotto, where he found the Linda seated near her husband and daughter, guarding their slumbers.

Louis had prepared everything; he placed Don Tadeo upon Valentine's horse, and the Linda and Rosario upon his own, and led them into the rivulet, after having carefully effaced their footsteps in the sand.

The little caravan advanced silently, listening to the noises of the forest, watching the movements of the bushes, fearing at every instant to see the ferocious eye of a Black Serpent gleam through the shade.

Towards four o'clock in the morning the Islet of the Guanaco appeared to the delighted eyes of our travellers like a port of safety, after the fatigues of a journey made entirely in the water. On the most advanced point of the islet a horseman stood motionless—it was Trangoil-Lanec; and near him the horses of the Spaniards were peaceably grazing upon the high grass of the banks. The travellers found a fire ready lighted, upon which was cooking the quarter of a doe, camotes and maize tortillas.

"Eat," said Trangoil-Lanec, laconically; "but, above all, eat quickly!" Without asking the chief for any explanation, the hungry travellers sat down in a circle, and vigorously attacked the provisions.

"Bah!" said Valentine, gaily; "after us the end of the world—let us eat while we can! Here is a roast joint that appears to me to be tolerably well cooked!"

At these words of the spahi Doña Rosario looked a little surprised; the young man was struck dumb, blushing at his rudeness, and began to eat without venturing another word.

As soon as breakfast was over; Trangoil-Lanec, assisted by Curumilla, employed himself in preparing one of those canoes, made of buffalo hides sewn together, which are employed by the Indians to cross the rivers in the desert. After placing it in the water, the chief requested the three Spaniards to take their seats in it. The Indians afterwards entered it for the purpose of steering it; whilst the two Frenchmen, still in the water, led the horses by their bridles. The passage was not long; at the end of an hour they landed, and they continued their journey by land.

For some hours past, as it often happens in that country, the weather had completely changed. The sun had assumed a red tint, and appeared to swim in an ocean of vapour, which intercepted its warm rays.

"What do you think of this weather, chief?" the count asked anxiously to Trangoil-Lanec.

"Bad—very bad," the latter replied, "unless we could possibly pass the Sorcerer's Leap."

"Are we in danger, then?"

"We are lost," the Indian replied.

"Hum! that is not very comforting," said Valentine. "Do you think, then, that the peril is so great?"

"Much greater than I can tell my brother. Do you think it possible to resist the hurricane, here?"

"That is true," Valentine muttered, hanging his head. "May Heaven preserve us!"

In fact the situation of the travellers appeared desperate. They were following one of those roads cut in the living rock which wind round the Andes, a road of scarcely four feet in its greatest width, which on one side was bordered by a wall of granite more than a thousand feet high, and on the other by precipices of incalculable depth, at the bottom of which invisible waters coursed with dull, mysterious murmurs. In such a spot all hope of safety seemed little short of madness. And yet the travellers proceeded, advancing in Indian file—that is, one after the other, silent and gloomy.

"Are we still far from the Sorcerer's Leap?" Valentine asked, after a long silence.

"We are approaching it," Trangoil-Lanec replied.

Suddenly the brown veil which concealed the horizon was rent violently asunder, a pale flash of lightning illuminated the heavens.

"Dismount!" Trangoil-Lanec shouted, "dismount, for your lives! Lie down on the ground, and cling to the points of the rocks!"

Everyone followed the advice of the chief. The animals, left to themselves, understood the danger instinctively, folded their legs under them, and laid themselves down also upon the ground.

All at once the thunder burst forth in frightful peals, and the rain fell like a deluge. It is not given to human pen to describe the awful hurricane which vented its fury upon those mountains. Enormous blocks of rock, yielding to the force of the wind and undermined by the waters, were precipitated from the top to the bottom of the ravines with a horrible crash; trees, hundreds of years Old, were twisted and torn up by the roots by the blast.

Suddenly a piercing cry of agony filled the air.

"My daughter!—save my daughter!"

Heedless of the danger to which he exposed himself, Don Tadeo stood upright in the road, his arms extended towards heaven, his hair floating in the wind, and the lightning playing around his brow. Doña Rosario, too weak and too delicate to cling to the sharp points of the rocks by which her fingers were torn had been seized and carried away, and dashed down the precipice by the tempest. The Linda, without pronouncing a word, turned and plunged into the gulf.

"Oh!" the count cried frantically, "I will bring her back or——"

And he sprang forward; but a powerful hand withheld him.

"Stay, brother," said Valentine, in a melancholy but firm tone—"let me encounter this peril."

"But, Valentine!"

"I insist upon it!—of what consequence is it if I die?" he added, with an expression of bitterness. "I am not beloved!" and turning towards Don Tadeo he said, "Courage my friend. I will restore your daughter or perish with her!" and whistling his dog—"Find her, Cæsar—find her." he said.

The noble animal uttered a plaintive howl, sniffed the air for an instant in all directions, then, after a minute's hesitation wagged his tail, turned towards his master, and dashed down the steep precipice.

CHAPTER XLI.

LA BARRANCA.

As soon as Valentine was suspended from the abrupt edge of the precipice, and obliged to ascertain carefully where to place his foot, his excitement was dispersed to give place to the cool and lucid determination of the brave man. The task he had undertaken was not an easy one. In his perilous descent his eyes became useless to him; his hands and feet were his only guides. Often did he feel the stone upon which he thought he had placed his foot firmly crumble as he began to trust his weight to it, and the branch he had seized break in his grasp.

But firm in his resolution, he kept descending, following as far as was possible the track of his dog, who at a short distance beneath him stopped, from time to time, to guide him by his yelpings.

Presently he stopped to take breath, still continuing to repeat to his dog the words he had never ceased to cry from the commencement of his descent—

"Find her, Cæsar, find her!"

Suddenly the dog was mute. Much alarmed, Valentine renewed his call. It then appeared to him that, at about twenty feet below the spot where he then was, he could perceive a white form; but its outlines were so vague and indistinct that he thought he must be the sport of an illusion, and he ventured to lean still further over, to assure himself that he was not deceived.

At this moment, he felt himself strongly pulled back. Like a man delivered from a frightful nightmare, he took a confused glance around him. Cæsar with his forepaws firmly fixed upon the rock, was holding the end of his poncho in his clenched teeth.

"Can you reply to me now?" the Linda said.

"Perfectly, señorita," he replied.

"You will help me to save my daughter?"

"It was in search of her that I descended."

"Thanks, caballero!" she said, fervently; "she is close by."

Doña Rosario was lying insensible caught in some thick bushes hanging over an abyss of more than a thousand feet in depth! On perceiving her, Valentine's first impression was a feeling of wild terror. But as soon as the first moment was past, and he could look at her coolly, he became satisfied that she was in perfect safety.

All this had required much time, and the storm had subsided by degrees; the mist was clearing off and the sun had reappeared. Valentine then became aware of all the horror of the situation which the darkness had till then concealed from him.

To reascend was impossible; to descend was still worse. From the clump of myrtles near which they were, the walls of the precipice descended in a plumb line, without any salient point upon which a foot could be placed. One step forward was death.

The Linda saw nothing, thought of nothing, for she had her daughter to look at. In vain Valentine racked his brains to discover some means of overcoming this apparently insuperable difficulty. A bark from Cæsar made him raise his head. Louis had found the means which Valentine had despaired of finding. Collecting the lassos which Chilian horsemen always have suspended from their saddles, he had fastened them tightly together and had formed two ropes, which he let down the precipice.

Valentine uttered a cry of joy. Rosario was saved! As soon as the lassos were within his reach he seized them and quickly constructed a chair; but here a new difficulty presented itself; how was it possible to get the insensible girl from amidst the tangled growth?

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Linda, and bounding like a panther, she sprang into the centre of the tangled mass, which bent under her feet, took her daughter in her arms, and with a spring as sure and as rapid as the first, regained the edge of the precipice.

The young man then tied Doña Rosario in the chair, and then made a signal for hoisting it. The Aucas warriors, directed by Louis, drew the lassos gently and firmly upwards, whilst Valentine and the Linda, clinging as well as they could to points of rocks and bushes, kept the young lady steady, and secured her from collision with the sharp stones that might have wounded her.

As soon as Don Tadeo perceived his daughter, he rushed towards her with a hoarse articulate cry, and pressing her to his panting breast he sobbed aloud, shedding a flood of tears.

"Oh!" cried the girl, clinging with childish terror to her father, and clasping her arms round his neck, "father! father! I thought I must have died!"

"My child," said Don Tadeo, "your mother was the first to fly to your assistance."

The Linda's face glowed with happiness, and she held out her arms to her daughter, with a supplicating look. Rosario looked at her with a mixture of fear and tenderness, and made a motion as if to throw herself into the arms that were open to her; but she suddenly checked herself.

"Oh I cannot! I cannot!"

The Linda heaved a heavy sigh, wiped the tears which inundated her cheeks, and retired on one side.

The two Frenchmen inwardly enjoyed the sight of the happiness of Don Tadeo, happiness which in part he owed to them. The Chilian approached them, pressed their hands warmly, and then turning to Rosario, said—

"My child, love these two gentlemen, you never can discharge your debt to them."

Both the young men blushed.

"Come, come, Don Tadeo," cried Valentine, "we have lost too much time already. To horse, and let us be gone!"

In spite of the roughness of this reply, Doña Rosario, who comprehended the delicacy that had dictated it, gave the young man a look of ineffable sweetness.

The party resumed their march. The Linda was henceforward treated with respect by all. The pardon of Don Tadeo, a pardon so nobly granted, had reinstated her in their eyes. Doña Rosario herself sometimes unconsciously smiled upon her, although she could not yet feel courage enough to respond to her caresses.

At the expiration of an hour they reached the "Sorcerer's Leap." At this place the mountain was divided in two by a fissure of inconceivable depth, and about twenty-five feet wide.

This difficult passage has been thus named by the Aucas because, according to the legend, at the period when the conquest of Araucania was attempted, a Huiliche sorcerer, being closely pursued by Castilian soldiers, leaped without hesitation over the chasm, sustained in his perilous passage by the genii of the air. Whatever be the truth of this legend, a bridge exists now, and our travellers passed over it without accident.

"Ah!" Trangoil-Lanec exclaimed, "now we have room before us, we are safe!"

"Not yet," Curumilla replied, pointing with his finger to a thin column of blue smoke, which curled up towards the heavens.

"Ooch!" replied the chief, "Can that be the Black Serpents again? Can they have preceded instead of pursuing us? How does it happen that they venture in this manner upon the Chilian territory? We had better retire for the night."

CHAPTER XLII.

THE QUIPU.

After a frugal repast, the travellers were preparing to take a little repose, when Cæsar barked furiously. Everyone flew to his arms. At length the noise of steps was heard, the bushes were thrust apart, and an Indian appeared. It was Antinahuel. At the sight of this man, Rosario could not repress a cry of terror. Her mother threw herself before her.

Antinahuel did not appear to perceive the presence of the young lady or of the Linda; he advanced slowly, without moving a muscle of his face. When within a few paces of Trangoil-Lanec, he stopped and saluted him.

"I come to sit at the fireside of my brother," he said.

"My brother is welcome," the chief replied.

"No, I only wish to smoke with my brother, for the sake of communicating to him some important news."

"It shall be as my brother desires," Trangoil-Lanec replied.

The three Indians sat down with the ceremony usual upon such occasions. They lit their pipes, and smoked silently. At length, after a considerable time, Antinahuel began—

"Here," said he, "is the quipu, which the herald who came from Paki-Pulli handed at about the seventh hour to me, Antinahuel, the son of the Black Jackal."

He drew from under his poncho a light piece of wood, about ten inches long, very thick split, and holding a human finger.

"My brother sees," Antinahuel continued, "that upon the black wool there are four knots, to indicate that the herald left Paki-Pulli four days after the moon; upon the white there are ten knots, which signify that ten days after that period, that is to say, in three days, the four confederated Uthal-mapus will take up arms, as has been agreed in a grand auca-coyog convoked by the Toquis; upon the red I have made a knot, which means that the warriors placed under my orders will join the expedition, and that the chiefs may depend upon my concurrence. Will my brothers follow my example?"

"My brother has forgotten to tell me one thing," Trangoil-Lanec replied.

"Let my brother explain himself," said Antinahuel.

"Against whom is this expedition?"

"Against the palefaces," he said, with a tone of mortal hatred.

"Very well," said Trangoil-Lanec, "my brother is a powerful chief, he will give me the quipu."

Antinahuel handed it to him. The Araucano warrior received the quipu, examined it, seized the red fringe and the blue fringe, he joined them, made a knot over them, and passed the piece of wood to Curumilla, who followed his example.

"My brothers, then," he said, "refuse their aid?"

"The chiefs of the four nations can do without us. The war is ended, and this quipu is false. Why, when we came here, instead of presenting us this false quipu, did not Antinahuel tell us frankly that he came in search of his white prisoners, who have escaped? We would have replied to him that these prisoners are henceforward under our protection."

"Is that your resolution," said Antinahuel.

"Yes; and my brother may be assured that we are not men to be easily deceived."

The Toqui rose with rage in his heart.

"You are dogs and old women!" he said; "tomorrow I will come to retake my prisoners."

The two Indians smiled contemptuously, and bowed gravely as a parting salute to their enemy. The Toqui disdained to reply to this ironical courtesy; he turned his back, and re-entered the wood with the same slow, solemn step with which he had arrived, appearing to set his adversaries at defiance. He had scarcely quitted the little camp, when Trangoil-Lanec set off in his track.

Trangoil-Lanec was not long absent; he returned in less than an hour. His companions saw him return with the greatest joy.

"Let my brothers open their ears," he said.

"We are listening, depend upon it," Valentine remarked.

"Antinahuel is encamped within a short distance; he knows now that we are not strong enough to contend with him. What will my brothers do? Our position is a serious one."

"Why did we not kill him?" Linda cried.

"No," he replied; "the Indian law prevented me; he presented himself as a friend at my fireside; a guest is sacred."

"What is done cannot be undone," said Valentine; "so it is of no use talking about it. We are in a scrape."

"We will die sooner than allow the wretch to take his prisoners again," said the count.

"That of course; but before we have recourse to that extreme measure, we might find another."

"But, perhaps, we ought not to abandon ourselves to despondendency," Valentine rejoined, energetically; "we are four men of courage; we ought not to despair."

Since Don Tadeo had recovered his daughter, he was no longer the same man; he seemed only to live for her and through her. At that moment, seated at the foot of a tree, he held Rosario on his knees, and was rocking her like an infant. But, at Valentine's question, he raised his head quickly.

"I will not have my daughter fall again into the hands of Antinahuel," he said, loudly; "happen what may, I will save her."

"We are all willing to do that, only the Indian chiefs are not acquainted with the country; you, who are a Chilian, perhaps can give us some useful information."

Don Tadeo reflected for an instant; he cast an inquiring glance round upon the mountains, and then said:

"Those means I can furnish you with; we cannot be more than ten leagues from one of my haciendas."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Yes, thank Heaven!"

"To be sure we are not!" the Linda cried, joyfully.

"And you believe that if we could reach that hacienda——"

"We shall be safe," Don Tadeo interrupted; "for I have there five hundred devoted peons."

"Oh!" said the Linda, "do not lose an instant. Don Tadeo; write a word to your major-domo; tell him what a desperate situation you are in, and order him to hasten to your assistance."

"It is Heaven that inspires you, señora!" Don Tadeo cried.

"Oh!" the Linda replied, "it is because I would save my daughter!"

Doña Rosario fixed upon her eyes moist with tears, and said, in a voice tremulous with tenderness:

"Thank you, my mother!"

Her daughter had pardoned her! The poor woman fell upon her knees on the ground and clasped her hands.

In the meantime, Don Tadeo had written a few words in haste.

"We have no time to read the note now; someone must go at once," said the count; "I undertake to convey it, only point me out the road."

"I know it," said Curumilla phlegmatically.

"Very well, in that case you shall accompany me."

"Ooch! I know a road by which we can be there in less than two hours."

"Let us begone, then."

"Watch over her!" said Louis.

"Bring back assistance quickly," Valentine replied.

"I will, or die in the attempt," replied the other.

And, clapping spurs to their horses, the two men were soon lost in a cloud of dust. Valentine looked after his foster brother as long as he was to be seen, then turning toward Trangoil-Lanec, said;

"And we must start directly?"

"Everything is ready," the chief replied.

"Now," Valentine said to Don Tadeo, "our fate is in the hands of God: we have done everything it was humanly possible to do to escape capture or death; upon His will now depends our safety."

"Valentine! Valentine!" Don Tadeo cried, warmly, "you are as devout as you are intelligent. God will not abandon us."

"I trust He will hear you!" the young man said, in a melancholy tone.

"Courage, my daughter!" said the Linda, with an expression of infinite tenderness.

"Oh! I fear nothing now," Rosario replied, with a cheerful smile; "have I not my father near me, and—my mother, too," she added, kindly.

The Linda raised her eyes, humid with gratitude, towards Heaven.

Within ten minutes they were all mounted, and quitting the wood, they followed at a sharp trot the road which the count and Curumilla had taken at full speed.

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE ROCK.

But when setting forward so hastily, Valentine had considered the peril of the situation more than the possibility of travelling far at a quick pace. At the end of a very few miles the horses, overridden for two days together, and exceedingly weakened by the hurricane, could scarcely be kept going; whip and spur were obliged to be constantly applied to keep them on their legs. At length, after an hour spent in fruitless efforts. Don Tadeo, whose horse, a noble, well-bred animal had just stumbled twice from sheer weakness, was the first to call Valentines attention to the impossibility of going farther at present.

"I know it—I feel it!" the young man replied; "the poor animals are foundered; but what can we do? We must kill them, if it be necessary!"

"Let us proceed, then, whatever may happen!" said Don Tadeo.

"Besides," the young man continued, "a minute gained is an age for us; by break of day Louis may be back. If our horses had been rested, we might have reached the hacienda tonight; only the farther we get the better the chance of escaping those who are pursuing us. But, your pardon, Don Tadeo, the Indian chief is making me a sign."

After leaving Don Tadeo, he drew nearer to the Ulmen.

"Well, chief?" he asked.

"Does my brother reckon upon being able to go much farther?" said the Indian.

"Pardieu! chief, you have put exactly the same question to me that Don Tadeo has."

"What does the great chief say?"

"Why, he says that our horses are completely knocked up."

"Ooch! and what does my brother with the golden hair mean to do?"

"How can I tell? Let Trangoil-Lanec advise me; he is a warrior, renowned in his tribe."

"I think I have a good idea."

"Pray let us have it, chief; your ideas are always excellent."

The Indian bowed modestly.

"Let my brother listen to me," he said. "Perhaps Antinahuel is already on our track; if he is not, it will not be long before he is. If he comes up with us we shall be killed. What can three men do against sixty? But not far distant from hence I know a place where we can easily defend ourselves. Many moons ago, ten warriors of my tribe and myself stood our ground at that place for fourteen whole days against two hundred palefaces. Does my brother understand?"

"Perfectly, perfectly, chief! Guide us to this place; and if it please God that we reach it, I swear that Antinahuel and his mosotones shall find somebody to answer them."

Trangoil-Lanec then took the guidance of the little troop, and led them slightly aside from the road. In the interior of South America what we in Europe agree to call roads do not exist; but there are instead an infinite number of paths traced by wild animals, which all finish, after numberless meanderings, by leading to rivulets or rivers, which for ages have served as drinking places to the beasts of the desert.

The Indians alone possess the secret of directing their course with certainty in these apparently inextricable labyrinths; so after a march of twenty minutes our travellers found themselves, without knowing how, on the banks of a charming river. In the centre of which arose an enormous block of granite.

Valentine uttered a cry of joy at sight of this natural fortress. The horses, as if they understood that they had at length arrived at a place of safety, entered the water willingly. This block of granite was hollow. By a gentle ascent it was easy to mount to the summit, which formed a platform of more than forty square feet. The horses were concealed in a corner of the grotto, where they seemed glad to lie down. Valentine did his best to barricade the entrance to the fortress. This being done, a fire was lighted.

Cæsar had of his own accord posted himself on the platform—a vigilant sentinel. The Frenchman kept awake, whilst his companions, yielding to fatigue, slept soundly.

"I will go and take a little rest," Valentine said to Trangoil-Lanec, who awoke, casting an anxious look around him; "the night is over."

"Silence!" the chief murmured.

The two men listened: a stifled growl fell upon their ears.

"That is my dog!—it is Cæsar warning us!" the young man cried.

He and the chief sprang simultaneously to the platform. In vain he looked around on all sides, nothing appeared, the same tranquillity seemed to reign around them. Nothing denoted movement but the high grass on the banks of the river, which waved gently, as if bent by the breeze. Valentine, for a minute, thought his dog was deceived, and was preparing to descend, when he suddenly seized him by the middle and forced him to lie flat upon the platform, while several shots resounded, half a score balls came hissing to be flattened against the rock, and a number of arrows flew over the platform—a second more, and Valentine would have been killed.

This attack was succeeded by a horrible yelling which was repeated by the echoes of the two banks. This was the war cry of the Aucas, who, to the number of more than forty, appeared upon the shore. Valentine and the chief discharged their guns almost at hazard among the crowd. Two men fell, and the Indians suddenly disappeared among the thick bushes and high grass. The silence, for an instance disturbed, was restored so promptly, that if the bodies of the two Indians had not remained stretched upon the sand, the scene might have passed for a dream. The young man took advantage of the minutes respite afforded by the enemy to descend into the grotto. At the noise of the fusillade and of the cry of the Indians, Doña Rosario had started from her sleep in great terror. Seeing her father seize his gun to mount to the platform, she threw herself into his arms, imploring him not to leave her.

"Father! father!" she cried, "pray do not leave me alone, or let me follow you! Here I should become mad with terror!"

"My daughter," Don Tadeo replied, "your mother will remain with you, I must join your friends; would you wish that I should abandon them in such circumstances? It is my cause they are defending; my place is with them! Come! Courage, my darling Rosario, time is precious!"

The young girl sank helplessly on the ground.

"That is true!" she said; "Pardon me, my father."

For her part, without speaking a word, the Linda had drawn her dagger, and placed herself at the entrance of the grotto. At this moment Valentine appeared.

"Thanks, Don Tadeo," he said, "but we can dispense with your presence above. The Black Serpents will, no doubt, attempt to cross the river and gain entrance to the grotto, of which they certainly know the existence. Remain here, then, if you please, and watch their movements carefully."

Valentine had calculated rightly. The Indians perceiving the inutility of firing at a block of granite against which their balls were flattened, changed their tactics. They divided themselves into two bands, one of which kept firing; whilst the other, led by Antinahuel, ascended the course of the river. When they arrived at a certain distance, the Indians hastily constructed rafts, upon which they allowed themselves to float upon the stream straight toward the rock. Valentine and his companions, knowing that they had nothing to fear from those who kept firing at the rock from the bank, descended to the grotto.

The young man's first care was to place Doña Rosario in safety. This duty performed, he took his post with his companions. A raft, mounted by seven Indians, tossed about violently by the current, all at once was dashed against the rock, and the Indians, howling their war cry, sprang off, brandishing their arms; but the three men, with the Linda, who insisted upon joining them, threw themselves upon them, and, before they had secured their footing, beat them down with the stocks of their guns, and cast back their bodies into the river.

But scarcely had they got rid of these when two other rafts came down, followed almost immediately by a third and a fourth, carrying at least thirty men in the whole. For an instant the mêlée was terrible in that confined spot, where they fought man to man, foot to foot. The Linda, trembling for her daughter, with her hair streaming and her eyes flashing, defended herself like a lioness, powerfully seconded by her three companions, who performed prodigies of valour. But, overpowered by numbers, the besieged men were at length obliged to give ground.

A minutes truce ensued, during which the Auras counted their numbers. Six of them were stretched dead. On the side of the besieged, Valentine had received a cut from a hatchet on the head; but as he had seen it coming, and had moved promptly on one side, it was not a deep wound. Trangoil-Lanec's left arm was severely wounded. Don Tadeo and the Linda were unhurt.

Valentine cast a painful glance towards the spot which served as a shelter for Rosario, and then thought of nothing but nobly sacrificing his life. He was the first to recommence the fight. Suddenly a violent fusillade was heard.

"Courage," Valentine shouted—"courage!—here are our friends!"

Followed by his companions, a second time he scaled the barricade, and threw himself into the mêlée. All at once a cry for help of the most heart-rending agony resounded from the grotto. The Linda turned round, and uttering a shriek more like the roar of a wild beast than the cry of a woman, threw herself upon Antinahuel, in whose arms Rosario was struggling. Antinahuel, surprised by this unexpected attack, left his hold of the young girl, and recognised the Linda.

"Stand back!" he said, in a deep guttural voice.

But the Linda, without replying, sprang headlong upon him, and plunged her dagger into his chest.

"Die, she wolf!" he howled.

The Linda fell.

"My mother—oh, my mother!" Rosario cried, in agony, kneeling down close to her, and covering her with kisses. The chief stooped to seize the young girl again, but then a new adversary stood firmly before him; it was Valentine. The Toqui rushed upon the Frenchman.

Valentine was brave, active, and vigorous, but he had to contend with a man whom he would never have been able to resist if he had not been weakened by his wounds. The oily body of the Indian presented no hold for the Frenchman, whilst his enemy, on the contrary, had seized him by the cravat. Neither Trangoil-Lanec nor Don Tadeo could render their companion any assistance, occupied as they were in defending themselves against the Aucas.

It was all over with Valentine. Already his ideas began to lose their lucidity, he only resisted mechanically, when he felt the fingers which grasped his neck gradually relax; with a last concentration of rage, he collected all his strength, and succeeded in disengaging himself. But his enemy, far from attacking him, fell backwards—he was dead!

"Ah!" the Linda cried, with an expression impossible to be conveyed, "she is saved!"

And she sank back fainting in the arms of her daughter, clasping tightly in her hand the dagger with which she had pierced Antinahuel to the heart. All eagerly assembled round the unfortunate woman, who, by killing the inveterate enemy of her daughter, had so nobly retrieved her faults.

At length she sighed faintly, opened her eyes, and fixing a dim look upon those who surrounded her, she convulsively seized her daughter and Don Tadeo, drew them towards her, and contemplated them.

"Oh! I was too happy! Both of you had pardoned me; but God decreed that it should not be! Will this terrible death disarm His justice? Pray—pray for me!—that—that—hereafter—we may meet again in heaven!"

She was dead!

"My God!" said Don Tadeo, "have pity on her!"

And he knelt down by the body. His companions piously imitated him.

CHAPTER XLIV.

CÆSAR.

A month after the events we have related, two men, seated side by side in a clump of nopals, were conversing earnestly whilst admiring a magnificent sunrise. These two men were Valentine Guillois and the Count de Prébois-Crancé. The Frenchmen were watching this reawakening of nature.

The count, rendered uneasy by the obstinate silence which Valentine preserved, at length spoke.

"When you awoke me an hour ago," he said, "you brought me hither, in order, as you said, that we might talk at our ease, and I followed you without an observation. Well, we have been seated in this grove for twenty minutes, and you have not even begun to explain yourself; your silence makes me very uneasy, brother, and I do not know what to attribute it to. Have you any ill news to announce to me?"

Valentine raised his head quickly.

"Pardon me, Louis," he replied, "I have no ill news to announce to you, but the hour for a thorough explanation between us has arrived."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You will soon understand me. When, about a year ago, reduced to despair, and resolved to take refuge in death, you summoned me to your apartments in the Champs-Élysées, I pledged myself, if you would consent to live, to restore you that which you had lost, not by your own fault, but through your inexperience; you placed faith in me; you unhesitatingly abandoned France, you bade farewell for ever to the life of a gentleman, and you resolutely accompanied me to America. Now it is for me to perform, in my turn, the promise made you—"

"Valentine!"

"Listen to me; you love Doña Rosario, and I am certain that on her part she feels for you a true and profound affection; the services we have rendered her father, authorise us to have an explanation with him, which I am convinced he expects, and the result of which must render you happy for ever. This explanation, which I would not risk without speaking to you first, I will have this morning, and speak frankly to Don Tadeo."

A melancholy smile flitted across the young man's lips, and he let his head sink on his breast without replying.

"What is the matter with you?" Valentine cried anxiously; "Why is it that this determination, which is to fulfil all your wishes, plunges you into such grief? Explain yourself, Louis!"

"What good will it do to explain myself? Why should we speak today to Don Tadeo? What hurry is there?" the young man remarked evasively.

Valentine shook his head, looking at him with astonishment; he could not comprehend his friend's conduct at all; he, however, determined to drive him into his last entrenchments.

"Well, this is the reason why: I wish to assure your happiness as soon as possible," he said. "The life I have been leading for a month past in this hacienda is oppressive to me. Since my arrival in America my character has changed: the sight of great forests, lofty mountains, in short, of all the sublime magnificence which God has spread with a bountiful hand in the desert, has developed the instincts of a traveller, the germ of which I carried at the bottom of my heart; the constantly recurring changes of the adventurous life which I have led for some time, cause me to experience pleasures without bounds: in a word, I have become a passionate wood ranger, and I pant for the moment when I shall be permitted to resume my aimless rambles in the desert."

A silence of some minutes ensued.

"Yes," the count murmured at length, "that life is indeed full of charms——"

"That is why I am so eager to launch again into these scenes of excitement."

"What prevents our resuming them?"

"What! why you, pardieu!"

"You are mistaken, brother. I am weary as you can be of the life we are leading; we will depart as soon as you please."

"That is not my meaning; be frank with me: it is impossible that the ardent love you felt for Doña Rosario could have evaporated thus all at once."

"What makes you think I do not love her?"

"Come!—come!" Valentine replied, "let us have an end of all this; if you love Doña Rosario, why do you want to leave this place, and why do you refuse to marry her?"

"It is not I who refuse," the young man murmured with a sigh, "it is she!"

"She! no—no! come! that is not possible!"

"Brother, a long time ago, the very next day after the night when at Santiago we delivered her from the hands of the bandits who were carrying her off, she herself told me that we never could be united. She ordered me to avoid her presence, and demanded my word of honour that I would never seek to see her again. Why, then, should I lull myself with a wild chimera! You see, brother, I have no hope left."

"Perhaps!—but so many things have taken place since that period that the intentions of Doña Rosario may have changed."

"No," the count replied, despondingly.

"What makes you suppose so?"

"Her coolness—her indifference to me; the care she takes to avoid me; everything, in short, proves that I have remained here too long, and that I ought to leave her dangerous society."

"Why do not you have an explanation with her?"

"I have sworn, and whatever it costs I will accomplish my vow."

Valentine hung his head, but made no reply.

"I implore you!" the count resumed, "let us remain no longer here; the sight of her I love increases my anguish."

"Have you reflected seriously upon this?"

"Oh, yes!" the young man replied, with an air of real or forced resolution.

"Well," said Valentine, shaking his head, "if such is your will, so it must be; we will begone, then!"

"Yes, and as soon as possible; do not you think so?" the young man said, with an involuntary sigh.

"Oh! this very day; I am only waiting for Curumilla, whom I have requested to go and procure horses. As soon as he returns we will start.

"And we will return to the toldería of the tribe of the Great Hare, where we can live happily."

"That is a good idea; in that way our existence will not be a useless one, since we can contribute to the happiness of those around us. And who knows?" Valentine added, smiling—"we may perhaps, become great warriors in Araucania."

Louis's only reply to this pleasantry was a sigh, which did not escape the notice of his friend.

"Oh!" Valentine murmured, "he must and shall be happy in spite of himself."

Curumilla and Trangoil-Lanec appeared in the distance amidst a cloud of dust, galloping towards the hacienda with several horses. The two young men rose to go and meet them.

Scarcely had they left the little grove when Doña Rosario put aside some low branches and came out. She paused thoughtfully for a minute, looking after the two Frenchmen, who were walking away sad and gloomy; then suddenly raising her head with a saucy air, her blue eye brightened, a smile stole over her lips, and she murmured with a pretty nod of her head—

"Hum! ah!—we shall see!"

Then she returned to the hacienda, bounding along like a frightened antelope.

Every morning at eight o'clock, in Spanish-American countries, the bells ring, to assemble at the same table the inhabitants of the hacienda—rom the owner who sits in the centre to the humblest peon who places himself modestly at the lower end. The breakfast is the hour chosen to meet each other and to pay the compliments of the morning, previous to commencing the rough labours of the day.

At the first stroke of eight Don Tadeo descended to the hall and stood before the table, his daughter being on his right hand. He saluted with a smile or a friendly word every one of the persons employed on the farm as they entered.

The two Frenchmen came in last. After cordially shaking hands with them, Don Tadeo assured himself by a glance that no one was wanting at the meeting, took off his hat, in which he was imitated by all present, and slowly and solemnly pronounced the blessing. At a wave of his hand all took their places.

The repast was short; it lasted little more than a quarter of an hour. The peons then returned to their labours under the order of the major-domo, and Don Tadeo desired the maté to be served.

No one remained in the hall but Don Tadeo, his daughter, the foster brothers, the two Indian chiefs, and Cæsar—if it be permissible to reckon a dog as company; the noble animal was crouched at the feet of Doña Rosario.

In a few minutes the maté had made its round on the company, and, yet without any apparent cause, a painful silence prevailed.

Don Tadeo was thoughtful; Doña Rosario was twisting her taper, rose-tipped fingers in the long silky ears of the dog, who had placed his great head upon her knees, with his large, intelligent eyes fixed upon her face.

The count and his foster brother were anxious, and yet afraid to open the subject that weighed upon their hearts; at length, however, Valentine became tired of this false position, and resolutely began.

"Well," he said, "what reply do you mean to make to Don Gregorio Peralta, Don Tadeo?"

"What I told you, my friend," said Don Tadeo, turning towards him. "Chili, henceforward liberated from the man who was dragging the country to destruction, no longer stands in need of me. I am determined to trouble myself no longer with politics. I have long enough devoted my life to the ungrateful labours I imposed upon myself to secure the independence of my country, and deliver it from the ambitious man who wished to enslave it. I have accomplished my task; the hour of repose has struck for me. I peremptorily refuse the presidency which Don Gregorio offers me in the name of the people, and will devote myself entirely to the happiness of my daughter."

"I cannot blame your resolution; it is noble and beautiful, Don Tadeo; it is Worthy of you," the count replied.

"And do you mean to send off this answer soon?" said Valentine.

"In a few minutes; but why do you ask me that question, pray?"

"Because," Valentine replied, "my friend and I will undertake, if you please, to convey it."

Don Tadeo opened his eyes with astonishment.

"How so?" he cried, "What do you mean by that? Can you think of leaving us?"

A melancholy smile played for a moment round the young man's lips; the ice was broken; the sacrifice must be bravely made, and he did not hesitate.

"Heaven is my witness," he said, shaking his head, "that it would be my most ardent wish to remain here."

"Yes," the count interrupted, taking, in spite of himself, a furtive glance at Rosario, who appeared to have no interest in what was passing; "yes, we have too long forgotten ourselves in your charming retreat. This delightful life enervates us; if we do not hasten to tear ourselves from it, we shall soon find it impossible to do so."

"You must leave us!" Don Tadeo repeated, whose countenance became cloudy, and his eyebrows contracted; "and what for?"

"Do you not know?" Louis replied, who took courage from the apparent carelessness of Rosario, "that when for the first time we had the good fortune to meet with you——"

"Good fortune for me!" Don Tadeo interrupted, warmly.

"Be it so!" said Valentine, striking in to assist his friend; "we were then in search of fortune. Well, and now," he continued, gaily, "thanks to Heaven that our assistance is no longer necessary to you, we are not willing to abuse your kind hospitality any longer."

"What does this mean?" Don Tadeo exclaimed, rising. "What do you call abusing my hospitality? Why do you employ such futile pretexts with me?"

"We must go!" the young man repeated, coldly.

"Oh! I cannot believe it is the thirst for gold which urges you to leave me. Your heart is too noble for that odious passion to gain possession of it."

"Don Tadeo, you do us but justice," the count replied; "it is not the thirst for gold which actuates us, for our intention on leaving you is to retire among the Aucas Indians."

Don Tadeo looked perfectly astonished.

"Do not form a bad opinion of us," the young man continued; "be assured that if a powerful motive did not oblige us to depart, I, at least, should be most happy to remain with you."

Don Tadeo walked up and down the hall in great agitation.

"Can you not tell me the motive you speak of," he said in an affectionate tone.

The young lady turned her head imperceptibly.

"I cannot!" Louis murmured, bowing his head.

Rosario shrugged her shoulders with an air of disappointment.

"Very well, caballero," Don Tadeo replied, with cold dignity; "you and your friend are free to act as to you seems best. Pardon me the questions I have put to you, but your resolution, which I in vain endeavour to account for, has destroyed past recovery a cherished hope, which I should have been most happy to have seen realised. Here is my letter to Don Gregorio Peralta; when do you wish to set out?"

"This very instant!" the count replied; "my friend and I intended to bid you farewell immediately after breakfast."

"Yes," Valentine continued, who perceived that his foster brother, overcome by his feelings, could not say any more; "we beg you to accept our thanks for the friendship you have deigned to display towards us, and to assure you that the remembrance of you will live in the bottom of our hearts."

"Farewell, then!" Don Tadeo said, with great emotion. "God grant that you may find elsewhere the happiness that awaited you here."

Valentine bowed without replying; his tears choked his utterance.

"Adieu, señorita!" murmured the count, in a tremulous low voice; "may you be happy?"

She made no reply: deeply wounded, he turned away quickly, and strode towards the door. In spite of all their resolution, when on the point of going out, the young men cast one look behind them, to salute for the last time persons who were so dear to them, and whom they were abandoning for ever. Don Tadeo stood motionless in the same place, apparently still as much surprised as hurt. Doña Rosario continued playing mechanically with the ears of the dog.

"Cæsar!" shouted Valentine.

At the voice of his master, the Newfoundland dog disengaged himself quickly from the arms of the young girl, and bounded to his side.

"Cæsar!" Rosario murmured faintly.

And then, in spite of the signs and orders of his master, the animal laid itself down at her feet.

With a bursting heart, the count made a violent effort, and sprang towards the door.

"Louis!" Rosario cried. "Louis, you have sworn never to be separated from Cæsar."

Louis staggered, as if struck by lightning; a glow of inexpressible joy lit up his face; he let the letter fall, and gently thrust forward by Valentine, fell at the feet of the lovely and now smiling girl.

"My father!" Rosario implored, throwing her arm round his neck, "I well knew that he loved me."

Valentine felt an acute pang mixed with an immense joy at this denouement.

"It is I," he said, picking up the letter with a smile, of which none but such a man is capable, "who must carry the answer."

"Oh, no!" Doña Rosario said, with a playful pout, "You will not leave us, my friend; are you not the dearly beloved brother of my Louis? Oh, we will not let you go!"

Valentine kissed the hand extended to him, and secretly wiped away a tear, but he made no reply.

The day passed away rapidly and happily for all; when night was come—

"Farewell, brother!" said Valentine, with deep emotion. "Thank Heaven, you are henceforth sheltered from all misfortune."

The count looked at him anxiously.

"Brother," he said, "are you unhappy?"

"Who, I?" said Valentine, endeavouring to smile, "I never was so happy in my life!"

After embracing the count, who gave way to him, though astonished at the sudden appearance of grief in such a man, he strode away. Louis watched him depart, saying to himself—

"What can be the matter with him? Oh, tomorrow he shall explain himself!"

But on the morrow Valentine had disappeared.

He also loved Doña Rosario.

The young people waited for him a long time. At length, three months after his departure, when all hopes of his return had completely vanished, the Count de Prébois-Crancé married Doña Rosario. But Valentine was wanting.

Those of our readers who have taken an interest in Valentine, and we hope that they are numerous, will find his further adventures recorded in the "TIGER-SLAYER."

THE END.

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Table of Contents

THE PEARL OF THE ANDES

A TALE OF LOVE AND ADVENTURE

GUSTAVE AIMARD

AUTHOR OF "THE ADVENTURERS," "TRAIL-HUNTER," "PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES," "TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER," "TIGER SLAYER," ETC. REVISED AND EDITED BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN

CONTENTS

THE PEARL OF THE ANDES

- CHAPTER I.

IN THE CABILDO

- CHAPTER II.

JOAN.

- CHAPTER III.

THE PURSUIT.

- CHAPTER IV.

SERPENT AND VIPER.

- CHAPTER V.

AN INDIAN'S LOVE.

- CHAPTER VI.

PREPARATIONS FOR DELIVERANCE

- CHAPTER VII.

A COUNTERMINE.

- CHAPTER VIII.

EL CANYON DEL RIO SECO.

- CHAPTER IX

BEFORE THE FIGHT.

- CHAPTER X.

THE PASSAGE OF THE DEFILE.

- CHAPTER XI.

THE JOURNEY.

- CHAPTER XII.

INFORMATION.

- CHAPTER XIII.

THE AMBUSCADE

- CHAPTER XIV.

THE FORTRESS.

- CHAPTER XV.

PROPOSALS.

- CHAPTER XVI.

THE MESSENGER.

- CHAPTER XVII.

IN THE WOLF'S MOUTH.

- CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CAPITULATION.

- CHAPTER XIX.

THE APPEAL.

- CHAPTER XX.

THE COUNCIL.

- CHAPTER XXI.

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

- CHAPTER XXII.

DELIRIUM.

- CHAPTER XXIII.

PLAN OF CAMPAIGN.

- CHAPTER XXIV.

A DISAGREEABLE MISSION.

- CHAPTER XXV.

THE KITE AND THE DOVE.

- CHAPTER XXVI.

THE END OF DON RAMÓN'S JOURNEY.

- CHAPTER XXVII.

THE AUCA-COYOG.

- CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE HUMAN SACRIFICE.

- CHAPTER XXIX.

THE KING OF DARKNESS.

- CHAPTER XXX.

THE BATTLE OF CONDERKANKI.

- CHAPTER XXXI.

CONQUEROR AND PRISONER.

- CHAPTER XXXII.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

- CHAPTER XXXIII.

FIRST HOURS OF CAPTIVITY.

- CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE ULTIMATUM.

- CHAPTER XXXV.

- CHAPTER XXXVI.

- CHAPTER XXXVII.

UPON THE TRACK.

- CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE LYNX.

- CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE BLACK SERPENTS.

- CHAPTER XL.

THE HURRICANE.

- CHAPTER XLI.

LA BARRANCA.

- CHAPTER XLII.

THE QUIPU.

- CHAPTER XLIII.

THE ROCK.

- CHAPTER XLIV.

CÆSAR.

- THE END.

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE