"He spoke of thee often, Pedro."
Pedro bent forward. "Ñusta Rava, is there no hope that Cristoval still liveth? Do you know that it cannot be?"
"Oh, I know not, I know not! Once, on that dreadful night, I thought I heard his voice rising above the clamor. I heard no more." She covered her eyes as if to shut out the memory of the horror.
Pedro silently cursed himself for the stupidity of the question, and it was moments before he could say something to divert her. He did so at last, and soon took his leave. Rava said earnestly, "Thou'lt come again, good Pedro?"
"I'll come again, Ñusta Rava; and meanwhile, keep courage." He added to himself as he crossed the court, "I would I might say, hope! Ay de mi, Cristoval! if I could but know."
He tarried at the cantina only while Pedrillo was saddling his mule, then mounted and struck toward the fortress. Again his errand lay beyond; and he drew rein at the huasi of Municancha. The old Indio gave him welcome, and to him Pedro narrated Rava's flight from Caxamalca with the gallant Viracocha Cristoval. He told of her recent perils and deliverance, and begged Municancha's aid in learning from Xilcala whether the good soldier still lived, and if not, where lay his grave. He found a willing helper. The old man, overjoyed by the news of the safety of Rava, who had been mourned as dead throughout the empire, did not hesitate. He had a nephew, Ocallo. Ocallo was summoned. He would gladly accompany, would organize a company at once, and would be ready to start the following dawn. They agreed upon a meeting place, and having enjoined secrecy, Pedro rode back to Xauxa, grateful to the peg which had won him so good a friend as Municancha.
Night had fallen before he reached the town. He told his plan to Father Tendilla, arranged for his absence, received the confessor's blessing, and departed to prepare for the journey. Pedro worked late, completed his preparations, and lay down for a few hours' sleep. Long before dawn he was up, and having breakfasted, was assisted by Pedrillo to arm. His mule was brought, and with a few parting instructions, he was away. In half an hour he was clear of the town, on the road going north. A brisk trot for a mile or more, and he halted at a cross-road. A dim figure rose out of the darkness and was hailed by Pedro in Quichua. After a brief greeting, the man summoned half-a-dozen companions from a thicket beside the road.
"Are we all here?" asked Pedro, looking over the group.
"All here, Viracocha—four archers and two carriers," replied the one who had first approached.
"Good! Then we will move. Take the lead, Ocallo. We should be well in the mountains before the light."