"Aqui! Here!" answered the approaching cook. "What is to do now? I have been shaken and thumped, and despoiled of sleep worth a castellano the minute. What is wrong, Cristoval?"
Cristoval replied in Quichua, "The Inca hath been imprisoned, and the Ñusta Rava is again in toils." Pedro halted with an exclamation, and Cristoval continued, "I say that with a hundred followers we can release him, Pedro. What sayst thou—wilt go?"
"Thou knowest, Cristoval!" replied the cook, with force. "But hast forgotten that I am myself a prisoner?"
Cristoval faced Matopo and demanded, "What of this, my lord? Wilt accept his word?"
The general signified his willingness emphatically, and Cristoval again turned to Quehuar with impetuosity: "My Lord Quehuar, permit us to march to-night."
Mocho, the fiery, strode forward. "Let me take a battalion of my Antis, General. I know the fortress to the last stone."
Quehuar deliberated, and turned to the other nobles. "My lords, we will consider it. Viracochas, we thank you for the offer of your swords." He bowed. Taking Pedro's arm, Cristoval withdrew.
The conference was prolonged. Doubts were expressed by some concerning the prudence of trusting a Viracocha, and Matopo was questioned closely. Markumi and the other Xilcalans were summoned, and finally, Cristoval himself. His manifest sincerity determined the matter, and a chasqui was sent speeding to Ollantaytambo, some hours away, bearing a command from Mocho to his Antis.
Upon Pedro fell the task of apprising the señora of a short expedition with Cristoval, and of persuading her to accompany Matopo to Ollantaytambo. This the cook achieved with rare diplomacy. The lady, vehement in her obduracy for a time, in the end consented, and with Father Tendilla, marched with the Conibos that afternoon. The Antis arrived at nightfall, two hundred strong, the pick of Mocho's warriors. At dawn the expedition moved, with Cristoval and Pedro beside Mocho at its head.
Leaving the valley for the plateau of Chita, they took the direct road to the capital. Not long after midday a scout came in to say that two mounted Viracochas, accompanied by a third man on foot, were approaching from the direction of Cuzco. The two riders were in armor and bore lances. The pedestrian was a native, and appeared to be captive. Mocho heard the report and cast a critical glance over the country about. Some distance ahead was a low plain, boggy in spots beside the road, and surrounded by broken, rocky knolls. With a directness gratifying to Cristoval's soldierly taste, Mocho broke his command into parties to surround the plain, with orders to close upon it by squads when the strangers had reached the middle, and to cover, especially, gullies and slopes which might offer avenue for flight. Enough were retained to hold the road, and they retired to a rise of ground which concealed them from the oncoming party. Cristoval looked about in surprise. The two hundred had vanished as if by magic.