Panchito and Corrocho, when left alone, shared the ounces between them with transports of joy.
Don Torribio mounted his horse again and proceeded to Carmen, where he spent several days in his house, though no one was aware of the fact. During his stay he had two interviews, under different disguises, with Pincheira, at the Pulquería del Sur, the usual meeting place of the gauchos. Each night, three or four mules, laden with bales, left the city, under the escort of Indians, and proceeded in the direction of the Andes.
At length, one night, after a long conference with Pincheira, Don Torribio left El Carmen in his turn, his presence in the town having not even been suspected. At six leagues from Carmen he found Panchito and Corrocho, whom he sharply upbraided for their sloth in executing his orders, and he recommended them to act as promptly as possible.
On the morrow, the day of the ñandu hunt, Corrocho presented himself at the gate of the estancia, which Patito had refused to open.
On leaving the two bandits, Don Torribio proceeded to the natural grotto, where we have seen him change his clothes once before. There he put on his Indian trappings, and following the banks of the Rio Negro, galloped towards the island of Ghole-Isechel, where he had appointed to meet all the war detachments of the combined Patagonian and Araucano tribes.
The night was one of the most delicious ever enjoyed in America. The fresh air, odorous with the penetrating perfumes of the flowers that grew in masses on the river banks, disposed the mind to reverie. The sky, of a dark black blue, was embroidered with stars, in the midst of which sparkled the dazzling Southern Cross, which the Indians call Paron-Chayke. The moon poured its soft light on the sand, played on the foliage of the trees and designed fantastic forms on the sandbanks. The wind blew softly through the branches, in which the blue jay at intervals uttered the melodious notes of its plaintive song. Here and there, in the distance, could be heard the hoarse roar of the cougars, the sharp whine of the panther, and the snapping bark of the red wolf.
Nocobotha, intoxicated by this lovely autumn night, checked his horse's speed, and allowed his thoughts to wander. The descendant of Manco-Capai and Manco-Oello, the first Incas of Peru, saw pass and repass before his mind the splendours of his race, which had been extinct since the death of Athahualpa, the last Peruvian emperor, whom Pizarro's soldiers assassinated. His heart swelled with pride and joy when he thought that he was about to reconstitute the empire of his ancestors. The soil he trod was his; the air he breathed was the air of his country!
He went on thus for a long time, travelling in the land of dreams. The stars began to grow pale in the sky; the dawn was already tracing a white line, which gradually became tinged with yellow and red streaks, and, at the approach of day, the breeze freshened. Nocobotha, suddenly roused by the icy dew of the Pampa, threw his cloak across his shoulder, with a shudder, and started again at a gallop, after looking up to heaven and muttering—
"Either death or a life of liberty!"
A sublime remark in the mouth of this man! Young, rich, and handsome, he might have remained in Paris, where he had studied, lived there like a nobleman, and enjoyed abundantly all the pleasures of this world. But, no! Free from all ambitious thoughts, and without calculating on human gratitude, he resolved to deliver his country.