"My father will pardon me," the sorcerer answered, humbly. "This night two women have entered the camp."
"What do I care?" the chief interrupted him, impatiently.
"These women, though dressed in the Indian fashion, are white," the matchi said, laying a stress on the last word.
"They are doubtless wives of the gauchos."
"No," the sorcerer said; "their hands are too white, and their feet too small. Besides, one of them is the white slave of the tree of Gualichu."
"Ah! and who made them prisoners?"
"No one; they arrived alone."
"Alone?"
"I accompanied them through the camp, and protected them against the curiosity of the warriors."
"You acted well."