"Well," continued El Zopilote, seizing in his left hand Hermosa's hair, and twisting it round his wrist, at the same time brandishing his scalp knife, "will you and your sister follow me to my toldo?"
The poor girl cowered down; half recumbent upon the ground, she awaited the mortal blow.
Manuela drew herself up to her full height; her eyes flashed fire; she arrested the arm of El Zopilote, and addressed him thus:
"Since thou wilt have it so, dog, let thy destiny be fulfilled! Behold, the Wacondah allows not his servants to be insulted with impunity."
Hitherto Manuela had contrived to keep herself in such a position that her face was shaded as much as possible, and no one had remarked her features; now she turned her head towards the full light of the fires. On seeing the fantastic lines of paint, the Indians gave utterance to a cry of surprise, and recoiled in terror.
Manuela smiled at her triumph: she resolved to complete it.
"The power of the Wacondah is boundless," she cried; "woe to him who would oppose his schemes: he it is who sends me. Back, all!"
Grasping the arm of Doña Hermosa, who had scarcely recovered from her terrible emotion, she advanced to the edge of the circle. The Indians hesitated. Manuela extended her arm in an attitude of supreme command; the outwitted savages opened to right and left, and gave them passage.
"I shall die," faintly whispered Doña Hermosa.
"Courage!" replied Manuela, "We are saved."