"My father errs; the sachem loves my sister."
"No," replied the Indian.
"Let us see if my father will refuse to lead me to the toldo of the great chief," said Manuela, impatient at the tergiversations of the amantzin, and dreading the return of her persecutors. "Let him beware, the great chief expects us."
The sorcerer cast a piercing look at her, which Manuela bore without casting down her eyes.
"Good," said he; "my mother does not lie. Follow me."
Grasping each of the women by a wrist, he placed himself between them, and began to guide them through the labyrinthine confusion of the camp.
The Indians they met on their road avoided them with unequivocal signs of terror.
The amantzin was by no means displeased with what had happened: he was radiant with joy; for, besides the profit derived from meeting the women, the incident which occurred in consequence had tended to confirm his power in the eyes of the credulous and superstitious Indians, who believed him to be really inspired by the Wacondah.
A quarter of an hour's difficult walking brought them to the toldo, in front of which the totem (standard) of the assembled tribes was planted, surrounded by lances fringed with scarlet, and guarded by four warriors.
"This is the place," said the sorcerer to Manuela.