The next day, about ten in the morning, an unarmed Indian presented himself before the sentries, demanding speech of Don Pedro. The latter ordered him to be brought forward. The redskin was an Apache, of cunning features and reckless manner. Brought into the presence of the hacendero, who at that moment was talking to the capataz, he stood motionless and with downcast eyes, waiting with the cold impassiveness characteristic of his race, till they should speak to him. The hacendero scrutinised him attentively. The Indian was perfectly indifferent to the scrutiny.
"What does my brother want? What is his name?" asked don Pedro.
"El Zopilote is an Apache brave," replied the redskin; "the sachem of his tribe sends him to the chief of the palefaces."
"I am the chief of the palefaces. Tell your mission to me."
"Hear what the Tigercat says," replied the immoveable Apache.
"The Tigercat!" exclaimed Don Pedro greatly astonished; "What can he want of me?"
"If my father will listen, El Zopilote will tell him."
"I will listen. Speak Zopilote."
"Thus says the Tigercat: a cloud has arisen between the Tigercat and the chief of the palefaces, who have come into the hunting grounds of my tribe. As the beneficent rays of the sun disperse the clouds that obscure the heavens, so, if wise paleface will smoke the calumet of peace with the Tigercat, the cloud between them will disappear, and the war hatchet be buried so deep, that it shall not be found again for a thousand moons and ten. I have said: I await the answer of my father with the beard of snow."
"Indian!" replied Don Pedro, in accents of sadness, "Your chief has done me much harm, yet I know not the cause of his hatred to me. But Heaven forbid I should reject his proposal, if he entertains the wish to end the difference existing between us. Bid him come; and say I am ready to offer reparation for injury I may have done him without my will or knowledge."