Don Antonio had extended his traffic over different parts of the frontiers; he possessed chacras, in which the breeding of cattle was carried on upon a vast scale. The Black Jackal, who had sworn a perpetual friendship, became of great use to him in his business transactions; he often put him in the way of making excellent bargains with his compatriots, and, what was still more serviceable, protected his property from the depredations of plunderers. Every year Don Antonio visited all his chacras in Araucania, and passed a couple of months among the tribe of the Black Serpents, with his friend, the Black Jackal. His daughter accompanied him in all these journeys, on account of the friendship that existed between the children. Things went on thus for many years.
At the period when our history commences, the Black Jackal was dead: he had fallen, like a brave warrior, with his weapons in his hand, in a combat on the frontier; his son, Antinahuel, now about thirty-five years of age, who promised to tread in his footsteps, had been elected Apo-Ulmen in his place, and afterwards Toqui of his Uthal-Mapus or province, which made him one of the principal men of Araucania. Don Antonio had likewise died, shortly after the marriage of his daughter, Doña Maria, with Don Tadeo de Leon, brought to an untimely grave by his grief at her misconduct, which had produced terrible scandal in the upper classes of Santiago.
Doña Maria for some years past had only seen Antinahuel at long intervals; but between them their friendship remained as warm as in the days of their childhood; and, on the part of the Indian warrior, it was carried so far that he obeyed the least caprice of the young woman as an imperative duty. Great, then, was the astonishment of the warriors of the tribe of the Black Serpents, when, in the evening of the day on which we have resumed our story, they saw Doña Maria arrive on horseback, accompanied only by two peons, at their toldería, and go straight towards the rancho of the Toqui. On perceiving her, the usually gloomy face of the chief was suddenly lighted up with an expression of gladness.
"Eglantine of the Woods!" he cried, in a joyous tone, "does my sister then still remember the poor Indian?"
"I have come to visit the toldo of my brother," she said, turning her brow towards him, upon which he impressed a kiss; "my heart is sad, grief devours me—and I have remembered my brother."
The chief cast a look upon her of anxiety, mingled with sorrow.
"Although it be to trouble that I owe the visit of my sister, I am, nevertheless, rejoiced to see her."
"Yes," she resumed, "when we are in trouble we think of our friends."
"My sister has done well in thinking of me; what can I do for her?"
"My brother can render me a great service."