"You shall not go!" she exclaimed, as she placed herself resolutely in front of his horse.
The Indians collected round the speakers looked on with mute terror at this scene; they were too well acquainted with the violent and imperious character of Antinahuel not to dread something fatal, if his mother persisted in endeavouring to prevent his departure.
The brows of the chief lowered—his eyes gleamed like lightning—and it was not without a great effort that he mastered the passion boiling in his breast.
"I will go!" he said, in a loud voice, and trembling with rage; "I will go, if I trample you beneath my horse's hoofs!"
The woman clung convulsively to the saddle, and looked her son in the face.
"Do so," she cried; "for, by the soul of your father, who now hunts in the blessed prairies with Pillian, I swear I will not stir, even if you pass over my body!"
The face of the Indian became horribly contracted; he cast around a glance which made the hearts of the bravest tremble with fear.
"Woman! woman!" he shouted, grinding his teeth with rage; "get out of my way, or I shall crush you like a reed!"
"I will not stir, I tell you!" she repeated, with wild energy.
"Take care! take care!" he said again; "I shall forget you are my mother!"