The Araucanos still continued their furious course, clearing torrents and ravines, and crushing under the hoofs of their flying coursers stones, the fragments of which rolled with a splash into the barrancas. At two lances, length, in front, by the side of the scout, Antinahuel, with his eyes ardently directed forward, kept urging on his horse, whose hard and loud breathing proclaimed fatigue. All at once a dark mass surged up in the distance, and then a voice was heard.
"We have arrived," the guide exclaimed.
"At last!" Antinahuel said, pulling up his horse, which could no longer stand when the impetus had ceased. They found themselves in a miserable village, composed of five or six huts falling to ruins, and which, at every gust of wind, threatened to tumble to pieces. Antinahuel, who expected the fall of his horse, disengaged himself quickly, and addressing the guide, who had likewise dismounted, asked—
"In which toldo is she?"
"Come," the Indian replied, laconically.
Antinahuel followed him.
They walked some steps without exchanging a word; the chief pressing his hand strongly on his breast, as if to keep down the beatings of his heart. After a hasty march of ten minutes, the two men found themselves in front of an isolated cabin, from the interior of which glimmered a feeble light. The Indian stopped, and turned towards Antinahuel.
"That is it," he said, stretching out his arm in the direction of the cabin.
The toqui turned round to ascertain whether his mosotones, whom, in his rapid course, he had left far behind, were rejoining him; and then, after the hesitation of a second, he approached the door and pushed it, saying in a low but determined voice—
"An end must be put to this!"