"Oh!" said Curumilla, who, upon leaning over him, recognised him, "is it you, Joan?"
"Curumilla!" the other replied.
"Hum!" the Ulmen murmured to himself, "I would rather it had been somebody else. What is my brother doing on this path?" he asked.
"Of what consequence is that to my brother?" said the Indian, replying to one question by another.
"We have no time to waste," the chief replied, unsheathing his knife; "let my brother speak."
Joan started; a shudder ran through his limbs at the blue light reflected by the long, sharp blade of the knife.
"The chief can question me," he said, in a husky voice.
"Where is my brother going?"
"To the toldería of San Miguel."
"Good! and for what purpose is my brother going there?"