Zeno Cabral held out his hand to him with a sympathising smile.
"Excuse me, Don Pablo," said he, in a gentle voice, "for having spoken to you as I have. A man must be really brave to avow so candidly that he is afraid."
"Thank you, Don Sebastiao," answered the Pincheyra, affected more than he wished to show. "Act, order, I will be the first to obey you."
"Above all, let us rejoin our companions; we want their aid and their counsel; let us make haste."
The two men then rejoined their companions, crawling on elbows and knees, with the same difficulty they had previously experienced; for although the weather began to brighten, the wind had not ceased to howl with fury, and to sweep the path.
In a few words, Don Pablo Pincheyra put his adherents in possession of the facts of the situation, and imparted to them the feeble hope he himself possessed. All energy had been crushed within them, and they awaited death with stolid apathy.
"There is nothing to expect from these brutes," said Zeno Cabral, with disdain: "fear has neutralised all human sentiments."
"What is to be done, then?" murmured the partisan.
"If it only depended on you and me," pursued Don Zeno—"strong, determined, and active as we are, we should soon know how to escape this peril; but I do not wish to abandon these unhappy Women."
"I completely share your opinion on that matter."