"Epoï, my brother will thank the great captain of the Guaycurus."
The two men went out. On the order of Emavidi Chaime a slave brought out Diogo's horse; the latter leaped into the saddle, exchanged a few more words with the chief, and then they separated.
The captain was delighted. Up to the present time all had succeeded beyond his hope; not only did he know the plans of the enemy, but also he had learned that the Paulistas, who had suddenly appeared on the battlefield, could, at any moment, come to aid them. Moreover, he had hindered the junction of the two Indian nations, which, by preserving a free passage of the rivers, offered a chance of safety to the caravan.
Diogo left the village at a gentle trot, plunged in these sanguine reflections, and only wishing one thing—to rejoin his companions as soon as possible.
When he saw the desert plain spread out before him, he leant over the neck of his horse, refreshed and invigorated by two hours of repose, touched it with the spur, and began to dart along with the rapidity of the wind.
On a sudden, at the turn of a path, he came across a horseman who was coming towards him with a rapidity equal to his own.
Diogo could not repress an exclamation of surprise, and almost of fear. In this horseman he recognised Malco Diaz.
"Fortune turns," grumbled he between his teeth, at the same time urging forward his horse, which appeared to annihilate space.