He then prepared himself, and again set out on his journey with a step as free and as light as if he had not supported superhuman fatigues.
The sun was setting at the moment when the captain reached the summit of the hill.
As soon as his return became known, all his companions pressed around him with cries of joy, which awakened the marquis, and caused him to run out.
The captain uttered an exclamation of surprise and of grief, at the scene which presented itself to his eyes when he found himself within the enclosure of the camp.
The tents and vehicles had been reduced to ashes; the greater part of the mules, and a great number of the horses, had been killed; seven or eight corpses of hunters and Negroes were lying here and there on the ground; trees, half-burnt and lying in a confused mass, added still more to the horror of this spectacle.
Doña Laura, having taken refuge, as well as she was able, under an enramada,[1] exposed to the wind, and crouched sorrowfully before a dying fire, was preparing, with the aid of Phoebe, the evening meal.
In fact, everything presented an aspect of ruin and desolation.
"Mon Dieu! What does all this mean?" cried he with grief.
"It means," answered the marquis, bitterly, "that you were not wrong, Diogo."
"But has there, then, been a fight during my absence?"