"He shall die!"
Silence reigned again for a considerable time between the companions.
The sun had completely disappeared, shadows covered the earth, darkness, as with a funeral pall, enveloped the forest in which these two men were. Already in the inexplorable depths of the desert low growlings began to reverberate, and announced the waking of the dread wanderers of the night.
The slave, who was an Indian mundracus, on the order of his master, Tarou Niom, the captain of the Guaycurus—for the Indians of this nation have adopted the Portuguese titles—gathered some dry wood, formed a pile of it between the two chiefs, and set fire to it, so that its light might keep off the wild beasts.
"It is very late," said the Guaycurus.
"The journey to come here is long," laconically answered the Payagoas.
"Has the mameluco explained for what reason he wished the meeting of his warriors and mine?"
"No. Malco is prudent; a slave might betray the confidence of his master, and sell his secret to an enemy. The mameluco reserves it to inform us himself of the affair he wishes to propose to us."
"Good!" answered the chief. "What matters this man to me? I have only come on the invitation of my brother. I know that he will not betray me."
"I thank my brother, Tarou Niom, for his opinion of me; for a long time I have been devoted to him."