At length, after about a quarter of an hour, he saw a faint light a few paces ahead of him. It glistened through the trees, and seemed to indicate an encampment. Valentine stopped and whistled softly. At the same moment the branches of a shrub, about five yards from him, parted, and a man appeared. It was Curumilla.
"Well," Valentine asked, "has she come?" The Araucano bowed his head in reply. The hunter made an angry gesture.
"Where is she?" he asked.
The Indian pointed to the fire the hunter had noticed.
"Deuce take the women!" the hunter growled; "they are the least logical beings in existence. As they let themselves ever be guided by passion, they overthrow unconsciously the surest combinations."
Then he added in a louder voice,—
"Have you not executed my commission, then?"
This time the Indian spoke.
"She will listen to nothing," he said; "she will see."
"I knew it!" the hunter exclaimed. "They are all alike—silly heads, only fit for mule bells; and yet she is one of the better sort. Well, lead me to her. I will try to convince her."