Meanwhile, the Pincheyras had with alacrity obeyed the order which they had received; they had risen and had proceeded to get ready and saddle their horses.
By accident apparently, but no doubt as planned by Don Santiago, the sentinels who were charged with watching over the common safety were the two gauchos and the Guaraní, so that he was certain that the secret of his conversation with the Frenchman would not transpire.
In a few minutes the horsemen were in the saddles. The Pincheyra put himself at their head, and, turning towards Emile, making him a friendly salute with the hand—
"Adieu, Señor, and good fortune!" said he significantly.
"The painter returned his cordial salute, and the little troop set out. It soon disappeared at the turn of the path. The sound of its steps gradually lessened, and before long had ceased altogether. When silence was completely re-established, Emile made a sign to his companions.
"Now that we are alone, Señores," said he, "let us talk, for affairs are serious. Tyro, light the fire; we will hold counsel in the Indian fashion."
The Guaraní gathered some dry wood, piled it carefully, struck a light, and soon a slight column of flame rose brightly in the air.
A death-like silence reigned in the valley; the breeze had died away; there was not a sound in the air; the sky, black as ink, had not a single star; nature appeared to be gathering all her powers for a terrible strife of the elements; from the unexplored depths of the chasms dull and mysterious sounds sometimes rose, mingling at intervals with the low growl of beasts going to seek water.
The four men crouched round the fire, lit their cigarettes, and the young man talked to them, telling them what he thought advisable of the conversation which had taken place between him and Don Santiago.
"Now," added he, "answer me frankly; can I count on you for all that I think proper to do?"