Placed by chance—or rather by bad fortune—which so furiously pursued him, in an almost desperate situation, the risks that he had to run in succouring these two ladies, did not much aggravate that situation; whereas, if he succeeded in enabling them to escape the fate which threatened them, while he saved himself, he would bring to bear on his persecutors a little warlike strategy in showing himself more keen than they, and would once for all avenge the continual apprehensions they had caused him since his arrival at San Miguel.
These reflections, in bringing back calmness to the young man's mind, gave him back also his careless gaiety, and it was with a quick and deliberate step that he rejoined Tyro at the spot which the latter had assigned as a permanent rendezvous.
The place was well chosen; it was a natural grotto, not very deep, situated at two pistol shots or so from the town, so well concealed from curious eyes by the chaos of rocks, and of thickets of parasitic plants, that, unless the exact position of this grotto were known, it was impossible to discover it—so much the more, as its mouth opened onto the river, and that to enter it, it was necessary to go into the water up to the knees. Tyro, half lying on a mass of dry leaves, covered with two or three Araucanian pellones[1] and ponchos, was carelessly smoking a cigarette of maize straw, while he waited for his master.
The latter, after being assured that no one was watching him, removed his shoes, tucked up his trousers, went into the water, and entered the grotto—not, however, without having whistled two separate times, in order to warn the Indian of his arrival.
"Ouf!" said he, as he entered the grotto, "A singular fashion this of coming into one's house. Here am I returned, Tyro."
"I see, master," gravely answered the Indian, without changing his position.
"Now," pursued the young man, "let me resume my clothes, and then we can talk. I have much to tell you."
"And I also, master."
"Ah!" said he, looking at him.
"Yes; but first change your clothes."