"I give you my word of honour not to attempt to escape for three days."
"Good," the chief replied, in a solemn voice.
"When my father is ready, we will depart," Antinahuel said.
Don Tadeo mounted, the Toqui followed his example, and the troop set off at a smart pace.
The sun had sunk low in the horizon when the chief commanded a halt. The spot was admirably chosen; it was a narrow valley, situated on the not very high summit of a hill, the position of which rendered a surprise almost impossible.
Antinahuel seemed to have forgotten his hatred for Don Tadeo; he spoke to him with the greatest deference. Confiding in his word of honour, he left him entirely free. As soon as the repast was terminated, sentinels were placed, and everyone sought repose. Don Tadeo in vain courted sleep, for a too powerful anxiety devoured him to allow him to close his eyes. Seated at the foot of a tree, his head reclining on his breast, he passed the whole night in reflecting upon the strange events which for some months passed had assailed him.
The rising sun found him plunged in these sad thoughts, and sleep had not for an instant closed his weary eyelids. But everybody was in motion in the camp; the horses were saddled, and after a hasty repast the march was continued. The day passed away without any incident worthy of being recorded. In the evening they encamped, as they had done the night before, on the summit of a hill; the sole difference was that, as the Araucanos now knew themselves to be beyond the danger of a surprise, they did not take such great precautions as on the preceding occasion; but still they raised entrenchments.
Don Tadeo, overcome by fatigue, sank into a leaden sleep, from which he was not roused till the moment for departure.