The Newfoundland fixed his large intelligent eyes upon the count, wagged his tail, and uttered a growl much stronger than the first.
"Very well," said Louis; "we will go on the lookout. Come along, Cæsar."
The count examined his rifle and his pistols, and made a sign to the dog, who watched all his motions.
"Now, Cesar," he said, "look out, my fine fellow!"
The animal, as if he had only waited for this order, sprang forward, followed step by step by his master, who examined the bushes, and stopped at intervals to cast an inquiring glance around him.
At length, after numberless windings, the dog crouched, turned its head towards the young man, and uttered one of those plaintive howls, so like a human complaint, which are peculiar to the race. The count started; putting the bushes and leaves apart with precaution, he looked, and with difficulty repressed a cry of painful astonishment at the strange spectacle which presented itself to his eyes. Within twenty paces from him, in the centre of a vast glade, fifty Indians were lying round a fire, buried in the sleep of intoxication, as could be divined from the leather bottles scattered without order upon the sand, some full of aguardiente, others empty.
But what attracted the particular attention of the young man was the sigh of two persons, a man and a woman, firmly bound to two trees. The head of the man reclined upon his breast, his large eyes were flooded with tears; deep sighs seemed to rise from his very heart, as he looked towards a young girl standing bound before him.
"Oh!" the count murmured, "Don Tadeo de León! My God! Grant that that woman be not his daughter!"
Alas! it was she. At their feet lay the Linda, bound to an enormous post.
The young man felt the blood flow back to his heart; forgetful of his own preservation, he seized a pistol in each hand, and was about to spring forward, when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered in his ear—