"Antinahuel is encamped within a short distance; he knows now that we are not strong enough to contend with him. What will my brothers do? Our position is a serious one."
"Why did we not kill him?" Linda cried.
"No," he replied; "the Indian law prevented me; he presented himself as a friend at my fireside; a guest is sacred."
"What is done cannot be undone," said Valentine; "so it is of no use talking about it. We are in a scrape."
"We will die sooner than allow the wretch to take his prisoners again," said the count.
"That of course; but before we have recourse to that extreme measure, we might find another."
"But, perhaps, we ought not to abandon ourselves to despondendency," Valentine rejoined, energetically; "we are four men of courage; we ought not to despair."
Since Don Tadeo had recovered his daughter, he was no longer the same man; he seemed only to live for her and through her. At that moment, seated at the foot of a tree, he held Rosario on his knees, and was rocking her like an infant. But, at Valentine's question, he raised his head quickly.
"I will not have my daughter fall again into the hands of Antinahuel," he said, loudly; "happen what may, I will save her."
"We are all willing to do that, only the Indian chiefs are not acquainted with the country; you, who are a Chilian, perhaps can give us some useful information."