They were abundantly furnished with provisions—in fact, by economizing them, they had enough for a fortnight; but all the water they possessed did not exceed six leather bottles full, therefore it was thirst which they had most to dread.
The sun declined rapidly towards the horizon; the sky, by degrees, assumed the darkest line; the tops of the distant mountains became lost in thick clouds of mist—in short, everything announced that night would shortly cover the earth.
A troop composed of fifty Chilian lancers issued from the defile; on gaining the plain they diverged slightly to the left, and took the route that led to Santiago.
"They are palefaces," said Curumilla, coolly.
These horsemen formed the escort which Don Gregorio had assigned to Don Ramón, to accompany him to Santiago. All at once a horrible war cry, repeated by the echoes of the Quebradas, resounded close to them, and a cloud of Araucanos assailed them on all sides at once.
The Spaniards, taken by surprise, and terrified by the suddenness of the attack, offered but a feeble resistance. The Indians pursued them inveterately, and soon all were killed or taken. Then, as if by enchantment. Indians and Chilians all disappeared, and the plain once more became calm and solitary.
"Well," said Curumilla to Don Tadeo, "what does my father think now. Have the Indians gone?"
"You are right, chief, I cannot but allow. Alas!" he added, "who will save my daughter?"
"I will, please Heaven!" cried the count. "Listen to me. We have committed the incredible folly of thrusting ourselves into this rathole; we must get out, cost what it may; if Valentine were here his inventive genius would find us means, I am convinced. I will bring him back with me."
"Yes," said Curumilla, "my paleface brothers are right; our friend is indispensable to us: a man shall go, but that man shall he Joan."