With his knife Curumilla cut off a piece of his poncho, about four fingers in width, and gave it to Joan, saying—"My son will give this to Trangoil-Lanec, that he may know from whom he comes."
"Good!" said Joan; "where shall I find the chief?"
"In the toldería of San Miguel."
The three men shook hands with him warmly. The Indian bowed, and began to descend. By the last glimpses of daylight they saw him creep along to the first trees of the mountain of Corcovado; when there, he turned round, waved his hand to them, and disappeared in the high grass. A gunshot, then, almost immediately followed by a second, resounded in the direction taken by their emissary.
"He is dead!" the count cried in despair.
"Perhaps he is!" replied Curumilla, after some hesitation; "but my brother may now perceive that we are really surrounded."
"That is true!" Don Tadeo murmured. And he let his head sink down into his hands.