Don Tadeo knew what sort of man he had to do with. A secret presentiment told him that he was the bearer of important news: he, therefore, followed up his questions.
"Whence does my brother come?"
"From the toldería of San Miguel."
"That is some distance from the city; is it long since my brother left it?"
"The moon was about to disappear and the Southern Cross alone shed its splendid light upon the earth, when Joan commenced his journey."
It was nearly eighteen leagues from the village of San Miguel to the city of Valdivia. Don Tadeo was astonished. He took from the table a glass, which he filled to the brim with aguardiente, and presented it to the messenger, saying—
"My brother will drink this coui of firewater; probably, the dust of the road sticking to his palate prevents him from speaking as easily as he could wish."
The Indian smiled; his eyes sparkled greedily; he took the glass and emptied it at a draught.
"Good," he said, smacking his lips. "My father is hospitable; he is truly the Great Eagle of the Whites."
"Does my brother come from the chief of his tribe?" Don Tadeo continued.