"I do not ask you for any explanation," Doña Emilia said drily; "you are the stronger, so act as you please."
"That is what I intend doing," the Stag replied, with an expression of dark fury.
"Oh, mother," the girl whispered in Doña Emilia's ear, "do not irritate this man, for we are in his power."
"He is a dog!" Doña Emilia replied contemptuously; "I despise his anger and brave his hatred; he can do nothing to me."
The Indian broke into an ill-omened screech, without replying otherwise to this dire insult. He pointed to the foot of a tree, intimating to his captives that they were to sit down there; then he went away, followed by his two comrades, and the ladies remained alone. Doña Emilia was too conversant with Indian habits to commit the fault which any less experienced person would doubtless have done. Sitting by her daughter's side, whose head rested on her shoulder, and whose hands she held firmly clasped in hers, she made no second attempt at flight, as she was well aware that the Indians never watch a prisoner so carefully as when they pretend to leave him alone. The Spanish lady looked sorrowfully around her, let her head fall on her bosom, and fell into gloomy and despairing thoughts.
The cause of the Stag's sudden departure was simple. Informed by the warriors who met him of the events which had occurred during his absence, his first care was to go to the Indian whom Doña Emilia had disfigured. The unhappy man was in a pitiable state; he was writhing in fearful agony, and uttering heart-rending cries.
"Is my brother suffering greatly?" the chief asked him.
"Yes," the injured man howled. "I am suffering horrible pain. That woman is most certainly the evil genius of our nation."
"Yes, but her hour has arrived; her punishment will soon begin."
"Oh, I should like torture resembling mine to be inflicted on her."