Anyone who has not been in the situation of our hero could not form an idea of it. Don Melchior was at this moment playing a terrible game. It was to him a question of life and death; the fall of a leaf, the breaking of a branch was sufficient to settle it. The hurried beating of his heart terrified him, and he took half an hour in proceeding a distance of twenty paces. At length, on coming close to the sentry, he suddenly rose behind him, and plunged his dagger straight into his neck, at the very spot where the head is attached to the spine. The redskin fell like a log, without uttering a cry or even giving a sigh.
The young man at once understanding the importance to himself of a disguise, in order to cross the clearing round the teocali, stripped the Indian of his clothes, put them on himself, and after dragging the corpse a few paces, in order that it might not be found immediately, he hid it under a pile of dry leaves. Then, assuming the calm and grave step of Indian warriors, the young man boldly quitted the shelter of the covert, and advanced slowly toward the teocali, now ready for all events, and keeping his finger on the trigger of his gun, which he laid carelessly on his shoulder.
Numerous watch fires burnt round the teocali; the Indians, wrapped, up in their buffalo hides, blankets, or zarapés, were sleeping peacefully, trusting to the vigilance of the sentry. Don Melchior walked right through the camp, unmolested. At times, as he passed, an Indian turned towards him, half opened his eyes, and then fell back on the ground again, muttering a few unintelligible words. The young man's heart beat as if going to burst his breast; the emotion he felt was so powerful that, on reaching the first steps of the teocali, he was involuntarily constrained to stop. Still, sustained by the feeling of the sacred mission he had taken on himself, he succeeded, by a supreme effort, in overcoming his emotion, and continued his walk.
No one opposed his passage. The Indians guard themselves badly. Under present circumstances, they could not suppose that a single man would enter their camp, and succeed in deceiving their sentries. This confidence caused the security of the bold young man, and once he reached the teocali, almost entirely insured his security.
I forgot who said that mad enterprises are those which succeed the beet owing to their extravagance, and this paradoxical remark is far truer than a person might be disposed to believe it. Don Melchior's plan of thus introducing himself alone into the presence of the prisoners, a project of wild boldness, would succeed entirely on account of its impossibility.
When the young man reached the top of the teocali he stopped, for he must discover the place where the prisoners were confined. He looked searchingly around him. The moon allowed him to distinguish clearly the smallest objects. Several Indians were lying round a smouldering fire, but Don Melchior's eyes did not dwell on them, he was examining the most obscure corner of the buildings that stood on the platform. His eye was caught by a man lying across a door, closed by a wickerwork frame; he gave a violent start, for the prisoners were behind that door. Stepping boldly over the sleeper, he Went up to it. At the moment he reached the Indian the latter rose before him, and set the sharp point of his lance against his chest.
"What does my brother want?" he asked in a guttural voice.
Don Melchior was not troubled. In spite of his interned emotion, his face remained calm and stoical.
"Good," he said in Comanche, a language which he spoke perfectly. "My brother was asleep. Is that the way in which he watches his prisoners?"
"The Opossum is not asleep," the Indian said haughtily. "He knows the importance of the duty entrusted to him."