When Tahi-Mari entered the camp with his band, the Indians flocked up tumultuously, and received him with loud yells of delight. He made them a sign of thanks, and without checking his pace, went toward his lodge, in the doorway of which Shounon-Kouiretzi, crouching on his heels, was gravely smoking. On seeing the commander he said—
"Tahi-Mari is a great chief; is he contented with his journey?"
"Yes," Diego replied, laconically. "My brother will watch at my door, and allow no one to enter."
"My brother can trust to me; no one shall enter." And the Indian began smoking again, impassively. Diego went in, carrying Inez, wrapped up in a poncho. After removing her bonds, he laid her on some sheepskins, thrown in a corner of the hut, which served him as a bed. Then he fetched a calabash of water and dashed the contents in her face, but Inez still remained motionless.
On seeing this, Diego bent down and devoted to her the greatest attention, in order to recall her to her senses; anxiously consulting her pulse, raising her in his arms, tapping her hands, and employing, in a word, all the means usual for restoring a fainting person. For a long time his efforts were sterile, and life seemed to have abandoned the poor girl for ever.
"Can she be dead?" Diego muttered.
And he began attending to her again. At length a sigh burst from Inez's bosom, she languishingly opened her eyes and uttered a few broken words in a faint voice. All at once she rose.
"Where am I?" she screamed.
Diego, without answering, fell back into a dark corner of the lodge, and fixed a serpent glance upon her.
"Where am I?" she repeated. "Maria! sister! how I am suffering! Oh, Heaven!"