"Here it is."
The chief turned to his warriors, holding the Tigrero's hand clasped in his own.
"Brothers!" he said in a loud voice, and with an accent of supreme majesty, "this paleface is the friend of the Black Bear—let no one molest him."
The warriors bowed respectfully, and fell back to the right and left, to leave a passage for the two white men.
"Farewell!" the Black Bear said, saluting his enemy. "In twenty-four hours I shall be on your trail."
"You are mistaken, dog of an Apache," Don Martial replied disdainfully; "I shall be on yours."
"Good! We are, then, certain of meeting," the Black Bear said.
And he retired with a slow and firm step, followed by his warriors, whose footfalls soon died away in the depths of the forest.
"On my faith, Don Martial," the lepero said, "I believe that you were wrong to let that Indian dog escape so easily."
The Tigrero shrugged his shoulders.