Cucharés, with the utmost coolness, imitated the cry of the waterhen.
"Silence!" the Black Bear exclaimed; "it is not that."
"Pardon," the lepero replied with a grin; "perhaps I gave it badly," and he repeated it.
The Indian, roused by his enemy's impudence, rushed upon him, resolved to finish him with his knife; but, blinded by his fury, he calculated badly, and gave too violent an oscillation to the canoe. The light bark, whose equilibrium was disturbed, turned over, and the two men rolled into the river. Once in the water, the lepero, who swam like an otter, set off in the direction of the hacienda as fast as he could speed. But if he swam well, the Black Bear swam at least equally well. The first movement of surprise overcome, the chief almost immediately discovered his enemy's trail.
Then began the two men a contest of skill and strength. Perhaps it would have ended to the advantage of the white man, who had a considerable start, had not several warriors, witnesses of what had occurred, swum off too, and cut off the fugitive's retreat. Cucharés saw that flight was impossible; hence, not attempting to continue a hopeless struggle, he proceeded towards a tree, to which he clung, and awaited with magnificent coolness whatever might happen.
The Black Bear soon came up with him. The chief displayed no ill temper at the trick the lepero had played him.
"Wah!" he merely said, "my brother is a warrior: he has the craft of the opossum."
"Of what use is it to me," Cucharés answered carelessly, "if I cannot succeed in saving my scalp?"
"Perhaps," the Indian said. "Let my brother tell me where the Great Buffalo is."
"I have already told you, chief."