"That woman is my mistress."
"Wah! Can it be that my brother is a slave?" said the Comanche, with an ill-omened smile.
"No," the old man replied haughtily! "I am not the slave of that woman, I am her devoted servant."
"Wah!" said the chief, shaking his head, and reflecting deeply upon this reply.
But the words of the Spaniard were unintelligible to the Indian; the distinction was too subtle for him to seize it. At the end of two or three minutes he shook his head, and gave up the endeavour to solve the, to him, incomprehensible problem.
"Good!" he said, darting an ironical glance through his half-closed eyelids; "the woman shall go with my brother."
"That is what I always intended," the Spaniard replied.
The aged woman, who to this moment had preserved a prudent silence, judged it was now time to take part in the conversation.
"I am thankful to the chief," she said; "but since he is good enough to take interest in our welfare, will he permit me to ask him a favour?"
"Let my mother speak; my ears are open."