"Let us go together."
"No," said the Indian, who was not mistaken as to the meaning of these words. "Bad beasts—frightened—Thaouka—good horse."
"Very well," said Glenarvan. "Thalcave shall not leave, Robert. He shows me what I have to do. It is my duty to go, and his to remain with you."
Then, seizing Thaouka's bridle, he added,—
"I will go."
"No," replied the Patagonian, calmly.
"I tell you," cried Glenarvan, taking the bridle from the hands of the Indian, "I will go. Save this boy! I trust him to you, Thalcave!"
Glenarvan, in his excitement, mingled English and Spanish together. But what matters the language? In such a terrible situation, signs tell all, and men quickly understand each other.
SAFETY FOR TWO.
However, Thalcave resisted, and the discussion was prolonged. The danger was increasing every moment. Already the broken stakes were yielding to the teeth and claws of the wolves. But neither Glenarvan nor Thalcave appeared willing to yield. The Indian had drawn Glenarvan towards the entrance of the inclosure. He pointed to the plain, now free from wolves. In his animated language, he explained that not a moment was to be lost; that the danger, if this plan failed, would be greater for those who remained; in short, that he alone knew Thaouka well enough to employ his marvelous agility and speed for the common safety. Glenarvan blindly persisted in his resolve to sacrifice himself, when suddenly he was pushed violently back. Thaouka pranced, reared on his hind legs, and all at once, with a spring, cleared the barrier of fire and the rampart of bodies, while a boyish voice cried,—