“Fools, would ye wait to be slain when the Gualichu gives you this chance of escape?”
In a moment they had understood, and leaving their dead to the mercy of Indians and condors, had paid attention to discretion, which is the better part of valour, by taking to flight.
When Aniwee, furious and crestfallen, returned at the head of her warriors, she found them gone.
Her first impulse was to start in pursuit, but her next evinced greater caution. It was quite possible that an ambush might have been laid to entrap her. She had been deceived by the false cry of danger to her child. She would not be befooled twice.
For there was the little Guardia safe and well in the arms of her nurse Blancha, with Graviel, her faithful attendant, covered with blood, standing near. The warriors presented a grim sight. Many of them were suffering from sword thrusts and hatchet cuts, and the gay ponchos, in which they had decked themselves to do honour to Aniwee’s guests, were in many instances torn and dishevelled and covered with blood. In a few brief, dignified words the Queen thanked them for their support, and bade them seek their toldos to dress their wounds; “but,” she added, “rest your spears against the sides of your tents, and be on the alert, for treachery may still lurk around. The Cristianos creep like snakes and slink like the pampa foxes. Be therefore on the watch.”
“But, Aniwee, you are wounded!” exclaimed Topsie, as she noticed blood coming from the young Queen’s arm.
“A ball from one of the Cristiano’s medicine engines did it,” she replied, with a laugh; “but it is nothing. Aniwee will wash it, and drive the traces away. Let us enter and prepare for the feast.”
On either side of the chief tolderia two others, nearly as large, were erected. These had been prepared for the use of Sir Francis and Lady Vane and their children, as well as for Harry and Topsie. Large fires, fed by huge billets of wood, blazed in front of these snug abodes, which were lighted up within by stone lamps filled with oil, and in which moss served the place of wick.
“Will the Queen allow me to dress her arm for her?” inquired Sir Francis Vane gallantly. “I am something of a medicine man.”
“The great white Cacique is kind,” answered the girl gratefully, “but I dare not let him. If I fell ill, or suffered from the wound, the tribe would blame you for it, therefore it must not be; but the Cacique knows that Aniwee is grateful.”