“Of course I have,” is Gaspar’s rejoinder. “If I hadn’t we might as well give everything up, and take the back-track home again. We won’t do that, while there’s a chance left for taking the muchachita along with us.”
“Never!” exclaims Cypriano, with determined emphasis. “If I have to go into their town myself, and die in it, I’ll do that rather than return without my cousin.”
“Be calm, hijo mio!” counsels Gaspar in a soothing tone, intended to curb the excitement of the fiery youth; “I don’t think there will be any need for you either to enter the town, or lay down your life in it. Certainly neither, unless my plan get spoiled by the ill luck that’s been so long hanging about us. It isn’t much of a plan after all; only to find one of the Indians, to whom I did a service when they were living at their old place. I cured the man of a complaint, which, but for the medicine I administered, would have carried him off to the happy hunting grounds—where just then he didn’t wish to go. That medicine wasn’t mine either. I had it from the dueño. But the sick man gave me credit for it all the same, and swore if I ever stood in need of his services, I could count upon receiving them, sure. From what I saw of him afterwards, and we came to know one another pretty well, I think I can. If ever there was a redskin to be trusted it’s he. Besides, he’s one of some authority in the tribe—a sort of sub-chief.”
“I know another,” breaks in Ludwig, as if suddenly recollecting; “one who’d help us too—if we could only have a word with him. That’s Nacena’s brother, Kaolin.”
Cypriano casts at his cousin a glance of peculiar meaning—something like surprise. Not because the latter has made mention of an Indian girl and her brother, both known to himself; but his giving the girl’s name first, as though she were uppermost in his thoughts. And she is; though that is a secret the young naturalist has hitherto kept close locked within his own breast.
Without noticing the glance of scrutiny bent upon him, he proceeds to explain himself.
“You may remember, Kaolin and I were the best of friends. He often went fishing with me, or rather I went with him. And I’m sure he’d stand by me now, in spite of Aguara.”
“So much the better,” rejoins Caspar. “If my man fail me, we can fall back upon yours. What I propose doing, then, is this. We must keep quiet, and of course concealed, all day to-morrow till after sunset. We can employ ourselves in the preparation of my masquerading costume. When it comes on twilight, or a little later, I can slip down among those toldos, and go sauntering about, like any other redskin, till I find my old patient. He being a big fellow, there shouldn’t be much difficulty in doing that. When found I’ll make appeal to him, to help us in getting the niña out of—” he has it on his tongue to say “Aguara’s clutches,” but thinking of the effect of such a phrase falling upon Cypriano’s ears, he concludes with the words, “whatever place they’re keeping her in.”
Caspar’s scheme thus at length declared, seeming feasible enough—and indeed the only one which any of them can think of as at all practicable—the other two signify assent to it; and its execution, or the attempt, is finally determined upon.
Going on to discuss the steps next best to be taken, they are interrupted by the sound of footsteps—some one ascending from below! The footfall is a light one, but distinct enough for them to tell, that whoever makes it is continuing on towards them, though yet unseen. As already said, the causeway is in part overshadowed by the cliff, and within this shadow keeps the person approaching. For all, on the footsteps drawing near, there is light enough for them to make out a figure; the better from its being clad in a drapery of white, loose and flowing, as though the wearer were a woman.