“Bueno!” ejaculates Gaspar with delight in his eyes, as in those of Cypriano. “Nothing could be better than that. And now that we have Shebotha here, no one will be guarding the prisoner—will there?”
“Alas, yes!” responds the Indian girl, her words with their tone telling that she has entered into the spirit of their enterprise.
“Who?” interrogates Gaspar. “What is he—if it be a man?”
“Yes, a man. A white man, like yourselves; one who has been long with our tribe—a captive taken many years ago from some of the countries south. He is Shebotha’s own slave, and watches over the paleface when she is out of the toldo.”
Again the gaucho ejaculates, “Bueno!” adding, in sotto voce, to his two companions, “It seems better still; a bit of rare good luck; that is, if this white man, whoever he be, isn’t grown Indianised, as I’ve known some to be.” Then to the girl. “Shebotha’s slave, you say? In that case, he should be wanting to regain his liberty, and we may give him the chance. If need be, we can take him along, too. You understand, Nacena?”
“I do.”
“Then you agree to assist us?”
“Say yes!” urges Cypriano.
“My sister, Nacena!” adds Ludwig.
In response to their united appeals, she points to the sorceress, saying—