While the gaucho is yet thus jocularly delivering himself, Cypriano has lifted his cousin, Francesca, to the back of the cacique’s abandoned steed; on which he well knows she can keep her seat, were it the wildest that ever careered across campo. Then he remounts his own, the other two taking to their saddles at the same time.
A word about the route, and all four start together; not to go back along the trail towards the ceiba tree, but striking straight out for the open plain, in a direction which Gaspar conjectures to be the right one.
They would willingly diverge from it to ascertain whether the poor creature clubbed by Aguara be dead or still living; and, if the latter, take him along. But Gaspar urges the danger of delay; above all, being burdened with a man not only witless, but now in all likelihood disabled by a wound which would make the transporting him an absolute impossibility.
Ludwig and his sister are more desirous to turn aside, and learn how it is with Nacena. But again the gaucho, no: greatly given to sentiment, objects. Luckily, as if to relieve them from all anxiety, just then they hear a voice, which all recognise as that of the Tovas belle, calling out in tolerably pure Castilian:—
“Va con Dios!”
Standing up in his stirrups, with a shout and counter salute, the gaucho returns the valediction; then, spurring forward and placing himself at the head of the retreating party, they ride on, with no thought of again halting so long as their horses can keep their feet.