“Sh!” interrupts the Paraguayan, leaning over, and speaking in a cautious whisper, “Did you not hear something? Like the chinking of a bitt curb? I shouldn’t wonder if they’re in among those bushes. Suppose you stay here and keep watch along the bank, while I go and beat up that bit of cover?”
“Just as it please you,” assents the young cacique, unresistingly.
“Give me two or three of your fellows along. Not that I have any fear to encounter the gringo alone—poor weak creature, still wearing his green spectacles, I suppose. Far from it. But still there’s no harm in having help, should he attempt to give trouble. Besides, I’ll want some one to look after the muchachita!”
“Take as many as you wish.”
“Oh! two will be sufficient; that pair nearest us.”
He points to the foremost file of the troop, two who are a little older than their friends, as also of more hardened and sinister aspect. For, short as has been his stay among them, the subtle emissary has taken the measure of many members of the tribe; and knows something of the two he thus designates. His gold has made them his friends and allies; in short, gained them over to him as good for anything he may call upon them to do.
Aguara having signified assent, a gesture brings them up; and, at a whispered word from the vaqueano himself, they fall in behind him.
Heading his horse for the sumac thicket he is soon at its edge, there seeing what rejoices him—the tracks of both horse and pony passing into it. He has reached the spot where Halberger turned in along the tapir path. Parting the leaves with a long spear—for he is so armed—he rides in also, the two Indians after. And just as the tails of their horses disappear among the leaves, Aguara, who has kept his place, hears another horse neighing within the thicket at a point farther off. Then there is a quick trampling of hooves, followed by a hurried rush, and the swishing of bent branches, as the vaqueano and his two aides dash on through the sumacs.
The young cacique and his followers continuing to listen, soon after hear shouts—the voices of men in angry exclamation—mingling with them the shriller treble of a girl’s. Then a shot, quick followed by a second, and a third; after which only the girl’s voice is heard, but now in lamentation. Soon, however, it is hushed, and all over—everything silent as before.
The young Tovas chief sits upon his horse with heart audibly beating. He has no doubt—cannot have—as to who were the pursued ones; no more, that they have been overtaken. But with what result? Has the vaqueano killed both father and daughter? Or were the shots fired by Halberger, killing Valdez himself and the two who went with him? No; that cannot be; else why should the girl’s lamenting cries be heard afterwards? But then again, why have they ceased so suddenly?