But the prisoner had understood only the little Spanish mixed with the Indian dialect, and he remained mute and trembling. Then the Blackbird spoke to one of his warriors, who placed in the hands of the prisoner the rifle that he had taken from him, and by gestures made him understand what was wanted of him. The unlucky man tried to take aim, but terror caused him to shake in such a fashion that his rifle was unsteady in his hands.
“If the Indian has no better way than that to make us speak,” said Pepé, “I will not say a word until to-morrow!”
The white man fired indeed, but the ball, directed by his trembling hands, fell into the water some distance from the island. The Blackbird glanced contemptuously at him, and then looked around him.
“Yes,” said Pepé; “seek for balls and powder among the lances and lassoes of your warriors.”
But as he finished this consoling reflection, the five men who had gone away, returned armed for combat, with rifles and quivers full of arrows. They had been to fetch the arms which they had laid down, in order to follow the wild horses more freely. Five others now went off.
“This looks bad,” said Bois-Rose.
“Shall we attack them while they are but fifteen,” said Pepé.
“No, let us remain silent; he still doubts whether we are here.”
“As you like.”
The Indian chief now took a rifle and advanced again to the bank.