"Vipers are not killed with weapons like that," answered the chief; "it is with them you have to deal."
"Well, what of them? I prefer an open foe, like the warriors of your tribe. You are an enemy to our people, but now and straightforward what other assailant need I fear?"
"We are foes to the Spaniard, but not to you. Come, and I will show you the snares which white men lay for each other."
"But what if this were itself a snare?"
The Indian drew a knife from his belt, and seizing Hernando's hand in his iron grasp, pierced a vein with the point. Applying his lips to the cut, he drew a mouthful of blood and swallowed it. Then dashing one clenched hand against his broad chest, he exclaimed, with vehemence:
"The blood of my pale brother flows here. What Carib ever betrayed his own blood?"
Hernando knew that this was a sacred pledge, and turning to the Indian, with a smile, bade him lead on.
The Indian did not smile, but his eyes broke into a blaze of delight, and, with a gesture, he plunged into the forest.
Some four or five miles from the place of the encounter lay a stretch of swampy land, dark and dismal as stagnant water and the slimy growth of swamp vegetation could render it. Many a rough passage and deep gully lay between the broad savannas and this dreary spot; but the savage passed them without halting, and Hernando followed, though his good steed grew restive with the broken path. At last they came out on a precipice which it was impossible that the horse could descend.