“It is a riddle that a child might read. Unless the maidens are given up—not to harm, but to be taken to our country up there—unless they are given up the spears of my braves will drink the blood of their kinsfolk, and my horses shall trample their bodies in the dust.”
The cacique spoke so gravely and his air was so resolute that I felt sure he would do as he said, and I did not see how I could prevent him. His men were beyond the range of our pieces, and to go outside were to lose our lives to no purpose. We might get a couple of shots at them, but, before we could reload, they would either shoot us down with their bows or spit us with their spears.
Fray Ignacio, seeing the dilemma, drew me aside.
“You will have to do it,” he said. “I am very sorry. The girls will either be sacrificed or brought up as heathens; but better so than that these devils should be let loose on my poor people, for, albeit some might escape, many would be slaughtered. Why did you shoot the horse and let the savage and his companion go scathless?”
“You may well ask the question, father. I see what a grievous mistake I made. When it came to the point, I did not like to kill brave men in cold blood. I was too merciful.”
“As you say, a grievous mistake. Never repeat it, señor. It is always a mistake to show mercy to Indios brutos. But what will you do?”
“I suppose give up the girls; it is the smaller evil of the two. And yet—I promised that no evil should befall them—no, I must make another effort.”
And with that I turned once more to the cacique.
“Do you know,” I said, laying my hand on the pistol in my belt—“do you know that your life is in my hands?”
He did not flinch; but a look passed over his face which showed that my implied threat had produced an effect.