“Then it would not be well—for you. But as she has often expressed a wish to see a pale-face with a long beard, I think it will be well; and in any case I answer for your life.”
“What security have I for this? How do I know that when I am in your power you will carry out the compact?”
“You have heard the word of Gondocori. See, I will swear it on the emblem you most respect.”
And the cacique pressed his lips to the cross which hung from Ignacio’s neck. It was a strange act on the part of a wild Indian, and confirmed the suspicion I already entertained, that Condocori was the son of a Christian mother.
“He is a heathen; his oath is worthless; don’t trust him, let the girls go,” whispered the padre in my ear.
But I had already made up my mind. It was on my conscience to keep faith with the girls; I wanted neither to kill the cacique nor see his men kill the tame Indians, and whatever might befall me “up yonder” I should at any rate get away from San Andrea de Huanaco.
“The die is cast; I will go with you,” I said, turning to Gondocori.
“Now, I know, beyond a doubt, that my brother is the bravest of the brave. He fears not the unknown.”
I asked if Gahra might bear me company.
“At his own risk. But I cannot answer for his safety. Mamcuna loves not black people.”