The Adventurers

A sudden idea rushed like lightning through Curumilla's brain; gathering himself up, he stiffened the iron muscles of his legs, and, bounding like a tiger, leaped up behind the horseman. Before the latter, surprised by this unexpected attack, had time to utter a cry, he pressed his throat in such a manner as, for the time, to render him incapable of calling for help. In the twinkling of an eye the horseman was gagged and thrown to the ground: then, securing the horse, Curumilla fastened it to a bush, and returned to his prisoner. The latter, with the stoical and disdainful courage peculiar to the aborigines of America, finding himself conquered, attempted no useless resistance; he looked at his conqueror with a smile of contempt, and waited for him to speak to him.

"Oh!" said Curumilla, who, upon leaning over him, recognised him, "is it you, Joan?"

"Curumilla!" the other replied.

"Hum!" the Ulmen murmured to himself, "I would rather it had been somebody else. What is my brother doing on this path?" he asked.

"Of what consequence is that to my brother?" said the Indian, replying to one question by another.

"We have no time to waste," the chief replied, unsheathing his knife; "let my brother speak."

Joan started; a shudder ran through his limbs at the blue light reflected by the long, sharp blade of the knife.

"The chief can question me," he said, in a husky voice.

"Where is my brother going?"

"To the toldería of San Miguel."

"Good! and for what purpose is my brother going there?"

"To place in the hands of the sister of the grand toqui a woman whom we have carried off this morning."

"Who ordered you to do so?"

"She whom we are going to meet."

"Who had the direction of this affair?"

"I had."

"Good! where does this woman expect the prisoner?"

"I have told the chief; at the toldería of San Miguel."

"In which casa?"

"In the last; the one which stands a little apart from the others."

"That is well! Let my brother exchange poncho and hat with me."

The Indian obeyed without a word, and when the exchange was made, Curumilla said —

"I could kill my brother; prudence would even require me to do so, but pity has entered my heart – Joan has wives and children, he is one of the brave warriors of his tribe; if I let him live, will he be grateful?"

The Indian had expected that he was going to die, but these words restored him to hope. He was not a bad man at bottom; the Ulmen knew him well, and was satisfied he would keep his promises.

"My father holds my life in his hands," Joan replied; "if he does not take it today, I shall remain his debtor – I will lay down my life at a sign from him."

"Very well!" said Curumilla, returning his knife to its sheath, "my brother may rise, a chief keeps his word."

The Indian sprang upon his feet, and fervently kissed the hand of the man who had spared him.

"What does my father command?" he asked.

"My brother must repair as fast as possible to the toldería which the Huincas name Valdivia. He will seek Don Tadeo, the Great Eagle of the Whites, and relate to him what has passed between us, adding, that I will save the prisoner, or die."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. If the Great Eagle requires the services of my brother, he will place himself without hesitation at his orders. Farewell! May Pillian guide my brother! and let him never forget that I was not willing to take the life that was in my power!"

"Joan will not forget," the Indian replied.

At a sign from Curumilla, he bent down in the high grass, crept along like a serpent, and disappeared in the direction of Valdivia. The chief, without losing an instant, jumped into the saddle and soon joined the little troop, who had continued jogging quietly along, without dreaming of the substitution that had just taken place. It was Curumilla who, while carrying the young girl into the house, had whispered hope and courage. These three words, in announcing to her that she had a friend watching over her, had restored her the strength necessary for the struggle that awaited her.

After the unexpected arrival of Antinahuel, when, at the order of Doña Maria, Curumilla led away the prisoner, instead of reconducting her to the apartment in which she had been, he threw a poncho over her to disguise her.

"Follow me," he said in a low voice; "step out boldly, I will endeavour to save you."

The maiden hesitated; she was fearful of a snare. The Ulmen comprehended her feeling, and said quickly, in a low voice —

"I am Curumilla, one of the Ulmens devoted to the two Frenchmen, the friends of Don Tadeo."

Rosario startled imperceptibly.

"Go on," she replied in a firm tone; "happen what may, I will follow you."

And they left the hut together. The Indians, dispersed here and there, were busily talking over the events of the day, and did not observe them. The two fugitives proceeded for ten minutes without exchanging a word. The village was soon lost in the darkness; at length Curumilla stopped at a thick clump of cactus, behind which two horses stood, saddled and bridled.

"Does my sister find herself strong enough to mount on horseback, and ride a long distance?" he asked.

"To escape from my persecutors," she replied, in a broken voice, "I feel I have strength to do anything."

"Good!" said Curumilla, "my sister is courageous. Her God will help her!"

"It is in Him alone I place my hope," she said, with a sigh.

"To horse, then, and let us begone! minutes are ages!"

He unfastened the horses, they mounted, and set of at full speed, without any sound being produced upon the road by their hoofs, which Curumilla had covered with pieces of sheepskin. The maiden breathed a sigh of relief on feeling herself once more free, and under the protection of a devoted friend. The fugitives continued to ride at a rapid pace, in a direction diametrically opposite to the one they should have taken to return to Valdivia. Prudence required that they should not yet take any route on which, according to all possibilities, they would be looked for.

We must leave our friends in this critical position for the present; but those readers who feel an interest in the loves of Don Louis and Doña Rosario, will find their curiosity fully satisfied in the following volume of this series, called "The Pearl of the Andes."

THE END

1

This word, which has no equivalent in English or French, is in the Spanish language the highest expression of physical beauty in woman.

2

Reasons of the highest consideration oblige us to change the names and the portraits of the personages of this history, as the majority still exist. But we vouch for the correctness of the facts we relate.

3

This word comes from the verb toquin, which means to judge, to command.

4

The Chilians borrowed the mate from the Araucanos, who think it a great delicacy, and have a particular talent for making it. This is the manner in which they prepare it: – They put into a coffee cup a spoonful of the Paraguay herb, to which they add a lump of sugar, which they leave upon the fire till it is a little burnt; they squeeze a few drops of lemon juice into it, with some cinnamon and a clove; they then fill the cup up with boiling water. The maté being now ready, they introduce a silver tube of the thickness of a quill, pierced with small holes at its lower end, by means of which the maté is drawn up, – at the risk, be it remembered, of horribly scalding the mouth, as always happens to strangers when they first partake of the luxury, to the great amusement of the Chilians. Drinking maté is so common in Chili, as to be what coffee is in the East; it is taken after every repast, and presented to every visitor. In ceremonial parties, a single tube serves for all the persons assembled.