"Good!" said Curumilla to his companions; "they see the signal."
"Let us begone, then, without delay," cried the count, impatiently.
"Come on, then," said Don Tadeo.
The three men plunged into the immense virgin forest which covered the summit of the mountain, leaving behind them that sinister beacon—a signal for murder and destruction. On the plain, Don Gregorio, fearing to advance before he knew what he had positively to trust to, had given orders to his troops to halt. He did not conceal from himself the dangers of his position, so that if he fell in the battle he was about to fight, his honour would be safe and his memory without reproach.
"General," he said, addressing Cornejo, who as well as the senator was close to him, "you are accustomed to war, are an intrepid soldier, and I will not conceal from you that we are in a position of peril.
"Oh! oh!" said the general; "explain, Don Gregorio, explain!"
"The Indians are in ambush in great numbers, to dispute the passage of the defile with us."
"The rascals! Only see now! Why, they will knock us all on the head," the general, still calm, said.
"Oh! it is a horrible trap!" the senator cried.
"Caspita! a trap, I believe it is, indeed!" the general continued. "But you will be able to give us your opinion presently; if, as is not very probable, you come safely through, my friend."
"But I will not go and run my head into that frightful fox's hole!" cried Don Ramón, beside himself.
"Bah! you will fight as an amateur, which will be very handsome on your part."
"Sir," said Don Gregorio, coldly, "so much the worse for you; if you had remained quietly at Santiago, you would not be in this position."
"That is true, my friend," the general followed up, with a hearty laugh.
"How did it happen that you, who are as great a coward as a hare, troubled yourself with military politics?"
The senator made no reply to this cruel apostrophe.
"Whatever may happen, can I reckon upon you, general?" Don Gregorio asked.
"I can only promise you one thing," the old soldier answered, nobly; "that I will not shrink, and if it should come to that, will sell my life dearly. As to this cowardly fellow, I undertake to make him perform prodigies of valour."
At this threat the unhappy senator felt a cold sweat inundate his whole body. A long column of flame burst from the top of the mountain.
Don Gregorio cried, "Caballeros! Forward! and God protect Chili!"
"Forward!" the general repeated, unsheathing his sword.
CHAPTER X.
THE PASSAGE OF THE DEFILE.
While these things were going on in the defile, a few words exchanged between Antinahuel and the Linda filled the Toqui with uneasiness, by making him vaguely suspicious of some treachery.
"What is the matter?" Doña Maria asked.
"Nothing very extraordinary," he replied, carelessly; "some reinforcements have arrived rather late, upon which I did not reckon."
"Good Heavens!" said Doña Maria, "I have been perhaps deceived by an extraordinary resemblance; but, if the man I mean were not forty leagues off, I should declare it is he who commands that troop."
"Let my sister explain herself," said Antinahuel.
"Tell me, in the first place, chief," the Linda continued, "the name of the warrior to whom you spoke?"
"His name is Joan."
"That is impossible! Joan is at this moment more than forty leagues from this place, detained by his love for a white woman," the Linda cried.
"My sister must be mistaken, because I have just been conversing with him."
"Then he is a traitor!" she said passionately.
The chief's brow became thoughtful.
"This has an awkward appearance," he said. "Can I have been betrayed?" he added in a deep tone.
"What are you going to do?" the Linda asked, stopping him.
"To demand of Joan an account of his ambiguous conduct."
"It is too late," the Linda continued, pointing with her finger to the Chilians.
"Oh!" Antinahuel cried, with rage, "woe be to him if he prove a traitor."
"It is no longer time for recrimination and threats; you must fight."
"Yes," he replied, fervently; "we will fight now. After the victory it will be time enough to chastise traitors."
The plan of the Araucanos was of the most simple kind: to allow the Spaniards to enter the defile, then to attack them at once in front and in rear, whilst the warriors in ambush on the flanks poured down upon them enormous stones and fragments of rock. A party of the Indians had bravely thrown themselves both in front and rear of the Spaniards to bar their passage. Antinahuel sprang up, and encouraging his warriors with voice and gesture, he rolled down an immense stone amongst his enemies. All at once a shower of bullets came pattering down upon his troops. The false Indians, led by Joan, showed themselves, and charged him resolutely to the cry of "Chili! Chili!"
"We are betrayed!" Antinahuel shouted, "Kill, kill!"
Some horsemen charged in troops at speed, whilst others galloped at random among the terrified infantry.
The Araucanos did not yield an inch—the Chilians did not advance a step. The mêlée undulated like the waves of the sea in a tempest; the earth was red with blood.
The combat had assumed heroic proportions.
At length, by a desperate effort Antinahuel succeeded in breaking through the close ranks of the enemies who enveloped him, and rushed into the defile, followed by his warriors, and waving his heavy hatchet over his head. Black Stag contrived to effect the same movement; but Joan's Chilian horse advanced from behind the rising ground which had concealed them, with loud cries, and came on sabring all before them.
The Linda followed closely the steps of Antinahuel, her eyes flashing, her lips compressed.
"Forward!—forward!" Don Gregorio cried in a voice of thunder.
"Chili! Chili!" the general repeated, cutting down a man at every blow.
More dead than alive, Don Ramón fought like a demon; he waved his sword, rode down all in his way with the weight of his horse, and uttered inarticulate cries with the gestures of one possessed.
In the meantime, Don Bustamente snatched a sword from one of the soldiers, made his horse plunge violently, and dashed forward, crying with a loud voice—
"To the rescue!—to the rescue!"
To this appeal the Araucanos replied by shouts of joy, and flew towards him.
"Ay, ay," a scoffing voice cried; "but you are not free yet, Don Pancho."
General Bustamente turned sharply round, and found himself face to face with General Cornejo, who had leaped his horse over a heap of dead bodies. The two men, after exchanging a look of hatred, rushed against each other with raised swords. The shock was terrible; the two horses fell with it. Don Pancho received a slight wound in the head; the arm of General Cornejo was cut through by the weapon of his adversary. With a bound Don Pancho was again on his feet; General Cornejo would willingly have been so, likewise, but suddenly a knee pressed heavily upon his chest, and obliged him to sink upon the ground.
"Pancho! Pancho!" Doña Maria cried, with the laugh of a demon, for it was she, "see how I kill your enemies!"
Don Pancho had not even heard the exclamation of the courtesan, so fully was he engaged in defending himself. At the sight of the odious murder committed by the Linda, Don Ramón shouted—
"Viper! I will not kill you, because you are a woman; but I will mar your future means of doing evil."
The Linda sank beneath his blow with a shriek of pain; he had slashed her down the cheek from top to bottom! Her hyena-like cry was so frightful that it even brought to a pause the combatants engaged around her. Bustamente heard her, and with one bound of his horse was by the side of his ancient mistress, whom the wound on her face rendered hideous. He stooped slightly down, and seizing her by her long hair, threw her across the neck of his horse; then plunging his spurs into the animals flanks, he dashed, headforemost, into the thickest of the mêlée. In spite of the efforts of the Chilians to recapture the fugitive, he succeeded in escaping.
At a signal from Antinahuel, the Indians threw themselves on each side of the defile, and scaled the rocks with incredible velocity under a shower of bullets.
The combat was over. The Araucanos had disappeared. The Chilians counted their losses, and found them great; seventy men had been killed, and a hundred and forty-three were wounded. Several officers, among whom was General Cornejo, had fallen. It was in vain they searched for Joan. The intrepid Indian had become invisible.
Don Gregorio was in despair at the escape of General Bustamente. It was now useless for Don Gregorio to return to Santiago; on the contrary, it was urgent that he should return to Valdivia, in order to secure the tranquillity of that province which would, no doubt, be disturbed by the news of the generals escape; but, on the other hand, it was quite as important that the authorities of the capital should be placed upon their guard. Don Gregorio was in great trouble about choosing a person whom he could trust with this commission, when the senator came to his relief. The worthy Don Ramón had finished by taking courage in reality; he actually, and in good faith, believed himself the most valiant man in Chili, and, unconsciously, assumed the most ridiculously extravagant airs. Above all, he burned with the desire of returning to Santiago.
Don Gregorio asked the senator to be the bearer of the double news of the battle gained over the Indians—a battle in which he, Don Ramón, had taken so large a share of the glory—and the unexpected escape of General Bustamente.
Don Ramón accepted with a proud smile of satisfaction a mission in every way so honourable to him. As soon as the despatches, which Don Gregorio wrote at once, were ready, he mounted his horse, and, escorted by fifty lancers, set out for Santiago.
CHAPTER XI.
THE JOURNEY.
After his interview with Don Tadeo, Valentine had scarcely taken time to bid the young count farewell, but had instantly departed, followed by Trangoil-Lanec and his inseparable Newfoundland dog.
The morning on which the sanguinary battle we have described was fought in the Canyon del Rio Seco, Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec were marching side by side, followed closely by Cæsar. The two men were talking while they cracked a biscuit, which they washed down from time to time with a little smilax water, contained in a gourd, which hung at the girdle of Trangoil-Lanec.
"Why chief," said Valentine, laughing, "you drive me to despair with your indifference."
"What does my brother mean?" the astonished Indian said.
"Caramba! We are traversing the most ravishing landscape in the world, and you pay no more attention to all these beauties than to the granite masses yonder in the horizon."
"My brother is young." Trangoil-Lanec observed: "he is an enthusiast."
"I do not know whether I am an enthusiast or not," replied the young man, warmly; "I only know this—that nature is magnificent."
"Yes," said the chief, solemnly, "Pillian is great; it is he who made all things."
"God, you mean, chief; but that is all one; our thought is the same, and we won't quarrel about a name."
"In my brother's island," the Indian asked curiously, "are there no mountains and trees?"
"I have already told you, chief, more than once that my country is not an island, but a land as large as this; there is no want of trees, thank God! There are even a great many, and as to mountains, we have some lofty ones, Montmartre among the rest."
"Hum," said the Indian, not understanding.
"Yes!" Valentine resumed, "we have mountains, but compared to these they are but little hills."
"My land is the most beautiful in the world," the Indian replied proudly. "Why do the palefaces wish to dispossess us of it."
"There is a great deal of truth in what you say, chief."
"Good!" said the chief; "all men cannot be born in my country."
"That is true, and that is why I was born somewhere else."
Cæsar at this moment growled surlily.
"What is the matter, old fellow?" said Valentine.
Trangoil-Lanec remarked quietly—
"The dog has scented an Aucas."
So it was, for scarcely had he spoken, when an Indian horseman appeared at the turning of the road. He advanced at full gallop towards the two men, whom he saluted, and went on his way.
Shortly afterwards the travellers arrived, almost without being aware of it, at the entrance of the village.
"So now, I suppose, we are at San Miguel?" remarked Valentine.
"Yes," the other replied.
"And is it your opinion that Doña Rosario is no longer here?"
"No," said the Indian, shaking his head. "Let my brother look around him."
"Well," said the young man, turning his eyes in all directions, "I see nothing."
"If the prisoner were here, my brother would see warriors and horses; the village would be alive."
"Corbleu!" thought Valentine; "these savages are wonderful men; they see everything, they divine everything. Chief," he added, "you are wise; tell me, I beg of you, who taught you all these things."
The Indian stopped; with a majestic gesture he indicated the horizon to the young man, and said, in a voice the solemn accent of which made him start—
"Brother, it was the desert.
"Yes," the Frenchman replied, convinced by these few words; "for it is there alone that man sees God face to face."
They now entered the village, and, as Trangoil-Lanec had said, it seemed deserted. They saw a few sick persons, who, reclining upon sheepskins, were complaining lamemtably.
"Caramba!" said Valentine, much disappointed, "you have guessed so truly, Chief, that there are even no dogs to bite our heels."
All at once Cæsar sprang forward barking, and, stopping in front of an isolated hut, began to munch the ground with his claws, uttering furious cries.
The two men ran hastily towards the hut, and Cæsar continued his howlings.
CHAPTER XII.
INFORMATION.
When Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec gained the front of the hut, the door was opened, and a woman presented herself.
This woman had in her countenance a marked expression of mildness, mixed with a melancholy cast; she appeared to be suffering pain. Her dress, entirely composed of blue cloth, consisted of a tunic which fell to her feet, but was very narrow, which makes the women of that country take short steps; a short mantle, called an ichcha, covered her shoulders and was crossed upon her breast, where it was drawn together by means of a silver buckle.
As soon as this woman opened the door, Cæsar rushed so violently into the interior of the hut that he almost knocked her down in his passage. She staggered, and was obliged to hold herself up by the wall.
"I know what troubles the animal thus," the woman said mildly; "my brothers are travellers; let them enter this poor hut, which belongs to them; their slave will serve them."
So saying, the mistress of the hut stood on one side to allow the strangers to enter. They found Cæsar crouching in the middle of the cuarto, with his nose close to the ground, sniffing, snatching, and growling.
"Good God!" Valentine muttered anxiously, "what has been done here?"
Without saying a word Trangoil-Lanec placed himself close to the dog; stretched along upon the ground, with his eyes intently fixed upon it, he examined it as closely as if he thought his glance could penetrate it. At the end of a minute he arose, and seated himself by Valentine, who seeing his companion had got a fit of Indian silence, found it necessary to speak first.
"Well, chief," he asked, "what is there fresh?"
"Nothing," the Ulmen replied; "these traces are at least four days old."
"What traces are you speaking of, chief?"
"Traces of blood."
"Of blood!" the young man cried. "Can Doña Rosario have been assassinated?"
"No," the chief replied, "if this blood belonged to her, she has only been wounded; her wound has been dressed."
"Dressed! come, that is too strong, chief!"
"My brother is quick—he does not reflect. Let him look here."
And he opened his right hand, and displayed an object enclosed in it.
"Caramba!" Valentine replied, quite out of humour, "an old dried leaf! What on earth can that teach?"
"Everything," said the Indian.
"Pardieu? If you can prove that, chief, I shall consider you the greatest machi in all Araucania."
"It is very simple. This leaf is the oregano leaf; the oregano so valuable for stopping the effusion of blood."
"Here are traces of blood; a person has been wounded; and on the same spot I find an oregano leaf: that leaf did not come there of itself, consequently that person's wounds have been dressed."
The woman now entered, bearing two ox horns full of harina tostada; they ate their horn of meal heartily, and drank more than one cup of chicha each. As soon as they had ended this light repast, the Indian presented the maté to them, which they tossed off with great pleasure, and then they lit their cigars.
"My sister is kind," Trangoil-Lanec said; "will she talk a minute with us!"
"I will do as my brothers please."
Valentine took two piastres from his pocket, and presented them to the woman, saying, "Will my sister permit me to offer her this trifle to make earrings?"
"I thank my brother," said the poor woman; "my brother is a muruche; perhaps he is the relation of the young paleface girl who was here?"
"I am not her relation," he said, "I am her friend. I confess that if my sister can give me any intelligence of her, she will render me happy."
"Some days ago," said the woman, "a great woman of the palefaces arrived here towards evening, followed by half a score of mosotones; I am not well, and that is why, for a month past, I have remained in the village. This woman asked me to allow her to pass the night in my hut. Towards the middle of the night there was a great noise of horses in the village, and several horsemen arrived, bringing with them a young palefaced maiden of a mild and sad countenance; she was a prisoner to the other, as I afterwards learnt. I do not know how the young girl managed it, but she succeeded in escaping. This woman and the Toqui went in search of the young girl, whom they soon brought back across a horse, with her head cut. The poor child had fainted; her blood flowed in abundance; she was in a pitiable state. I do not know what passed, but the woman suddenly changed her manner of acting towards the young girl; she dressed her wound, and took the most affectionate care at her. After that, Antinahuel and the woman departed, leaving the young girl in my hut, with ten mosotones to guard her. One of these mosotones told me that the girl belonged to the Toqui, who intended to make her his wife."
"Yesterday the paleface squaw was much better, and the mosotones set off with her, about three o'clock."
"And the young girl," Trangoil-Lanec asked, "did she say nothing to my sister before she departed?"
"Nothing," the woman answered; "the poor child wept; she was unwilling to go, but they made her get on horseback by threatening to tie her on."
"Which way did they go?" said Trangoil-Lanec.
"The mosotones talked among themselves of the tribe of the Red Vulture."
"Thanks to my sister," the Ulmen replied; "she may retire, the men are going to hold a council."
The woman arose and left the cuarto.
"Now," the chief asked, "what is my brother's intention?"
"Pardieu! we must follow the track of the ravishers."
"Good! that is also my advice; only, two men are not enough to accomplish such a project."
"True; but what else are we to do?"
"Not to set out till this evening."
"Why so?"
"Because Curumilla will have rejoined us by that time."
Valentine, knowing that he had several hours to pass in this place, resolved to take advantage of the opportunity; he stretched himself upon the ground, placed a stone under his head, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. Trangoil-Lanec did not sleep, but, with a piece of cord which he picked up in a corner of the hut, he measured all the footprints left upon the ground of the hut.
After carefully tying the end of the cord to his belt, he, in his turn, lay down upon the ground close to Valentine.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE AMBUSCADE
Curumilla and his two companions descended the steep sides of the Corcovado; if the ascent had been difficult, the descent was not less so. Everywhere escaped thousands of hideous creatures; and not unfrequently they caught glimpses of snakes, unfolding their threatening rings under the dead leaves which on all sides covered the ground. Sometimes they were obliged to crawl on their knees, at others to jump from branch to branch.
This painful and fatiguing march lasted nearly three hours. At the end of that time they found themselves again at the entrance of the grotto where they had left their horses. The two white men were literally knocked up, particularly the count. As for Curumilla, he was as fresh and active as if he had not gone a step. Physical fatigue seems to have no hold on the iron organisation of the Indians.
"My brothers require test," he said; "we will remain here for them to recover their strength."
A half hour passed away without a word being exchanged. Curumilla had disappeared for a time.
When he returned he drew from his belt a small box which he presented to the count, saying, "Take this."
"Oh!" cried Don Tadeo, joyfully, "coca!"
"Yes," said the Indian, "my father can take some."
"What is all that to do?" said the count.
"My friend," said Don Tadeo, "America is the promised land; its privileged soil produces everything: as we have the herb of Paraguay, which is so good a substitute for tea, we have coca, which, I assure you, advantageously supplies the place of the betel, and has the faculty of restoring the strength and reviving the courage."
"The deuce!" said the young man. "You are too serious, Don Tadeo, to leave me for an instant to suppose you wish to impose upon my credulity; give me quickly, I beg, some of this precious drug."
Don Tadeo held out to the count the coca he had prepared. The latter put it into his mouth without hesitation. Curumilla, after having carefully reclosed the box and returned it to his belt, saddled the horses. All at once a sharp firing was heard.
"What is all that?" Louis cried, springing up.
"The fight beginning," Curumilla replied coolly.
At that moment the cries became redoubled.
"Come!" said Don Tadeo; "one hour's delay cannot cause any great harm to my daughter."
"To horse, then," said the chief.
As they drew nearer, the noise of the fierce fight that was raging in the defile became more distinct; they recognised perfectly the war cry of the Chilians mixed with the howlings of the Araucanos; now and then bullets were flattened against the trees, or whizzed around them.
"Halt!" cried the Ulmen suddenly.
The horsemen checked their horses, which were bathed in sweat. Curumilla had conducted his friends to a place which entirely commanded the outlet of the defile on the side of Santiago. It was a species of natural fortress, composed of blocks of granite, strangely heaped upon one another by some convulsion of nature, perhaps an earthquake. These rocks, at a distance, bore a striking resemblance to a tower; and their total height was about thirty feet. In a word, it was a real fortress, from which a siege might be sustained.
"What a fine position," Don Tadeo observed.
They dismounted: Curumilla relieved the horses of their equipments, and let them loose in the woods. A slight movement was heard from among the leaves, the boughs of the underwood parted, and a man appeared. The Ulmen cocked his gun. The man who had so unexpectedly arrived had a gun thrown on his back, and he had in his hand a sword, crimson to the hilt. He ran on, looking around him on all sides, not like a man who is flying, but, on the contrary, as if seeking for somebody. Curumilla uttered an exclamation of surprise, quitted his hiding place, and advanced towards the newcomer.
"I was seeking my father," he said earnestly.
"Good!" Curumilla replied; "here I am."
"Let my son follow me," said Curumilla, "we cannot stay here."
The two Indians climbed the rocks, at the summit of which Don Tadeo and the young count had already arrived.
The two whites were surprised at the presence of the newcomer, who was no other than Joan; but the moment was not propitious for asking explanations; the four men hastened to erect a parapet. This labour completed, they rested for a while.
"When I saw," he said, "that the prisoner had succeeded in escaping, in spite of the valiant efforts of the men who escorted him. I thought it would be best you should be acquainted with this news, and I plunged into the forest, and came in search of you."
"Oh!" said Don Tadeo, "if that man is free, all is lost."
The four men placed themselves, gun in hand, on the edge of the platform. The number of the fugitives increased every instant. The whole plain, just before so calm and solitary, presented one of the most animated spectacles. From time to time men were to be seen falling, many of them never to rise again; others, more fortunate, who were only wounded, made incredible efforts to rise. A squadron of Chilian horsemen came out at a gallop, driving before them the Araucanos, who still resisted. In advance of this troop a man mounted on a black horse, across the neck of which a fainting woman was reclining, was riding with the rapidity of an arrow. He gained ground constantly upon the soldiers.
"It is he," cried the Don, "it is the general."
At the same time the count and Curumilla fired. The horse stopped short, reared perfectly upright, fought the air with its forefeet, appeared to stagger for an instant, and then fell like lead, dragging its rider down with it.
The Indians, struck with terror at this unexpected attack, redoubled their speed, and fled across the plain.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FORTRESS.
"Quick, quick!" the count cried, springing up, "let us secure the general."
"One instant!" said Curumilla, phlegmatically; "the odds are not equal, let my brother look."
At the moment a crowd of Indians debouched from the defile. But these wore a good countenance. Marching in close older, they withdrew step by step, not like cowards who fled, but like warriors proudly abandoning a field of battle which they contested no longer, but retreated from in good order. As a rearguard a platoon of a hundred men sustained this brave retreat. All at once a fusillade broke out with a sinister hissing, and some Chilian horsemen appeared, charging at speed.
The Indians, without giving way an inch, received them on the points of their long lances. Most of the fugitives scattered over the plain had rallied to their companions and faced the enemy. There was during a few minutes a hand-to-hand fight, in which our adventurers wished to take a part. Four shots were suddenly fired from the temporary fortress, the summit of which was covered with a wreath of smoke. The two Indian chiefs rolled upon the ground. The Araucanos uttered a loud cry of terror and rage, and rushed forward to prevent the carrying off of their fallen chiefs. But with the quickness of lightning Antinahuel and Black Stag abandoned their horses and sprang up, brandishing their weapons, and shouting their war cry.
The Chilians, whose intention was only to drive back their enemies out of the defile, retired in good older, and soon disappeared. The Araucanos continued their retreat.
General Bustamente had disappeared some time before.
"We can continue our route," said Don Tadeo rising. "You see the plain is clear; the Araucanos and the Chilians have retired each their own way.
"There are too many eyes concealed there," said Curumilla, pointing to the forest.
"You are mistaken, chief," Don Tadeo objected; "the Araucanos have been beaten. Why should they persist in remaining here, where they have no longer anything to do?"
"My father is not acquainted with the warriors of my nation," Curumilla replied; "they never leave enemies behind them, when they have any hope of destroying them."
"Which means?" Don Tadeo interrupted.
"That Antinahuel has been wounded, and will not depart without vengeance."
Don Tadeo was struck with the just reasoning of the Indian.
"For all that, we cannot remain here," said the young man. "It is incontestable that in a few days we shall fall into the hands of these demons."
"Yes." said Curumilla.
"Well, I confess," the count continued, "that this prospect is not flattering. But I think there exists no position so bad that men cannot be extricated from."
"Does my brother know any means?" the Ulmen asked.
"In two hours night will be here. Then, when the Indians have fallen asleep, we will depart silently."
"Indians do not sleep," said Curumilla, coolly.
"The devil!" the young man exclaimed; "if it must be so, we will pass over their dead bodies."
"I allow," said Don Tadeo, "that this plan does not appear to me absolutely hopeless, I think, towards the middle of the night we might try to put it into execution."
"Good!" replied Curumilla, "I will act as my brothers please."
Since the departure of Valentine in the morning, the four men had not had time to eat, and hunger began to assert its claims, therefore they took advantage of the repose the enemy allowed them to satisfy it. The repast consisted of nothing but harina tostada soaked in water—rather poor food, but which want of better made our adventurers think excellent.
They were abundantly furnished with provisions—in fact, by economizing them, they had enough for a fortnight; but all the water they possessed did not exceed six leather bottles full, therefore it was thirst which they had most to dread.
The sun declined rapidly towards the horizon; the sky, by degrees, assumed the darkest line; the tops of the distant mountains became lost in thick clouds of mist—in short, everything announced that night would shortly cover the earth.
A troop composed of fifty Chilian lancers issued from the defile; on gaining the plain they diverged slightly to the left, and took the route that led to Santiago.
"They are palefaces," said Curumilla, coolly.
These horsemen formed the escort which Don Gregorio had assigned to Don Ramón, to accompany him to Santiago. All at once a horrible war cry, repeated by the echoes of the Quebradas, resounded close to them, and a cloud of Araucanos assailed them on all sides at once.
The Spaniards, taken by surprise, and terrified by the suddenness of the attack, offered but a feeble resistance. The Indians pursued them inveterately, and soon all were killed or taken. Then, as if by enchantment. Indians and Chilians all disappeared, and the plain once more became calm and solitary.
"Well," said Curumilla to Don Tadeo, "what does my father think now. Have the Indians gone?"
"You are right, chief, I cannot but allow. Alas!" he added, "who will save my daughter?"
"I will, please Heaven!" cried the count. "Listen to me. We have committed the incredible folly of thrusting ourselves into this rathole; we must get out, cost what it may; if Valentine were here his inventive genius would find us means, I am convinced. I will bring him back with me."
"Yes," said Curumilla, "my paleface brothers are right; our friend is indispensable to us: a man shall go, but that man shall he Joan."
With his knife Curumilla cut off a piece of his poncho, about four fingers in width, and gave it to Joan, saying—"My son will give this to Trangoil-Lanec, that he may know from whom he comes."
"Good!" said Joan; "where shall I find the chief?"
"In the toldería of San Miguel."
The three men shook hands with him warmly. The Indian bowed, and began to descend. By the last glimpses of daylight they saw him creep along to the first trees of the mountain of Corcovado; when there, he turned round, waved his hand to them, and disappeared in the high grass. A gunshot, then, almost immediately followed by a second, resounded in the direction taken by their emissary.
"He is dead!" the count cried in despair.
"Perhaps he is!" replied Curumilla, after some hesitation; "but my brother may now perceive that we are really surrounded."
"That is true!" Don Tadeo murmured. And he let his head sink down into his hands.
CHAPTER XV.
PROPOSALS.
Don Tadeo and his companions set to work to fortify themselves. They raised a sort of wall, by piling stones upon one another to the height of eight feet; and as in that country the dews are very heavy, by means of Curumilla's lance, and that of Joan, which he had left behind him, they established something like a tent, by stretching upon them two ponchos.
These labours occupied the greater part of the night. Towards three o'clock in the morning Curumilla approached his two companions, who were struggling in vain against the sleep and fatigue that oppressed them.
"My brothers can sleep for a few hours," he said.
The two men threw themselves down on the horsecloths and very soon were fast asleep. Curumilla now glided down the declivity of the rocks, and arrived at the base of the fortress.
The chief took off his poncho, stretched himself on the ground, and covered himself with it. This precaution being taken, he took his mechero from his belt, and struck the flint without fearing, thanks to the means of concealment he had adopted, that the sparks should be seen in the darkness. As soon as he had procured a light, he collected some dry leaves at the foot of a bush, blew patiently to kindle the fire till the smoke had assumed a certain consistency, then crept away as he had come, and regained the summit of the rocks. His companions still slept.
"Hugh!" he said to himself, with satisfaction, "we need not now be afraid that the marksmen will hide in the bushes beneath us."
Shortly a red light gleamed through the darkness, which increased by degrees. The flames gained so rapidly that the summit of the mountain appeared almost immediately to be on fire.
The object Curumilla had proposed to himself was attained; places which an hour before had offered excellent shelter had become completely exposed. Don Tadeo and the count, awakened by the cries of the Indians, naturally thought an attack was being made, and hastily joined the Ulmen.
"Eh!" said Don Tadeo, "who lighted this bonfire?"
"I!" Curumilla replied; "see how the half-roasted bandits are scuttling away!"
His two companions took part in his glee.
From want of aliment, the fire was extinguished as rapidly as it had been lighted, and the adventurers turned their eyes towards the plain. They uttered a simultaneous cry of surprise and alarm. By the first rays of the rising sun, and the dying flames of the conflagration, they perceived an Indian camp surrounded by a wide ditch.
"Hum!" said the count, "I do not see how we shall extricate ourselves."
"Look there!" Don Tadeo exclaimed, "it seems as if they wanted to demand a parley. Let us hear what they have to say."
Several men had left the camp, and these men were unarmed. One of them, with his right hand, waved over his head one of those starred flags which serve the Araucanos as standards.
"Let one of you come down," a voice shouted, which Don Tadeo recognised as that of General Bustamente, "in order that we may lay before you our conditions."
"If one of us descends," said the count, "will he be at liberty to rejoin his companions if your proposals are not accepted?"
"Yes," the general replied, "on the honour of a soldier."
"I will come," the young man cried.
He then laid down his arms, and with the activity of a chamois, leaped from rock to rock and at the end of five minutes found himself face to face with the leaders of the enemy. They were four: Antinahuel, Black Stag, Bustamente and another. The general and Antinahuel had wounds in the head and the breast, while Black Stag wore his arm in a sling.
"Caballero," said Don Pancho, with a half smile, "the sun is very hot here; are you willing to follow us to the camp? You have nothing to fear."
"Señor," the young man replied, haughtily, "I fear nothing—my actions might satisfy you of that. I will follow."
"If you are afraid, señor," said the general, "you can return."
"General," retorted the young man, haughtily. "I have your word of honour, besides which there is one thing you are ignorant of."
"What is that, señor?"
"That I am a Frenchman, general."
"Your hand, señor," he said; "you are a brave young man, and it will not be my fault, I swear to you, if you do not go back satisfied."
The five personages now proceeded silently for several minutes through the camp, till they came to a tent much larger than the rest, where a number of long lances tied together, with scarlet pennons at their points, stuck in the ground, denoted that it was the hut of a chief. Buffalo skulls, lying here and there, served as seats. In one corner, upon a heap of dry leaves, reclined a woman, with her head enveloped in bandages. This was the Linda. She appeared to be sleeping. On the entrance of the party, however, a flash of her wild-looking eye gleamed through the darkness of the hut.
Everyone seated himself, as well as he could, upon a skull. When all were placed, the general said, in a short, clear manner—
"Now, then, señor, let us know upon what conditions you will agree to surrender?"
"Your pardon, señor," the young man answered; "we do not agree to surrender on any conditions whatever. It is you who have proposals to make."
CHAPTER XVI.
THE MESSENGER.
Joan remained a short time, crouched in the high grass, reflecting. Presently he began to run. Satisfied that he was alone, he unrolled his lasso, pulled out the running noose, and fastened it to the end of a bush. Upon this bush he tied his hat so that it could not fall; he then retreated with great caution, unrolling his lasso as he went. When he had gained the extremity of the lasso, he drew it gently, by little pulls, towards him, giving a slight oscillating movement to the bush.
This movement was perceived by the sentinels; they sprang towards the bush, saw the hat, and fired. In the meantime, Joan scampered away, with the swiftness of a guanaco.
He arrived within sight of San Miguel at three o'clock in the morning. When he entered the toldería, shadow and silence prevailed on all sides; the inhabitants were asleep, a few dogs were baying the moon; he did not know how to find the men he was in search of, when the door of a hut opened, and two men, followed by an enormous Newfoundland dog, appeared upon the road.
Joan remembered having seen at Valdivia, with the Frenchmen, a dog like the one that had given him so formidable a welcome; and, being a man of prompt resolution, he formed his without hesitation, and cried with a loud voice—
"Are you the Muruche, the friend of Curumilla?"
"Curumilla!" Trangoil-Lanec exclaimed, as he drew nearer; "if he sends you to us, you must have something to report to us?"
"Are you the persons I seek?" Joan asked.
"Yes, but in the hut, and by the light of a candle, we shall recognise each other better than here."
The three men entered the hut, followed by the dog. Without losing time, Trangoil-Lanec took out his mechero, struck a light, and lit a candle.
"Good!" he said, "it is he whom Curumilla once sent to Valdivia."
"Yes," Joan replied.
Joan pressed that loyal hand, Trangoil-Lanec turned towards Joan, saying—
"I expected last night, at sunset, the arrival of Curumilla and two friends."
Joan bowed respectfully, and drew from his belt the piece of stuff which Curumilla had sent.
"A piece of Curumilla's poncho!" Trangoil-Lanec exclaimed violently. "Of what terrible news are you the bearer?"
"The news I bring is bad; nevertheless, at the time I left them, Curumilla and his companions were in safety, and unwounded."
"Curumilla cut this piece off his poncho, saying, as he gave it to me, 'Go and find my brothers, show them this stuff, then they will believe you.' I set out, I have travelled twelve leagues since sunset, and here I am."
Joan then made the recital they required of him, to which Valentine and the Ulmen listened with the greatest attention.
What was to be done? These three indomitable men found themselves opposed by an impossibility, which rose implacable and terrible before them. Valentine was the first to decide.
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "since we have nothing left but to die with our friends, let us hasten to join them."
"Come, then," the two Indians replied. They left the hut just as the sun was rising.
The two men leaned into their saddles. Then commenced a desperate journey. It lasted six hours, then in sight of Corcovado.
"Here we must dismount," said Joan.
The horses were abandoned, and the three companions began to climb the mountain.
"Wait here for me," said Joan; "I will see how the land lies after a while."
His companions threw themselves on the ground, and he crept away. Instead of ascending higher, the Indian soon disappeared behind one of the numerous masses of granite. His absence was so long, that his friends were preparing to resume their march, at whatever risk, when they saw him come running quickly.
"Well, what is going on?" Valentine asked. "What makes you have such a joyful countenance?"
"Curumilla," Joan replied, "has burnt the forest behind the rocks."
"What good advantage can that conflagration procure us?"
"An immense one. The warriors of Antinahuel were concealed among the bushes and beneath the trees; they have been forced to retire."
"Come on, then," cried Valentine.
"Let us be gone," said Valentine, "it will be hard if, with the assistance of these three resolute men, I cannot save my poor Louis."
Followed by his dog Cæsar, who looked at him, wagging his tail, he followed Trangoil-Lanec, who trod in the steps of Joan. In twenty minutes they found themselves at the foot of the rocks, from which Don Tadeo and Curumilla made them joyous signals of welcome.
CHAPTER XVII.
IN THE WOLF'S MOUTH.
We are compelled to interrupt our recital here to relate the various incidents that took place in the camp of the Aucas, after the battle with the Spaniards.
The men placed in ambush at the top of the rocks had made them suffer serious losses. The principal leader, who had escaped safe and sound from the desperate fight of the morning, had been grievously wounded, struck by invisible hands. General Bustamente, thrown from his horse, had received a bullet, which, fortunately for him, had inflicted only a flesh wound. Don Pancho was carried fainting off the field of battle, and concealed in the woods, as was the Linda.
"What line of conduct will my brother pursue?" the general asked.
"The Great Eagle has my word," the chief replied, with an ambiguous look; "let him keep his word."
"I have no double tongue," the general said; "let me regain my power, and I will restore to the people the territory which once belonged to them."
"In that case, let my father command," replied Antinahuel.
A proud smile curled the lips of the general; he perceived all was not lost.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"In ambush In front of the palefaces who so roughly saluted us an hour ago."
"And what is my brother's intention?"
"To capture them somehow," Antinahuel replied.
After speaking these words, he bowed to the general and retired. Don Pancho remained plunged in serious reflection.
He turned round with surprise, and with difficulty repressed a cry of horror—it was Doña Maria, her clothes torn and stained with blood and dirt, and her face enveloped in bandages and bloody linen.
"I appear horrible to you, Don Pancho," she said, in a low voice.
"Señora;" the general began, warmly; but she interrupted him.
"Do not debase yourself by a lie unworthy of you and of me."
"Señora, I beg you to believe——"
"You no longer love me, I tell you, Don Pancho," she replied, bitterly; "besides, have I not sacrificed everything to you? I had nothing left but my beauty—I gave you that, joyfully."
"I will not reply to the disguised recriminations you address to me."
"Oh, a truce with these trivialities," she interrupted violently. "If love can no longer unite us, hatred can, we have the same enemy."
"Don Tadeo de León," he said angrily.
"Yes—Don Tadeo de León."
"Ah! I am free now!" he shouted in a furious tone.
"Thanks to me," she said pointedly.
"Yes," he replied, "that is true."
"Such are women. You are aware of the ability and cool bravery of your enemy; if you give him time, in a few days he will become a colossus."
"Yes," he murmured, as if speaking to himself, "I know it, I feel it."
"Hark!" she said, leaning her head forward, "do you hear that noise?"
There was a great commotion in the wood; it was the escort of Don Ramón being surrounded.
Antinahuel shortly appeared, leading in Don Ramón Sandias. On perceiving the Linda he gave a start of terror.
"Miserable scoundrel!" cried the general.
"Hold!" said the Linda.
"What! do you defend this man?" the astonished general exclaimed. "The accomplice of Cornejo, it was he who inflicted upon you that frightful wound."
"Oh! I know all that," the Linda replied with a smile; "but I forget and forgive Don Ramón Sandias."
"Very well," he said, "since you desire it, Doña Maria; I pardon as you do."
The senator could not believe his ears; but, at all hazards, he seized the extended hand, and shook it with all his might, Antinahuel smiled contemptuously.
"If this is the case," he said, "I will leave you together; it is useless to bind the prisoner."
"Oh! my dear benefactors!" exclaimed Don Ramón, rushing towards them.
"Stop a bit, caballero!" cried Don Pancho; "we must now have a little talk together."
At which words the senator stopped in confusion.
"You are aware, are you not, that you are perfectly in our power!" said the Linda.
"Now," the general added, "answer categorically the questions which will be put to you."
"How came you here?"
"I have just been surprised by the Indians."
"Where were you going?"
"To Santiago."
"Alone?"
"Oh, Lord! no; I had an escort of fifty horsemen."
"What were you going to do at Santiago?"
"Alas! I am tired of politics: my intention was to retire to my quinta in the bosom of my family."
"Had you no other object?" the general asked.
"I was only charged with a despatch; here it is."
The general seized it, broke the seal, and rapidly read its contents.
"Bah!" he said, crushing the paper, "there is not even common sense in this despatch."
Doña Maria put an end to this by saying—
"Go to Antinahuel, Don Pancho; he must demand an interview with the adventurers who are perched like owls at the summit of the rocks."
"I will, as you desire it so earnestly."
The general succeeded; when he rejoined the Linda, she was terminating her conversation with the senator, by saying to him in a sardonic voice—
"Manage it as well as you are able, my dear señor; if you fail, I will give you up to the Indians."
"Hum!" said the terrified senator; "and if they learn it is I who have done that, what will happen?"
"You will be burnt."
"Demonios! the prospect is not an agreeable one."
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CAPITULATION.
Let us return to the hut of council, into which the count had been introduced by the general. Don Bustamente had too much personal courage not to like and appreciate that quality in another. Bowing he said, "Your observation is perfectly just, señor——"
"Count de Prébois-Crancé;" the Frenchman finished the sentence with a bow.
"Before any other question," said Don Pancho, "permit me, count, to ask you how you have become personally mixed up with the men we are besieging?"
"In the simplest way possible, señor," Louis replied, with an arch smile, "I am travelling with some friends and servants; yesterday the noise of a battle reached our ears; I naturally inquired what was going on; after this, several Spanish soldiers, running away along the crest or the mountains, intrenched themselves on the rock where I had myself sought refuge. The battle begun in the defile was continued on the plain; the soldiers, listening to nothing but their courage, fired upon their enemy."
The general and the senator knew perfectly what degree of faith to place in the veracity of this narration, in which, nevertheless, as men of the world, they had the appearance of placing the utmost alliance.
"So then, count," the general replied, "you are head of the garrison?"
"Yes, señor—"
"General Don Pancho Bustamente."
"And is this garrison numerous?" he resumed.
"Hum! tolerably so."
"Some thirty men, perhaps?" said the general, with an insinuating smile.
"Thereabouts," the count replied, without hesitation.
The general rose.
"What, count," he exclaimed, with feigned anger, "do you pretend, with thirty men, to resist the five hundred Araucano warriors who surround you?"
"Any why not?" the young man replied coolly.
"Why, it is madness!" the general replied.
"Not at all, señor, it is courage."
The general knitted his brow, for the interview was taking a direction not at all agreeable to him: he resumed, "these are my conditions; you, count, and all the Frenchmen that accompany you, shall free to retire; but Chilians and Aucas, whoever may be found among your troop, shall be immediately given up."
The count's brow became clouded; he, however, bowed to all present with great courtesy, but then walked resolutely straight out of the hut.
"Where are you going, señor?" the general said, "and why do you leave us thus suddenly?"
"Señor," the count remarked, "after such a proposal reply is useless."
Whilst speaking thus the count kept walking on, and the five persons had left the camp, in some sort without perceiving it, and found themselves at a very short distance from the improvised citadel.
"Stay, señor," the general observed; "before refusing, you ought, at least, to warn your companions."
"You are right, general," said the count.
He took out his pocketbook, wrote a few words on one of the leaves, tore it out, and folded it.
"You shall be satisfied on the spot," he added. "Throw down a lasso!" he cried, with a loud voice.
Almost immediately a long leathern cord passed through one of the crevices, and came floating to within a foot of the ground. The count took a stone, enveloped it in the sheet of paper, and tied the whole to the end of the lasso, which was quickly drawn up.
"You will soon have an answer," he said.
All at once the moveable fortifications heaped upon the rock disappeared at if by enchantment, and the platform appeared covered with Chilian soldiers armed with muskets; a little in advance of them stood Valentine and his dog Cæsar.
"Count!" Valentine cried, in a voice that sounded like a trumpet, "in the name of your companions, you have very properly rejected the shameful proposals made to you; we are here a hundred and fifty resolute men, resolved to perish rather than accept them."
"That is understood," he cried to Valentine; then addressing the chief—"You see," he said, "my companions are of my opinion."
"What does my brother wish then?" Antinahuel demanded.
"Pardieu! simply to go away," the young man replied.
Antinahuel, Black Stag, and the general consulted for a moment; then Antinahuel said—"We agree to your terms; my young paleface brother is a great heart."
"That is well," the count replied; "you are a brave warrior, chief, and I thank you; but I have still one favour to ask you."
"Let my brother explain; if I can grant it I will," Antinahuel observed.
"Well!" the young man replied; "you yesterday took many prisoners—give them up to me."
"Those prisoners are free," the Toqui said with a forced smile; "they have already rejoined their brothers."
Louis now understood whence the unexpected increase of the garrison had come.
"I have nothing more to do, then, but to retire," he continued.
"Oh! your pardon! your pardon!" the senator exclaimed, "I was one of the prisoners!"
"That is true," Don Pancho observed; "what does my brother say?"
"Oh! let the man go," Antinahuel replied.
Don Ramón did not require this to be repeated; he followed the count closely. Louis bowed courteously to the chiefs, and regained the summit of the rock, where his companions awaited him with great anxiety.
A few hours later the gorge had fallen back again into its customary solitude, which was alone troubled at intervals by the flight of condors, or the terrified course of guanacos.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE APPEAL.
The Araucanos had faithfully observed the conditions of the treaty; and the Chilians quietly retired, without perceiving a single enemy's scout. They took the road to Valdivia. But it was night; the darkness which enveloped the earth confounded all objects, and rendered the march exceedingly painful. The tired horses advanced with difficulty, stumbling at every step. Valentine dreaded with reason, losing his way in the darkness; when they arrived, therefore, on the bank of a river, which he recognised as that which, a few days before, had been the spot where the treaties had been renewed, he halted and encamped for the night. Everyone rummaging in his alforjas, a species of large pockets, drew forth the charqui and harina tostada which were to comprise his supper. The repasts of men fatigued with a long journey are short, for sleep is their principal want. An hour later, with the exception of the sentinels, who watched over the common safety, all the soldiers were sleeping soundly. Seven men alone, seated round an immense fire, in the centre of the camp, were talking and smoking.
"My friends," said Valentine, taking his cigar from his mouth, "we are not far, I think, from Valdivia."
"Scarcely ten leagues," Joan replied.
"I believe, with deference to better advice," Valentine continued, "that we shall do best before we take that rest of which we stand so much in need, to examine our position."
All bowed in sign of assent.
"What occasion is there for discussion, my friend?" said Don Tadeo warmly; "tomorrow, at daybreak, we will proceed toward the mountains, leaving the soldiers to continue their march to Valdivia, under the conduct of Don Ramón."
"That is the best plan," said the senator: "we are all well armed; the few leagues before us present no appearance of serious danger: tomorrow, at daybreak, we will separate."
"Now then, I will ask our Araucano friends," Valentine went on, "if they still intend to follow us?"
"It is now a long time since my brothers quitted their village; they may have a desire to see their wives and children again."
"My brother has spoken well," said Trangoil-Lanec: "his is a loyal heart; when he speaks his heart is always on his lips, so that his voice comes to my ear like the melodious song of the maukawis. I am happy when I listen to him. Trangoil-Lanec is one of the chiefs of his nation. Antinahuel is not his friend! Trangoil-Lanec will follow his paleface friend wherever he may go."
"Thanks, chief; I was sure of your answer."
"Good!" said Curumilla, "my brother will say no more upon the subject."
"Faith, not I!" Valentine answered gaily; "I am but too happy to have terminated the affair."
Here Cæsar, who had been crouching comfortably near the fire, began to bark furiously.
"Hello!" said Valentine, "what is going to happen now?"
Everyone listened anxiously, whilst seeking his arms instinctively.
"To arms!" Valentine commanded in a low voice; "We know not with whom we may have to do, it is as well to be on our guard."
In a few minutes all the camp was roused. The noise drew nearer and nearer.
"¿Quién vive?" the sentinel cried.
"Chile!" replied a powerful voice.
"¿Qué gente?" went on the soldier.
"Gente de paz," said the voice, and immediately added, "Don Gregorio Peralta."
"Come on! come on!" cried Valentine.
"Caspita! caballeros," Don Gregorio replied warmly, shaking the hands that were on all sides held out to him—"what a fortunate chance."
With Don Gregorio thirty horsemen entered the camp.
"What do you mean by 'quickly?'" Don Tadeo asked. "Were you in search of us, my friend?"
"Caray! It was expressly to find you that I left Valdivia a few hours ago."
"I do not understand you," said Don Tadeo.
Don Gregorio did not appear to notice him, but, making a sign to the two Frenchmen and Don Tadeo to follow him, he retired a few paces.
"You have asked me why I sought you, Don Tadeo;" he continued, "Yesterday I set out, sent to you by our brothers, the patriots, and by all the Dark Hearts of Chili, of whom you are the leader and the king, with the mission to repeat this to you when I met with you: 'King of Darkness, our country is in danger! One man alone can save it; that man is yourself."
Don Tadeo made no reply; he seemed a prey to a poignant grief.
"Listen to the news I bring you," Don Gregorio continued. "General Bustamente has escaped!"
"I knew he had," he murmured faintly.
"Yes; but what you do not know is, that the scoundrel has succeeded in winning the Araucanos to his interests."
"This news——" objected Don Tadeo.
"Is certain," Don Gregorio interrupted warmly; "a faithful spy has brought it to us."
"You know, my friend, I resigned all power into your hands."
"When you resigned the power into my hands, Don Tadeo, the enemy was conquered and a prisoner—the liberty was victorious: but now everything is changed. The peril is greater than ever."
"My friend," Don Tadeo replied, with an accent of profound sadness, "another voice calls me likewise."
"Public safety is superior to family affections! Remember your oath!" said Don Gregorio sternly.
"But my daughter!—my poor child!—the only comfort I possess!" he exclaimed.
"Remember your oath, King of Darkness!" Don Gregorio repeated with the same solemnity of voice.
"Oh!" the unhappy father exclaimed, "will you not have pity on a parent?"
"It is well," Don Gregorio replied with asperity. "I will go back, Don Tadeo. For ten years we have sacrificed everything for the cause you now betray; we know how to die for that liberty which you abandon! Farewell, Don Tadeo! The Chilian people will succumb, but you will recover your daughter. Farewell! I know you no longer!"
"Oh, stop! stop!" Don Tadeo cried, "Retract those frightful words! I will die with you! Let us be gone!—Let us be gone! My daughter!" he added—"pardon me!"
"Oh! I have found my brother again!" Don Gregorio exclaimed. "No! with such a champion liberty can never perish!"
"Don Tadeo," Valentine cried, "go where duty calls you; I swear to you by my God that we will restore your daughter to you!
"Yes." said the count, pressing his hand, "if we perish in the attempt!"
Don Gregorio was not willing to pass the night in the camp. Every horseman took a foot soldier behind him, and set off, as fast as their horses could bear their double load, on their way to Valdivia.
The troop of Chilians soon disappeared, and there remained in the camp only Valentine, the count, Curumilla, Joan, and Trangoil-Lanec.
The five adventurers wrapped themselves in their ponchos, lay down with their feet to the fire, and went to sleep under the guardianship of Cæsar.