CHAPTER XXI.

In the time-eaten wall Clara had found a fissure through which she could
watch the parley between Thurstane and the Apaches. She climbed into it
from a mound of disintegrated adobes, and stood there, pale, tremulous,
and breathless, her whole soul in her eyes.

Thurstane, walking his horse and making signs of amity with his cap, had
by this time reached the low bank of the rivulet, and halted within four
hundred yards of the savages. There had been a stir immediately on his
appearance: first one warrior and then another had mounted his pony; a
score of them were now prancing hither and thither. They had left their
lances stuck in the earth, but they still carried their bows and quivers.

When Clara first caught sight of Thurstane he was beckoning for one of the
Indians to approach. They responded by pointing to the summit of the hill,
as if signifying that they feared to expose themselves to rifle shot from
the ruins. He resumed his march, forded the shallow stream, and pushed on
two hundred yards.

"O Madre de Dios!" groaned Clara, falling into the language of her
childhood. "He is going clear up to them."

She was on the point of shrieking to him, but she saw that he was too far
off to hear her, and she remained silent, just staring and trembling.

Thurstane was now about two hundred yards from the Apaches. Except the
twenty who had first mounted, they were sitting on the ground or standing
by their ponies, every face set towards the solitary white man and every
figure as motionless as a statue. Those on horseback, moving slowly in
circles, were spreading out gradually on either side of the main body, but
not advancing. Presently a warrior in full Mexican costume, easily
recognizable as Manga Colorada himself, rode straight towards Thurstane
for a hundred yards, threw his bow and quiver ten feet from him,
dismounted and lifted both hands. The officer likewise lifted his hands,
to show that he too was without arms, moved forward to within thirty feet
of the Indian, and thence advanced on foot, leading his horse by the
bridle.

Clara perceived that the two men were conversing, and she began to hope
that all might go well, although her heart still beat suffocatingly. The
next moment she was almost paralyzed with horror. She saw Manga Colorada
spring at Thurstane; she saw his dark arms around him, the two interlaced
and reeling; she heard the triumphant yell of the Indian, and the response
of