of Don Estevan.

Meanwhile the white fled like a man the speed of whose horse is his last
resource. Already they could see the terror depicted on his face, but
just as he was about twenty feet from the river, the lasso of an Indian
caught him, and the unlucky wretch, thrown violently from his saddle
fell upon the sand.

CHAPTER FORTY.

AN INDIAN DIPLOMAT.

After the cries of triumph which announced the capture of the unlucky
white man, there was a moment of profound silence. The men on the
island exchanged looks of consternation and pity. "Thank God! they have
not killed him!" said Fabian.

The prisoner indeed arose, although bruised with his fall, and one of
the Indians disengaged him from the lasso. Bois-Rose and Pepe shook
their heads.

"So much the worse for him, for his sufferings would now be over," said
Pepe; "the silence of the Indians shows that each is considering what
punishment to inflict. The capture of one white is more precious in
their eyes than that of a whole troop of horses."

The Indians, still on horseback, surrounded the prisoner, who, casting
around him a despairing glance, saw on every side only bronzed and
hardened faces. Then the Indians began to deliberate.

Meanwhile, one who appeared to be the chief, and who was distinguished
by his black plumes, jumped off his horse, and, throwing the bridle to
one of the men, advanced towards the island. Having reached the bank,
he seemed to seek for footsteps on the sand. Bois-Rose's heart beat
violently, for this movement appeared to show some suspicion as to their
presence.

"Can this wretch," whispered he to Pepe, "smell flesh like the ogres in
the fairy tales?"

"_Quien sabe_--who knows?" replied the Spaniard, in the phrase which is
the common answer of his native country.

But the sand trampled over by the wild horses who had come to drink,
showed no traces of a human foot, and the Indian walked up the stream,
still apparently seeking.

"The demon has some suspicion," said Bois-Rose; "and he will discover
the traces that we left half-a-mile off when we entered the bed of the
river to get at this island. I told you," added he, "that we should
have entered two miles higher up; but neither you nor Fabian wished it,
and like a fool, I yielded to you."

The deliberation as to the fate of the prisoner was now doubtless over;
for cries of joy welcomed some proposition made by one of the Indians.
But it was necessary to await t