f their kinsfolk,
and my horses shall trample their bodies in the dust."

The cacique spoke so gravely and his air was so resolute that I felt sure
he would do as he said, and I did not see how I could prevent him. His men
were beyond the range of our pieces, and to go outside were to lose our
lives to no purpose. We might get a couple of shots at them, but, before
we could reload, they would either shoot us down with their bows or spit
us with their spears.

Fray Ignacio, seeing the dilemma, drew me aside.

"You will have to do it," he said. "I am very sorry. The girls will either
be sacrificed or brought up as heathens; but better so than that these
devils should be let loose on my poor people, for, albeit some might
escape, many would be slaughtered. Why did you shoot the horse and let the
savage and his companion go scathless?"

"You may well ask the question, father. I see what a grievous mistake I
made. When it came to the point, I did not like to kill brave men in cold
blood. I was too merciful."

"As you say, a grievous mistake. Never repeat it, senor. It is always a
mistake to show mercy to _Indios brutos_. But what will you do?"

"I suppose give up the girls; it is the smaller evil of the two. And
yet--I promised that no evil should befall them--no, I must make another
effort."

And with that I turned once more to the cacique.

"Do you know," I said, laying my hand on the pistol in my belt--"do you
know that your life is in my hands?"

He did not flinch; but a look passed over his face which showed that my
implied threat had produced an effect.

"It is true; but if a hair of my head be touched, all these people will
perish."

"Let them perish! What are the lives of a few tame Indians to me, compared
with my oath? Did I not tell you that I had sworn to protect the
maidens--that no harm should befall them? And unless you call your men off
and promise to go quietly away--" Here I drew my pistol.

It was now the cacique's turn to hesitate. After a moment's thought he
answered:

"Let the lightning kill me, then. It were better for me to die than to
return to my people empty-handed; and my death will not be unavenged. But
if the pale-face chief will go with us instead of the maidens, he will
make Gondocori his friend, and these tame Indians shall not die."

"Go with you! But whither?"

Gondocori pointed toward the Cordillera.

"To our home up yonder, in the heart of the Andes."

"And what will