you do with me when you get me there?"

"Your fate will be decided by Mamcuna, our queen. If you find favor in her
sight, well."

"And if not--?"

"Then it would not be well--for you. But as she has often expressed a wish
to see a pale-face with a long beard, I think it will be well; and in any
case I answer for your life."

"What security have I for this? How do I know that when I am in your power
you will carry out the compact?"

"You have heard the word of Gondocori. See, I will swear it on the emblem
you most respect."

And the cacique pressed his lips to the cross which hung from Ignacio's
neck. It was a strange act on the part of a wild Indian, and confirmed the
suspicion I already entertained, that Condocori was the son of a Christian
mother.

"He is a heathen; his oath is worthless; don't trust him, let the girls
go," whispered the padre in my ear.

But I had already made up my mind. It was on my conscience to keep faith
with the girls; I wanted neither to kill the cacique nor see his men kill
the tame Indians, and whatever might befall me "up yonder" I should at any
rate get away from San Andrea de Huanaco.

"The die is cast; I will go with you," I said, turning to Gondocori.

"Now, I know, beyond a doubt, that my brother is the bravest of the brave.
He fears not the unknown."

I asked if Gahra might bear me company.

"At his own risk. But I cannot answer for his safety. Mamcuna loves not
black people."

This was not very encouraging, and after I had explained the matter to
Gahra I strongly advised him to stay where he was. But he said he was my
man, that he owed me his liberty, and would go with me to the end, even
though it should cost him his life.

CHAPTER XXI.

A FIGHT FOR LIFE.

We have left behind us the _montano_, with its verdant uplands and waving
forests, its blooming valleys, flower-strewed savannas, and sunny waters,
and are crawling painfully along a ledge, hardly a yard wide, stern gray
rocks all round us, a foaming torrent only faintly visible in the
prevailing gloom a thousand feet below. Our mules, obtained at the last
village in the fertile region, move at the speed of snails, for the path
is slippery and insecure, and one false step would mean death for both the
rider and the ridden,

Presently the gorge widens into a glen, where forlorn flowers struggle
toward the scanty light and stunted trees find a precarious foothold among
the rocks and stones. Soon the ra