round the table at supper in what used to be the parlour of the
establishment. "But I'm going to lock it up, and hide the key this
time," he continued; "because I have to send Ignacio on urgent matters
into the eastern parts of Bolivia, to--"

"To git help, an' tell de noos about de mischif what's a-brewin'," said
the negro abruptly, with a pointed stare at the guide, and an arrested
potato on the end of his fork.

"You've learnt your lesson well, Quashy," returned Pedro, with a
good-humoured smile, as he helped himself to a fresh supply of meat;
"these are the very words--to obtain help and spread the news about the
mischief that's brewing. Pass the salt, like a good fellow, and help
Manuela to some more maize. You're forgetting your manners, boy."

The negro heaved a sigh of discomfiture, and did as he was bid.

Next morning at daybreak they left the cottage, and descended the
intricate valley which led to it. Pedro seemed to have quite subdued
his feelings--at least all outward manifestation of them--for he was
sterner and more silent than usual as they resumed their journey. For
some distance their route and that of Ignacio lay in the same direction,
but towards the afternoon of the same day on which they left Mariquita
Cottage the old hunter bade the party adieu, and, accompanied by his
Gaucho lad and his dogs, entered a north-easterly defile of the hills,
and disappeared.

"We shall soon get to more cultivated lands, Manuela," said Pedro, in
the Indian tongue, glancing back at Lawrence, who rode a few paces
behind. "I doubt not you will be glad to see female faces again."

To the surprise of the guide, Manuela said that she did not care!

"Indeed!" he rejoined; "I thought you would be getting tired by this
time of such rough travelling, and frequent hard lodging and fare, as
well as of the conversation of us men."

"No, I am not tired. I delight in this wild, free life."

"Surely not because it is _new_ to you," said Pedro, with a glance of
amusement; "when you dwell with your kindred, your life must be wild
enough--unless indeed the great chief, your father, deems it beneath the
dignity of his daughter to join in the sports of her fellows."

Manuela made no reply, but for a moment or two gave vent to that clear,
short, merry laugh in which she sometimes indulged. Lawrence Armstrong,
irresistibly charmed by the sound, rode up alongside.

"Manuela is merry," he said to the guide; "will you not t