where's the _amante_! A laggard, to let
the girl be on the ground before him! That wasn't my way, when--See!
she's coming to a stop."

And to a stop she comes, just where the sloping path passes out at the
upper end of the defile, entering among the scaffolds. There standing
erect, she glances inquiringly around, her gaze ranging along the open
spaces between the structures and the shadows underneath them.

For a minute or two she remains in this attitude, without changing it,
or making the slightest noise--evidently looking for a form or listening
for a footstep. But neither seeing the one, nor hearing the other, she
at length calls out a name; at first timidly, but after an interval in
bolder tone, "Shebotha!"

"Not her lover after all!" mutters Gaspar, who remembers the name thus
pronounced, while Ludwig is relieved at hearing it, he also knowing
something of the sorceress.

"Only that old hag!" the gaucho goes on; "I wonder now what the young
sprout can be wanting with her, up here and at this hour of the night!
Some mischief between them, I haven't a doubt."

His conjectures are suddenly brought to a close by a new noise now
reaching their ears; a sort of scraping or shuffling, diversified by
grunts and coughs--all coming up from below. Turning their eyes that
way, they see ascending what appears to be a human figure, but stooped
forward so as more to resemble a creature crawling on all fours. At the
same instant the Indian girl has caught sight of it; and standing poised
on the platform's edge, she silently awaits its approach, knowing the
bent form to be Shebotha's.

Scrambling on up the steep, at intervals stopping to take breath, while
she intermittently gives out hoarse grunts, the hag passes by them, at
length reaching the spot where the girl stands awaiting her. Stopping
by the side of the latter, both are now seen face to face in the full
moonlight; and never did moon shine upon faces or figures more
contrasting. On the one side age indicated by a spare body, thin skinny
arms, features furrowed with wrinkles, of most repulsive aspect, and
eyes sparkling with a sinister light; on the other, youth, with all its
witching charms, a figure lithe and graceful as any palm growing on the
plain below, features of classic type, and a face exquisitely beautiful,
despite its tint of bronze, the eyes bright with the glow of a burning
passion. For it is this last that has brought the girl thither.

Only