he fingers of another are clutching
at his own throat. The hand on the horse's muzzle is that of Caspar the
gaucho, the fingers that grope to get a gripe on the rider's neck being
those of Cypriano.

It is a crisis in the life of the young Tovas _cacique_, threatening
either death or captivity. But subtle as all Indians are, and base as
any common fellow of his tribe, instead of showing a bold front, he
eludes both, by letting go the captive girl, himself slipping to the
ground, and, snake like, gliding off among the bushes.

On the other side of his horse, which he has also abandoned, Francesca
falls into the arms of her brother, who embraces her with wild delight.
Though not wilder, nor half so thrilling, as that which enraptures the
ear of Cypriano--to whose arms she is on the instant after transferred.

But it is not a time for embraces, however affectionate, nor words to be
wasted in congratulation. So Gaspar tells them, while urging instant
departure from that perilous spot.

"Our lucky star's gone up again," he says, with a significant nod to
Aguara's horse, which he has still hold of. "There is now four of us;
and as I take it this brisk little _musteno_ is fairly our property,
there'll be no need for any of us riding double--to say nothing of one
having a witch behind his back. Without such incumbrance, it'll be so
much the better for the saving of time; which at this present moment
presses, with not the hundredth part of a second to spare. So _hijos
mios_, and you, _hija mia querida_, let us mount and be off!"

While the gaucho is yet thus jocularly delivering himself, Cypriano has
lifted his cousin, Francesca, to the back of the _cacique's_ abandoned
steed; on which he well knows she can keep her seat, were it the wildest
that ever careered across _campo_. Then he remounts his own, the other
two taking to their saddles at the same time.

A word about the route, and all four start together; not to go back
along the trail towards the _ceiba_ tree, but striking straight out for
the open plain, in a direction which Gaspar conjectures to be the right
one.

They would willingly diverge from it to ascertain whether the poor
creature clubbed by Aguara be dead or still living; and, if the latter,
take him along. But Gaspar urges the danger of delay; above all, being
burdened with a man not only witless, but now in all likelihood disabled
by a wound which would make the transporting him an absolute
impo