“The misterios!” said the priest, turning pale.  “Are you still resolved, senor?”

“Certainly,” I answered, trying to look grave, though really greatly delighted.  “Be good enough to send for the girls who are most in danger.  Gahra and I will take possession of the house, and do all that is needful.”

It was further arranged that Fray Ignacio should remain outside with his tame Indians, and tell the misterios that all the good-looking mestiza, maidens were in his house, guarded by braves from over the seas, who would strike dead with lightning anybody who attempted to lay hands on them.

By the time our preparations were completed, and the frightened and weeping girls shut up in an inner room, the wild Indians were at the upper end of the big, straggling village, and presently entered a wide, open space between the ramshackle old church and Ignacio’s house.  The party consisted of fifteen or sixteen warriors mounted on small horses.  All rode bare-back, were naked to the waist, and armed with bows and arrows and the longest spears I had yet seen.

The tame Indians looked stolidly on.  Nothing short of an earthquake would have disturbed their self-possession.  Rather to my surprise, for he had not so far shown a super-abundance of courage, Fray Ignacio seemed equal to the occasion.  He was tall, portly, and white-haired, and as he stood at the church door, clad in his priestly robes, he looked venerable and dignified.

One of the misterios, whom from his remarkable head-dress—­a helmet made of a condor’s skull—­I took to be a cacique, after greeting the priest, entered into conversation with him, the purport of which I had no difficulty in guessing, for the Indian, laughing loudly, turned to his companions and said something that appeared greatly to amuse them.  Neither he nor they believed Fray Ignacio’s story of the great pale-face chief and his death-dealing powers.

The cacique, followed by a few of his men, then rode leisurely toward the house.  He was a fine-looking fellow, with cigar-colored skin and features unmistakably more Spanish than Indian.

My original idea was to shoot the first two of them, and so strike terror into the rest.  But the cacique bore himself so bravely that I felt reluctant to kill him in cold blood; and, thinking that killing his horse might do as well, I waited until they were well within range, and, taking careful aim, shot it through the head.  As the horse went down, the cacique sprang nimbly to his feet; he seemed neither surprised nor dismayed, took a long look at the house, then waved his men back, and followed them leisurely to the other side of the square.

“What think you, Gahra?  Will they go away and leave us in peace, or shall we have to shoot some of them?” I said as I reloaded my musket.

“I think we shall, senor.  That tall man whose horse you shot did not seem much frightened.”