“Anything but that, and—­what are they about now?”

The wild Indians, directed by their chief, were driving the tame Indians together, pretty much as sheep-dogs drive sheep, and soon had them penned into a compact mass in an angle formed by the church and another building.  Although the crowd numbered two or three hundred, of whom a third were men, no resistance was offered.  A few of exceptionally energetic character made a languid attempt to bolt, but were speedily brought back by the misterios, whose long spears they treated with profound respect.

So soon as this operation was completed the cacique beckoned peremptorily to the padre, and the two, talking earnestly the while, came toward the house.  It seemed as if the Indian chief wanted a parley; but, not being quite sure of this, I thought it advisable, when he was about fifty yards off, to show him the muzzle of my piece.  The hint was understood.  He laid his weapons on the ground, and, when he and the padre were within speaking distance, the padre, who appeared very much disturbed, said the cacique desired to have speech of me.  Not to be outdone in magnanimity I opened the door and stepped outside.

The cacique doffed his skull-helmet and made a low bow.  I returned the greeting, said I was delighted to make his acquaintance, and asked what I could do to oblige him.

“Give up the maidens,” he answered, in broken Spanish.

“I cannot; they are in my charge.  I have sworn to protect them, and, as you discovered just now, I have the means of making good my word.”

“It is true.  You have lightning; I have none, and I shall not sacrifice my braves in a vain attempt to take the maidens by force.  Nevertheless, you will give them up.”

“You are mistaken.  I shall not give them up.”

“The great pale-face chief is a friend of these poor tame people; he wishes them well?”

“It is true, and for that reason I shall not let you carry off the seven maidens.”

“Seven?”

“Yes, seven.”

“How many men and women and maidens are there yonder, trembling before the spears of my braves like corn shaken by the wind—­fifty times seven?”

“Probably.”

“Then my brother—­for I also am a great chief—­my brother from over the seas holds the liberty of seven to be of more account than the lives of fifty times seven.”

“My brother speaks in riddles,” I said, acknowledging the cacique’s compliment and adopting his style.

“It is a riddle that a child might read.  Unless the maidens are given up—­not to harm, but to be taken to our country up there—­unless they are given up the spears of my braves will drink the blood of their kinsfolk, and my horses shall trample their bodies in the dust.”

The cacique spoke so gravely and his air was so resolute that I felt sure he would do as he said, and I did not see how I could prevent him.  His men were beyond the range of our pieces, and to go outside were to lose our lives to no purpose.  We might get a couple of shots at them, but, before we could reload, they would either shoot us down with their bows or spit us with their spears.