Fray Ignacio, seeing the dilemma, drew me aside.

“You will have to do it,” he said.  “I am very sorry.  The girls will either be sacrificed or brought up as heathens; but better so than that these devils should be let loose on my poor people, for, albeit some might escape, many would be slaughtered.  Why did you shoot the horse and let the savage and his companion go scathless?”

“You may well ask the question, father.  I see what a grievous mistake I made.  When it came to the point, I did not like to kill brave men in cold blood.  I was too merciful.”

“As you say, a grievous mistake.  Never repeat it, senor.  It is always a mistake to show mercy to Indios brutos.  But what will you do?”

“I suppose give up the girls; it is the smaller evil of the two.  And yet—­I promised that no evil should befall them—­no, I must make another effort.”

And with that I turned once more to the cacique.

“Do you know,” I said, laying my hand on the pistol in my belt—­“do you know that your life is in my hands?”

He did not flinch; but a look passed over his face which showed that my implied threat had produced an effect.

“It is true; but if a hair of my head be touched, all these people will perish.”

“Let them perish!  What are the lives of a few tame Indians to me, compared with my oath?  Did I not tell you that I had sworn to protect the maidens—­that no harm should befall them?  And unless you call your men off and promise to go quietly away—­” Here I drew my pistol.

It was now the cacique’s turn to hesitate.  After a moment’s thought he answered: 

“Let the lightning kill me, then.  It were better for me to die than to return to my people empty-handed; and my death will not be unavenged.  But if the pale-face chief will go with us instead of the maidens, he will make Gondocori his friend, and these tame Indians shall not die.”

“Go with you!  But whither?”

Gondocori pointed toward the Cordillera.

“To our home up yonder, in the heart of the Andes.”

“And what will you do with me when you get me there?”

“Your fate will be decided by Mamcuna, our queen.  If you find favor in her sight, well.”

“And if not—?”

“Then it would not be well—­for you.  But as she has often expressed a wish to see a pale-face with a long beard, I think it will be well; and in any case I answer for your life.”

“What security have I for this?  How do I know that when I am in your power you will carry out the compact?”

“You have heard the word of Gondocori.  See, I will swear it on the emblem you most respect.”

And the cacique pressed his lips to the cross which hung from Ignacio’s neck.  It was a strange act on the part of a wild Indian, and confirmed the suspicion I already entertained, that Condocori was the son of a Christian mother.