A FURY.
After a march of five or six leagues at most, Antinahuel ordered his
troop to bivouac. The warriors who accompanied him were almost all of
his own tribe. As soon as the fires were lighted the Linda approached
him.
"I have kept my promise," she said.
"Then, the young girl----?" he asked.
"Is asleep!" she replied, with a hideous smile.
"Good," he murmured, joyfully, and bent his steps towards the toldo,
erected in haste, beneath which his victim had been transported. "No,"
he said, "presently!" and then turning to his accomplice added, "For
how long a time has my sister sent the young girl to sleep?"
"She will not awake before daybreak."
A smile of satisfaction lit up the chief's features.
"That is well--my sister is skilful, and I should like to show my
sister," he continued, "that I am not ungrateful, and that I also keep
my word faithfully."
The Linda fixed a searching look upon him.
"Of what word is my brother speaking?"
"My sister has an enemy whom she has pursued for a long time, without
being able to destroy him," Antinahuel said, with a smile.
"Don Tadeo?"
"Yes, and that enemy is also mine."
"Well?"
"He is in my power."
"Don Tadeo is my brother's prisoner?"
"He is here."
"At last," she cried, triumphantly. "Then I will repay him all the
tortures he has inflicted upon me."
"Yes; she is at liberty to make him undergo all the insults her
inventive spirit can furnish her with."
"Oh!" she cried, in a voice that almost made the hardened chief
shudder, "I will only inflict one punishment upon him, but it shall be
terrible."
"But be careful, woman." Antinahuel replied; "be careful not to let
your hatred carry you too far; this man's life is mine, and I will
deprive him of it with my own hands."
"Oh!" she said, with a hideous, mocking laugh, "do not be afraid; I
will return your victim to you safe and sound. I am not a man--my
weapon is my tongue."
"Yes; but that weapon is double-edged,"
"I will restore him to you, I tell you."
"There," the chief replied, pointing to a hut made of branches; "but
beware forget not what I said."
"I will not forget," she retorted, with a savage leer.
And she sprang towards the hut.
"It is only women that know how to hate," Antinahuel murmured, looking
after her.
A score of warriors waited for their chief at the entrance of the camp.
He sprang into his saddle and departed with them.
Although through pride he had allowed nothing to appear, the threats of
Don Gregorio had produced a strong impression upon Antinahuel. He had
reason to fear that the Chilian officer would massacre his prisoners
and hostages. The consequences of this action would be terrible to him,
and would make him lose beyond recovery the prestige he still enjoyed
among his compatriots; therefore, forced for the first time in his life
to bend, he had resolved to retrace his steps, and confer with this man.
Endowed with great finesse, Antinahuel flattered himself he could
obtain from Don Gregorio a delay which would enable him to sacrifice
his prisoner without being called to an account for it. But time
pressed.
It was scarcely eight o'clock in the evening, and Antinahuel had but
six leagues to ride; he flattered himself, therefore, that if nothing
thwarted his plans, he should arrive long before the time, and even
return to his camp ere sunrise.
We have said that the Linda entered the hut which sheltered Don Tadeo.
She found him seated upon a heap of dry leaves in a corner of the hut,
his back leaning against a tree, his arms crossed upon his breast, and
his head drooping on his chest. Absorbed by the bitter thoughts which
weighed upon his heart, he did not perceive the entrance of the Linda,
who, standing motionless within two paces of him, contemplated him with
an expression of rage and satisfied hatred.
"Well?" said a shrill, incisive voice, "What are you thinking of, Don
Tadeo?"
He started at the too well-known sound, and raised his head.
"Ah!" he replied, bitterly, "is that you? I wondered I had not seen you
before."
"It is strange, is it not?" she replied. "Well, we are once more face
to face."
"Like a hyena, the odour of blood attracts you."
"Who--I, Don Tadeo? You mistake my character strangely. No, no; am I
not your wife--the woman whom you loved so much?"
Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders with an expression of disgust.
"You ought to be grateful for what I do," she replied.
"Listen to me," said Don Tadeo, "your insults can never rise to the
height of my contempt. Do, act, speak, insult me, invent the most
atrocious calumnies your infernal genius can inspire, I will not answer
you! Concentrated in myself, your insults, like a vain sound, will
strike my ear without my mind making the least effort to understand
them."
"Oh!" she cried, "I know well how to compel you to listen to me, my
beloved husband. You men are all alike! You arrogate to yourselves
all the rights, as you have done all the virtues! We are contemptible
beings, creatures without heart; condemned to be your very humble
servants, and to endure, with a smile upon our lips, all the insults
you please to heap upon us! It was I who was always wrong; you are
right; it was I who stole your child from you, was it not?"
At the end of a minute she resumed--
"Come, let there be no feigning between us; let us speak for the last
time openly. You are the prisoner of your most implacable enemy; the
most frightful tortures await you. In a few instants, perhaps, the
punishment which threatens you will fall like a thunderbolt upon your
proud head. Well, I can enable you to escape this punishment; that
life, which you now reckon only by seconds, I can restore to you,
happy, long, and glorious! In a word, I can with one sentence, one
gesture, one sign, restore you to liberty immediately! I only ask one
thing of you--I mistake, not a thing, a word--utter that word, Don
Tadeo, where is my daughter?"
Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a gesture of fury, "this man is a bar of
iron; nothing can touch him--no words are sufficiently strong to move
him! Demon! demon! oh, with what joy I could tear you to pieces! But
no," she added, after a moment's pause, "I am wrong, Don Tadeo; pardon
me, I know not what I say; grief makes me mad! Have pity on me! I am
a woman--I am a mother. I adore my child, my poor little girl whom I
have not seen so long, who has lived deprived of my kisses and my love!
Restore her to me, Don Tadeo. See, I am on my knees at your feet! I
supplicate you, I weep! Don Tadeo, restore me my child!"
She cast herself at the feet of Don Tadeo, and seized his poncho.
"Begone, señora, begone!"
"And is that all?" she cried, in a choked, husky voice; "Is that all? I
implore you, I drag myself panting with grief through the dust at your
feet, and you laugh at me. Prayers and threats are equally powerless
with you. Beware, Don Tadeo, beware!"
Don Tadeo smiled disdainfully.
"What punishment can you impose upon me more terrible than your
presence?" he said.
"Senseless man!" she resumed; "Fool! Do you imagine, then, that you
alone are in my power?"
"What do you mean by that?" Don Tadeo cried, starting up.
"Ah, ah!" she exclaimed, with an expression of ferocious joy, "I have
hit the mark this time, have I?"
"Speak, speak!" he exclaimed, in great agitation.
"And suppose I should not please to do so?" she replied ironically. And
she laughed like a demon.
"But no," she continued, in a bitterly sarcastic tone, "I cannot bear
malice: come along with me, Don Tadeo; I will lead you to her whom you
have so long sought for in vain, and whom but for me you would never
see again. And see how generous I am," she added, jeeringly. "Come
along with me, Don Tadeo."
She hastily left the hut, and Don Tadeo followed her, struck by a
horrible presentiment.