He was one of our guides, a native of the region, who, with an
indescribable expression of terror depicted on his face, strove to drag
me away with him and to cover my head with the hat which I still held in
my hands.
My first glance, half astonishment, half anger, was equivalent to a
sharp, though silent, interrogation.
The poor fellow, without ceasing his efforts to withdraw me from that
place, replied to it with these words which then I could not comprehend
but which had in them an accent of sincerity that impressed me:--“By the
memory of your mother! by that which you hold most sacred in the world,
_señorito_, cover your head and flee faster than flight itself from
that cross. Are you so desperate that, the help of God not being enough,
you call on that of the Devil?”
I stood a moment looking at him in silence. Frankly, I thought he was a
madman; but he went on with equal vehemence:
“You seek the frontier; well, then, if before this cross you ask that
heaven will give you aid, the tops of the neighboring mountains will
rise, in a single night, to the invisible stars, so that we shall not
find the boundary in all our life.”