"Open, or we will break down the door." And the blows were renewed. "Oh, oh," the half-breed said, "you are strong in the arms; do not trouble yourself further, I am going to open." The blows ceased. The half-breed unbarred the door, and opened it. The Indians rushed into the interior with yells and howls of joy. Lanzi slipped on one side to let them pass; he gave a start of joy on hearing a horse set out at full gallop. The Indians paid no attention to this incident. "Drink!" they shouted. "What would you like to have?" the half-breed asked, seeking to gain time. "Fire-water!" they yelled. Lanzi hastened to serve them, and the orgy began. Knowing they had nothing to fear from the inhabitants of the venta, the Redskins had rushed in so soon as the door was opened, without taking the precaution to post sentries; this negligence, on which Lanzi calculated, gave Carmela the opportunity of escaping unseen and undisturbed. The Indians, and especially the Apaches, have a frenzied passion for strong liquors; the Comanches alone are teetotallers. Hitherto, they have succeeded in refraining from that mournful tendency to intoxication, which decimates and brutalizes their brothers. Lanzi followed with a cunning look the evolutions of the Redskins, who crowded round the tables, drank deeply, and emptied the botas placed before them; their eyes were beginning to sparkle, their features were animated; they spoke loudly all at once, no longer knowing what they said, and only thinking about becoming intoxicated. Suddenly the half-breed felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He turned. An Indian was standing with folded arms in front of him. "What do you want?" he asked him. "Blue-fox is a Chief," the Indian answered, "and has to speak with the Paleface." "Is not Blue-fox satisfied with the way in which I have received him and his companions?" "It is not that; the warriors are drinking, and the Chief wants something else." "Ah," the half-breed said, "I am vexed, for I have given you all I had." "No," the Indian replied drily. "How so?" "Where is the golden-haired girl?" "I do not understand you, Chief," the half-breed said; on the contrary, understanding perfectly well. The Indian smiled. "The Paleface will look at Blue-fox," he said, "and will then see that he is a Chief, and not a child who can be put off with falsehoods. What has become of the girl with the golden hair, who lives here with my brother?" "The person of whom you speak, if you mean the young lady to whom this house belongs--" "Yes." "Well! she is not here." The Chief gave him a searching glance. "The Paleface lies," he said. "Look for her." "She was here an hour ago." "That is possible." "Where is she?" "Look." "The Paleface is a dog whose scalp I will raise." "Much good may it do you," the half-breed answered with a grin.