The hunters quitted the glade they had slept in, and making a _détour_ to avoid the Indian camp, the smoke of which they perceived within a league of them, they directed their course towards the spot where, in all probability, Black Elk was philosophically employed in laying snares for beavers, the interesting animals that Doña Luz had admired so much. They had been thus riding on for nearly an hour, chatting and laughing, for the reasonings of Belhumeur had succeeded in convincing Loyal Heart, who, thoroughly knowing the manners of the Indians, was persuaded that his mother was in no danger, when his hounds on a sudden showed signs of excitement, and rushed forward, yelping with symptoms of joy. "What's the matter with our rastreros?" said Loyal Heart; "one would think they smelt a friend." "Pardieu! they have scented Black Elk, and we shall probably see them come back together." "That is not unlikely," the hunter said pensively; and they continued their course. At the expiration of a few minutes they perceived a horseman riding towards them at full speed, surrounded by the dogs, who ran barking by his side. "It is not Black Elk," Belhumeur cried. "No," said Loyal Heart, "it is Nô Eusebio; what can this mean? He is alone; can anything have happened to my mother?" "Let us mend our pace," said Belhumeur, clapping spurs to his horse, which sprang forward with the greatest velocity. The hunter followed him, a prey to mortal alarm. The three horsemen were soon together. "Woe! woe!" the old man cried, in great agitation, as he approached. "What is the matter, Nô Eusebio? speak, in the name of Heaven." "Your mother, Don Rafaël! your mother!" "Well, speak!--oh, speak!" the young man cried frantically. "Oh, my God!" said the old man, wringing his hands, "it is too late!" "Speak, then, in the name of Heaven!--you are killing me." The old man cast on him a look of utter desolation. "Don Rafaël," he said, "have courage!--be a man!" "My God! my God! what fearful news are you going to communicate to me, my friend?" "Your mother is a prisoner to Eagle Head." "I know she is." "If this very day, this morning even, you do not deliver yourself up to the chief of the Comanches--" "Well, well!" "She will be burnt alive." "Ah!" the young man exclaimed, with a cry amounting to a shriek. His friend supported him, otherwise he would have fallen from his saddle. "But," Belhumeur asked, "is it today--do you say, old man, that she is to be burnt?" "Yes." "Is there still time, then?" "Alas! it was to be at sunrise; and see," he said, with an agonized gesture, pointing to the heavens. "Oh!" Loyal Heart cried, with a vehemence impossible to be described, "I will save my mother!" And, bending over the neck of his horse, he set off with frantic rapidity. The others followed. He turned round towards Belhumeur. "Where are you going?" he asked, in a short, sharp tone. "To help you save your mother, or to die with you."