of grey hair, braided with fur and coloured feathers, hung on his shoulders. And yet, it was only his eyes that mattered. They were black and of extraordinary piercing strength, without a qualm of misgiving in their demonish, dauntless power. He looked into the eyes of the white woman with a long, piercing look, seeking she knew not what. She summoned all her strength to meet his eyes and keep up her guard. But it was no good. He was not looking at her as one human being looks at another. He never even perceived her resistance or her challenge, but looked past them both, into she knew not what.
She could see it was hopeless to expect any human communication with this old being.
He turned and said a few words to the young Indian.
‘He asks what do you seek here?’ said the young man in Spanish.
‘I? Nothing! I only came to see what it was like.’
This was again translated, and the old man turned his eyes on her once more. Then he spoke again, in his low muttering tone, to the young Indian.
‘ He says, why does she leave her house with the white men? Does she want to bring the white man’s God to the Chilchui?’
‘No,’ she replied, foolhardy. ‘I came away from the white man’s God myself. I came to look for the God of the Chilchui.’
Profound silence followed, when this was translated. Then the old man spoke again, in a small voice almost of weariness.
‘ Does the white woman seek the gods of the Chilchui because she is weary of her own God? ’ came the question.
‘Yes, she does. She is tired of the white man’s God,” she replied, thinking that was what they wanted her to say. She would like to serve the gods of the Chilchui.
She was aware of an extraordinary thrill of triumph and exultance passing through the Indians, in the tense silence
