poignard in his hand. Martin Paz did not even glance at him, but still stood perfectly unmoved.
"Let us speak first," said Sambo, "and act afterwards. If my son is disloyal to his brethren, I shall know how to exact a proper vengeance. Let him be on his guard! That Jew's daughter is not concealed so closely as to elude our grasp. He must think betimes. Let him once be condemned to die, and there will not be a stone in the town on which he could rest his head; let him, on the other hand, be the deliverer of his country, and he may crown that head with perpetual glory!"
Although Martin Paz did not break his silence, it was obvious that a mighty struggle was going on within his soul: Sambo had succeeded in stirring the depths of that ardent nature.
For all the projects of insurrection Martin Paz was indispensable. His was an influence over the Indians of the town which none but himself enjoyed; he bent them at his will; he had but to give the word, and they were prepared to follow him to death.
By Sambo's order the bonds were removed from his arms, and he stood at liberty. The old Indian looked at him steadily, and bade him once more listen. "To-morrow," he said, "is the feast of the Amanacäes. While the festival is at its height, our brethren will fall like an avalanche upon the unarmed and unsuspecting men of Lima. Now take your choice. There is the way to the mountains: there is the way to the town. You are free!"
"To the mountains! to the mountains!" shouted Martin; "and death to our foes!"
And the first rays of the rising sun cast a ruddy glow into the council-chamber of the Indian chiefs in the heart of the Cordilleras.
CHAPTER IX
THE FESTIVAL
And now the great annual fete of the Amanacäes had arrived. It was the 24th of June. On foot, on horseback, in carriages, the bulk of the population made its way to the well-known spot about half a league from the town. In-
