"Si, si, padre!"

"I'm delighted that so many of you are interested in Tierra del Fuego," he said. "Let's see . . . the people who first owned the place," Zepherin glanced up at him with an odd expression on his face, "were the Onas, the Alacalufes and the Tehuelches. The first two lived near the rivers and sea and moved around too much ever to have enough to eat. But the cold never bothered them -- they could sleep on an iceberg! The Tehuelches, instead, became strong for they learned to stay in one place and grow food. Unfortunately, they were always at war with the Araucanos who lived up in the north." This surprised Zepherin. His father had never mentioned that his people had gone so far south. "Once during a great feast the Araucanos surprised and slaughtered many of them. Later they surprised the Araucanos during a great feast and slaughtered many of them. And so it went on. Just when they needed each other to defend themselves against the huincas."

"The who?" asked one little boy.

"The white men who discovered Tierra del Fuego when they were shipwrecked; and the criminals whom Argentina and Chile sent down instead of keeping them in prison. That is how the two most southerly towns in the world, Punta Arenas and Ushuaia, were founded. Then one day a man came from Punta Arenas to loot a wreck. Finding that someone had looted it before him, he stamped his foot angrily and turned to leave when he spotted a little speck of something shining in the sand. What do you think he discovered shining in the sand?"

The answer was delivered in a dramatic, drawn-out whisper: "Go-o-old!"

"Right! You can imagine what kind of men flocked to the place after that! They were the kind who'd start out as friends to look for gold but would end up murdering each other! Later on, a different kind of gold was discovered. This was `white gold'. Anyone know what `white gold' is?"

The padre raised his head to question those eager, earnest young faces. "Well?" he repeated. "anybody know what `white gold' is?"

Nobody knew.

"`White gold' was the name given to the white wool of the sheep. This brought to Tierra del Fuego some of its darkest moments. When the sheep increased in numbers the owners, needing more land, began to push the Indians out of their hunting grounds. Since the Indians then could not find enough food at the hunt, they were forced to eat the sheep. The white in turn attached the Indians, either killing them or taking them away as slaves.

"We tried to do what we could for them, and the whites hated us for it. Finally, we decided to gather them into reservations where we could teach them the skills they needed to earn their living in the white man's world. We bought land, built houses and workshops and invited them to come and live with us. At first they were suspicious. But little by little we gained their confidence and when whiter came they accepted our offer.

"That's exactly what we're doing at this moment. It's not easy. Trying to teach the young Indians is hard enough, but trying to teach the older ones -- that's another matter! And if we are hated by many of the whites we are hated even more by some of the Indians. There's always one bad apple in the barrel. This one called himself Captain Anthony. He lumped all whites together and hated them."

The padre looked up. "One of the missionaries wrote me the whole story of his treachery. I brought the letter along in case you might like to hear it."

"Read it, padre! they cried. "Read it!"

He drew an envelope out of his pocket, unfolded two thin sheets of paper and began to read:

"The Indians and their families left for a few days and we assumed they had gone hunting as they had so often done before. On the evening of the ninth day, some of them did turn up with fresh skins. Silvester and I were along when they came back; three of them gathered around me, three more around Silvester.

"They began to talk about the hunt and then invited us to feel the skins. While I was doing so one of them suddenly drew a knife and came at me. At the same time another raised his hatchet and struck Silvester. The knife caught me all right, but the attempt to murder me was not successful. I clasped my throat and with the blood spurting through my fingers, dashed into the woods. Seeing that the first blows had not killed us outright, the Indians grew frightened and ran. Like myself, Silvester had escaped death by inches. But his terrible wound in the skull did not prevent him from running into the house to seize his rifle and fire a warning shot. This shot assured me that he was still alive. I came out of the woods and we took shelter in the house where I treated Silvester's head and bandaged my throat as well as I could. We barricaded ourselves inside and spent two days jumping at the least noise in the woods. On the third day a launch which had lost its way puled up with three men on board. They took us away at once.

"As luck would have it we ran into stormy weather. Twelve days after the attack, despite the heavy seas, we tried to land Silvester, for his condition had become critical. Fifty yards from the shore he made a desperate attempt to change to a smaller boat. He had barely put his foot in the boat when a huge wave capsized it. He let out a few cries, then he disappeared beneath the waves. No matter how we tried we could find no further trace of him. The launch then attempted to go on to Punta Arenas, but the winds and seas were too much for it. They dashed it against the rocks until its sides caved in and, in the end, like Silvester, it, too, disappeared beneath the waves. Fortunately, the rest of us were able to swim ashore.

"Now that the incident has passed, the Indians who attacked us and caused Silvester's death will probably return to beg forgiveness. When they do, I shall forgive them with all my heart, for I realize how hard the devil is at work trying to keep from them the grace of God."

When he had finished, the padre raised his head and the boys saw that his lively blue eyes were dimmed with tears.

"That," he said, "is how every good missionary should feel even toward those who harm him. Remember the words: `Father, forgive them for they know not what they do`?"

Next day when Father Beauvoir appeared at lunch the boys gave him a standing ovation. Cagliero told them that since this was the missionary's last day at the school, they could spend the afternoon with him. He would show them the native weapons he had brought from Tierra del Fuego for the school museum.

Naturally, the boys could only finger and pretend to use them against one another. Finally, someone remarked that if anyone should know how to use them it was: "El gran cacique, Zepherin!" At first Zepherin demurred. When the padre insisted, however, he gave in and with a modest shrug stepped forward to examine the display. First he weighted the iron balls of the boleadoras, shook his head, and instead picked up a bow as tall as himself. After plucking tentatively at the arc he bent down, selected an arrow from the bundle and stepped clear.

Carefully inserting the string into the arrow nock, he drew the arrow to him, Leaning well back, he pointed it straight up, then released the string. Keeping his eyes on the arrow, he watched it reach it Keeping his eye on the arrow, he watched it reach its zenith, turn upside down and begin its fall. Then he took a step backwards and calmly watched the arrow impale itself precisely on the spot where he had been standing!

The boys next urged him to throw the boleadora.

"It might hurt someone," he objected. At their insistence, however, he took the three-balled boleadora, swung it around his head, and flung it at a nearby tree. Then, urged on by the others, rather apprehensively he flung it this time at a boy who had started running away. The boleadora sailed through the air and Zepherin was more than relieved when the cords obediently bound the boy's legs causing him no more damage than a tumble.

On the journey homeward Zepherin waited for the moment when he had the padre all to himself.

"Padre," he began, "where do you come from?"

"Tierra del Fuego."

"I mean where were you born?"

The padre laughed. "I'll need another map to show you that!"

"Just tell me where it is."

"If you take a great ship and sail for a whole month you will reach a place called Europe. Europe is made up of several countries, including --"

"England, France, Italy, Spain . . ." Zepherin interjected.

"France is the country I come from."

"Padre, forgive me, but it is very important for me to know something."

"What?"

"Why did you become a padre?"

"That's a long story, Zepherin. Offhand, I'd say I thought a lot until finally, I became convinced that my one concern should be to save my soul. Then followed the conviction that I should be helping others to save theirs."

"But why leave your country?"

"I saw that the people around me had plenty of help. On the other hand, elsewhere, thousands of people had absolutely no one to help them. They were in places like Tierra del Fuego. That's why you see me here and that, my inquisitive young friend, is the end of my story."

That night Zepherin could not sleep. With his eyes wide open he lay awake thinking.

How right his father had been to fear the very existence of his people! Unless some move was made to prevent it, what had happened to the Indians of Tierra del Fuego could easily happen to the Indians of Patagonia. That was why his father had planned to save them; that was why he had been sent to Buenos Aires.

Another thing which impressed him was how this man had left his home and people to live among strangers. For them, too, he had risked his life not once but several times. All this without hope of any reward.

"Yet here I am, an Indian, and what am I doing for the souls of my own people? Even if I wanted I couldn't do anything because I don't know enough."

He turned on his right side, he turned on his left, but sleep refused to come. In desperation he rose and stepped over to the window to look out at the stars. At the tolderia, the sight of stars always had a quieting effect on him.

As he glanced out the window, what caught his attention was not the stars, but a solitary figure pacing up and down the playground. He felt an impulse to rush out to join him. He had been able to talk with him for such a short time. Yet there were so many things he wanted to ask him! Once he had finished his education, Zepherin know he would be the leader of his people. He would be accepted among the whites, too, for by then he would have many influential friends who would be anxious to help an Indian with promise. Supposing the padre against all this had to place the sacrifices and hardships of his life as a missionary, would he still have chosen the same path? How had he faced the bitter truth that he could not have a family or descendants? But not even the padre, since he was a huinca, could really know what it meat for an Araucano to be without these.

"I have made up my mind, Bishop."

"Well, if you really have, I suppose there's nothing I can do about it, nothing anybody can do about it." Cagliero raised his arms as if in resignation.

"Please don't you laugh at me, Bishop."

"That's the last thing in the world I'd do, son. But I have to make sure that you are serious, that you are fully aware of the step you're about to take."

"Oh, Bishop, I have talked much to myself, I have talked much to our Lord and always get the same answer. Bishop Costamagna was right when he made the point about my going back to my people as an apostle."

"So that's why you ran out of the hall that night!"

Zepherin stood in silence, unable to speak.

"If that is so, then I say, `Yes,' with you! But are you aware of all the obstacles?" "I think so."

"There will be more for you than for any ordinary boy."

"Yes?"

"Besides the obstacles an ordinary boy would meet with -- study, discipline, self-denial, giving up your homelife -- besides all these, you will have to go against some of the strongest traditions of your people. Since you are also the son of the cacique I can't see your father approving of this. Most likely he will try to prevent it. Then there's your health. Think you're strong enough to take all those years of study?"

"I believe I am. And don't you think God will help me?"

"I'm sure He will! Well, then, the only hurdle -- and the most difficult one, believe me -- will be getting the consent of your father. Even if we get him to say, `Yes,' you know how he can often say one thing and . . . well, mean another."

"He says the huincas always do that and he has to protect himself by using their own deceitful ways against them. It is going to be difficult to get his consent. You must help me, Bishop." His eyes once again welled with tears. "I know God wants me to be an apostle among my people. I'm only doing what He wants."

"Zepherin, I shall be behind you all the way. And with God, you, and I fighting together . . . Quis contra nos?"

"Perdon?"

"You duffer. Don't you know that much Latin by now? It means that as a team we're unbeatable! Now, then, off with you, or I'll be at this desk until two in the morning! Oh, by the way, Zepherin, I shouldn't talk to the others about this."

When Zepherin left, Cagliero returned to his desk, wondering. Until recently nothing more than a little savage roaming wild about the pampas and already possessed of such ideals! The call? Could be. What was this call, anyway? Even the saints had never been too clear on the point. It was both a call and a response: a call by God and a response by the person. A dialogue, the final act of which was a word heard in the depths of the soul. An invitation, not an obligation -- an inner urge. You could possess it, and you could feel either strongly inclined to it, or just as strongly opposed to it. You could either accept it or reject it. A divine mystery which words could never express but which was lived by all those who heard it.

Suppose Zepherin had received the call. With such a language barrier how could one, to find out for sure, probe the soul of this boy? How could one elicit from him certain delicate items of information?

Still, there was one point on which the boy could be judged . No matter how difficult it would be for him to express himself in words, he could perfectly well demonstrate his fitness through his deeds. Since the call demanded great generosity and self-sacrifice, it would be sufficient for the moment to look for those signs. On the face of it, it hardly seemed possible, and yet . . .

Although by nature a sturdy boy, Zepherin's health at this point began to show signs of failing. Cagliero saw more than one reason for this: he was eating unfamiliar foods and living in a vastly different environment Before he had been as fee as a bird; now he had to follow a tight schedule with the sound of bells breaking his day into pieces. No longer could he see on all sides the spacious pampas or above him the blue sky swept by swiftly moving clouds or studded with a thousand twinkling worlds. Instead, dull gray walls encompassed him, and when he did see the sky it was covered by a pall of smoke from the thriving industries of a growing city. There was also the fact -- almost unknown at the time -- that the Indians, having lived in germ-free surroundings, possessed no immunity from disease. Hence, in the early contacts with the germ-laden whites they suffered severely. Whatever the cause, it was evident that Zepherin needed a rest in some spot where he could restore his health.

It so happened that a few years earlier the padres had received several hundred acres of land at Cannelas, about seventy miles south of Buenos Aires along the Southern Railroad, where they had opened a farming school. They considered this place ideal for his condition and sent him there for the summer. Its sprawling acres were filled with creatures he loved -- horses, cows, pigs, fowl and wild game.

Zepherin had no sooner entered the gates than the boys contemptuously dubbed him el indiecito -- the little Indian. On his first evening in study hall one of them brought out a textbook of geography. It contained a portrait of Zepherin's father and described him as "a fierce cacique, ex-king of the pampas."

The boys reacted in different ways. Many gasped in surprise, others glanced at him in admiration; a few merely shrugged their shoulders. One boy, however, pretended that he was riding a fiery horse and swinging a saber, whispered the traditional war cry of the white settler: "Deguello a los salvajes! Cut the throats of the savages!" The boys found this highly amusing and turned to see how Zepherin was taking it.

Zepherin looked at the boy, smiled, and touched his forehead lightly. This quickly took the wind out of the boy's sails. Zepherin now saw how much he had changed. Had this happened before he had come to the padres, he would have considered it an insult to his people and would have reacted violently. Now he did not even resent it; instead, he saw in all this something of the nature of a challenge to the accomplishment of his dreams.

One thing stood in his favor. While the majority of boys were city-bred and unaccustomed to life on the farm, Zepherin had grown up in an even more rugged environment. With the animals, with the open fields and sky, and with the rough, wholesome food, he felt at home.

A dramatic incident took place on day which brought out his familiarity with nature. While on a walk, the boys had to cross a field where several young bulls were grazing. Just as the boys reached the center of the field, the bulls, catching sight of them, started pawing the ground and snorting with rage at this invasion of their privacy! Finally, with a bellow, they charged. The boys dashed for the hedge. Not so Zepherin. Quickly pealing off his jacket, he waved it vigorously of his head. Then, shouting at the top of his voice, he started running toward the bulls. Taken completely by surprise, the bulls slowed down, stopped, and for a moment glared at him in astonishment. Finally, in the face of this unfamiliar threat, they turned and fled, leaving Zepherin the hero of the day!

The boys also admired his mastery of nature lore. During their hides through the countryside he could point out plants that were helpful or harmful to them; he could identify trees, flowers and birds, holding the boys spellbound with stories of their characteristics; he taught them how to trap or snare every kind of game. They noticed, however, that he would never lay a trap himself, and if anyone did catch some little creature, he would plead for its life -- a curious trait, they thought, in an Indian.

On these picnics the boys noticed too, that el indiecito made a point of keeping company with the discontented. When they stopped to eat he would offere them part of his lunch. Also discovered was his ruse of sharing his meal with those who felt they had received too little. Settling quarrels became his specialty and more than once he took the blame for someone. The padres grew to feel at ease when they knew that he was with the boys, and occasionally asked him to stand in for the one in charge.

His stay at the farm was both pleasant and profitable. Once he had regained his health, his thoughts turned to what lay closest to his heart. He wrote to Buenos Aires saying that he now felt strong enough to resume his studies. But back of his mind was not so much the thought of returning to the classroom. "Above all," he added in one of his letters, "I wish to follow the will of God who, I feel, has called me to His service."

About this time he received a letter from his father containing an important piece of news which he accepted as a singularly good omen. After stalling for many years, Manuel had finally decided to settle his complicated marriage affairs, thus clearing the way for the entry of himself and his large family into the Church. It was a grace Zepherin had fervently prayed for. TO make him supremely happy all he needed now as his father's consent.

With this change in attitude would his father be more inclined to grant it? Zepherin doubted. When his father had talked of his plans for his people nothing could have been further from his mind than their spiritual interests. Manuel was concerned solely with material progress. Since he, Zepherin, was the key to those plans he simply could not see his father dropping the whole scheme to allow him to follow his newfound dream. Knowing how obstinate his father could be, Zepherin feared that his consent might never be obtained. Nevertheless, the attempt would have to be made. But when, how and by whom?