His expeditionary force consisted of three padres, a servant to take care of the horses, a break (or long carriage), and a small cart to carry luggage. One member was quickly put out of commission by a kick in the chest, another nearly died of thirst, and Cagliero himself was thrown from the break three times! The food was the crudest and he spent many a night sheltered from the fierce pamperos in nothing more comfortable than the lee side of a dry gulch.

The route to Junin de los Andes in which lay San Ignacio -- the territory the government had assigned to Manuel -- passed through San Martin de los Andes (a delightful little town hidden among high peaks), the settlement of Hua Hum which boasts one of the highest rainfalls in the world, the Pouman Lake with a Loch Ness-like monster which, the inhabitants claimed, devoured all those who fell in. He admired miniature rainbows no wider than the gorges they arched, and one sleepless night he watched the Southern Cross completely encircle the South Pole. Above him loomed the snowcapped Cordilleras, their ice-blue crests glistening in the sun, mysterious and quiet in the light of the moon. He saw, towering above them, the majestic crater Lanin, its summit perpetually crowned with a sombrero of white cloud. It was among these hills, he recalled, that Zepherin's ancestors had planned their fierce malones, before sweeping down to spread terror, destruction and death among the white colonists on the plains.

Long before his arrival, word reached San Ignacio that he was not just an ordinary missionary but a bishop. His reception, therefore, would have to be something special. When he rode into the dusty tolderia at the head of his expedition, he was greeted by Manuel, dressed for the occasion in is uniform. The elders who formed his "parliament" waited in attendance.

"I want to live as a good Christian," were Manuel's first words. "And I want my people to do the same." With this encouragement echoing in his ears, Cagliero decided that he would soon put the cacique to the test. Promises and assurances, he knew, came very cheap to Manuel.

On the following day the people assembled at the center of the tolderia. The bishop, seated on a throne of sorts, was assisted by the other missionaries. In front of them sat Manuel with Rosaria on his right, Ignacia, his second wife on his left, and his children arranged on either side. Behind them sat the elders and in the rear sat the rest of the tolderia. Despite the lack of pomp, there was something impressive about the assembly.

The bishop began by noting that the gran cacique had made him very happy with the assurance that now he desired to live as a good Christian and wanted his people to do the same. He was sure that the cacique included in his resolve the abolition of all pagan ceremonies such as the guillatun or the camarujo which, it was rumored, was still being practiced in secret. Likewise, the pitonisa and the totem would have to go.

One of the most delicate problems still facing Cagliero was the adjustment of the cacique's marital status. Polygamy had not yet died out among the Araucanos. Brides were still bartered for and often it was merely a question of how many wives a man could afford. In earlier times an Indian would frequently take as secondary wives the attractive white women he had captured. The ugly ones he passed on to his other women as slaves. Nevertheless, the Indians possessed their own moral code. Although young single girls were allowed freedom in their romantic lives, adultery and the corruption of women were punishable by death. The cacique, like his father, always demanded the greatest show of respect for women.

It was against this background that Cagliero had discussed the solution of the cacique's marriage problems in accordance with Church teaching and State law. He had had three wives. One of them had since died, but he still lived with the other two. Rosaria, Zepherin's mother, aged forty-five, and Ignacia, aged thirty-four. Since the cacique was eighty-nine that made him fifty-five years older than Ignacia!

Cagliero had explained to the cacique something which the cacique knew very well already, namely, that although he could not have two wives, he still could choose the woman who would become his wife in the eyes of both Church and State.

Now that the cacique had to choose, which of the two, Cagliero speculated, would he select to be with him for the rest of his life? Rosaria had borne with him his defeat, disgrace and downfall; she had even risked her life to be with him while he had been hiding in the Cordilleras. She had helped him when, after his surrender, he had made his historic trip to Buenos Aires. She was the mother of his favorite son, the one in whom the cacique had pinned his hopes for the future. But she was aging, and in Manuel's eyes, may have lost her usefulness. He might even consider he a drain on his diminishing resources. He was callous enough for that

Ignacia, on the other hand, with whom he had been living for the last twelve years was still young and attractive; she could still bear him children and even be of great material help. There was a lot in favor of Ignacia.

For the one whom he would choose it meant a life of happiness and contentment, and an assurance that she would also be respected as the wife of the cacique. For the other it would mean rejection. She would have to live by herself for the rest of her days, no longer the wife of the cacique, no longer, as far as either the Indians were concerned, even the mother of her children, since custom demanded that the chosen wife be considered their mother. It added up to a life of loneliness, ending in an obscure death.

"You all know," Cagliero addressed the assembly, "that it used to be the custom among your people for a man to have more than one wife. But times have changed. The law of the land states very clearly that a man can have only one wife. More importantly still, there is the law of the Church which also states that a man can have only one wife, a woman only one husband. If any man has more than one wife and says that he is a true son of the Church, he lies. Your cacique as a true son of the Church wishes to put his marriage affairs in order. You are aware that at present he has two wives, Rosaria and Ignacia. He must now decide which one will be his wife until death." The bishop beckoned to the two women to step forward and stand in front of Manuel.

"Seņor Cacique," he said, "I ask you in the name of the Church, which of these two women do you wish to be your lawful wife, Rosaria or Ignacia?"

Slowly, wearily, the cacique rose to his feet. He looked first at his children, then at his people. Bracing himself, he advanced to the two women, who, with heads bowed, awaited his decision. They did not dare look at the cacique nor did he look at them. Raising his right hand he brought it down slowly on the shoulder of -- Ignacia! That done, without a glance to right or left, he turned, walked back, slumped into his seat and stared at the ground.

Cagliero waited long enough for the general commotion to die down. Then he turned to Rosaria, who now stood quite alone between him and the cacique. "Rosaria," he said, "come here."

Rosaria came before him.

"Rosaria," he went on gently, "you have been a good and faithful companion to the cacique. You have borne him many wonderful children, among them my own dear spiritual son, Zepherin. I know that what God asks of you is very hard indeed, but I also know that you will obey His laws. If His laws had been obeyed in the first place this would not have happened. But Manuel has chosen another woman to be the companion of his last years."

Rosaria remained for some time with head downcast. Finally she reached out and taking the bishop's hand, placed it on her head.

"The friend of my people, my son, and of my soul has spoken," she said. "He has told me that I have to leave the toldo of the man whom I have looked upon as my husband for many years. I shall be very lonely, and the others will say that I have been rejected. But because you say I must do it, I swear before our family and our God that I shall never again enter the toldo of the cacique, nor let him enter mine."

She took the bishop's hand and kissed it and with her head still bowed, turned and walked away from the assembly, a solitary and forlorn figure.

Cagliero's one hope was that she would quickly reconcile herself to her fate. If she did not, if she were to brood over it, she might easily become the victim of despair. Too often this happened to Indian women when things went wrong and they lost hope. Their only recourse in those straits was suicide, usually by hanging themselves inside the toldo. He prayed that her faith would be strong enough to save her.

When Rosaria had first been brought into the Indian household she had suffered agonies of remorse as to her own position, but there was nothing she could do about it. Being chosen by Manuel as one of his wives had at least given her state some appearance of legality in her own eyes, and she hoped, also in the eyes of God. At least she was not someone's servant, someone's woman; she was a wife of the cacique.

It had taken her a long time to adapt herself to the new life. First there was the smell of the toldo, the smell of the women, and worse still the smell of the men. After that there was the food, the language, the drunkenness and the orgies which followed every successful malon.

With the passing of time and the gradual dimming of the memories of her former life, all hope and finally all desire of escape had disappeared. Despite his rough exterior and autocratic manner, Manuel proved to be a remarkably good husband and openly showed his affection for her when she bore him her first child, a son. This and the fact that she was a wife of Manuel had assured her a certain status. Slowly but surely she was drawn into their ways. She began to speak their language; their customs became second nature. Moreover, she learned that whites without number, wither because they had been captured or for one reason or another had come voluntarily, had settled among the Indians. Three relatives of Manuel, all caciques, had also married white women.

With the arrival of more children she had become completely absorbed in the life about her. This had never been so clear to her as at Zepherin's birth. She had considered all the other children, in a way, as children of her captivity. But not Zepherin. She had looked forward to his birth. Manuel's first wife had since died leaving her the place of honor. Well provided for, she enjoyed a privileged status, and received a larger portion of the government subsidies than Ignacia. Zepherin had been conceived during this happy period and she had always looked upon him as a special child.

She had been disappointed with the results of her own early contact with the missionary. He had explained how these Indians possessed only rudimentary notions of the faith which they often hopelessly confused with their own primitive religion. Consequently, it would be impossible, even disastrous for him to try to force his beliefs on them. He had confided to her that he had little or no hope of converting the older people, and was concentrating, instead, on forming the minds of the young.

He had counseled her to have great patience, to pray constantly both for her husband and for her children. It was so evident that he did not want to go any further into the question of her relationship with Manuel that she had given up questioning him. It had not left her much peace of mind.

The decision had now been made for her. Oh, it was not easy to accept such humiliation before the whole tribe! And what lay ahead would not be easy to bear, either. Loneliness was a frightening thing for one along in years, one whose husband had so lost faith in her usefulness that he could discard her. No longer would she enjoy the status of first wife of the cacique. She would be nothing more than a rejected, useless old woman.

Yet in her new way of life she knew she would find the peace she had so long yearned for. There was something else. For some time past, in Zepherin's letters, she had observed a mysterious change. He seemed to be growing closer to God. Now she would become a good Christian woman so that she would not shame him in the eyes of his friend the bishop. Whatever the pains, whatever the difficulty, at least she would have the consolation of knowing that she now would walk with her son in the company of God. For the few years that remained to her nothing else would matter.

To Cagliero the oddest part of this already odd transaction was that, immediately after regularizing the marriage, Manuel, in order that all his children might share in his hereditary rights, registered every one of them as the offspring of Ignacia! This meant that Ignacia became the legal mother of every child, even those who were older than she!

During his conversations with the cacique, the bishop probed deeper into the Indian soul. Better than anyone else, Manuel embodied the ideals and the aspirations of his people; and his early good wishes for the success of the mission provided Cagliero with an excellent opening for what he now intended to say.

"What you told the people helped me a lot," he began. "Your people realized that if they became good Christians, besides everything else, they would be doing something very pleasing to their cacique. Had you thought long about becoming a Christian?"

"A very long time, Bishop. We always had contact with the padres -- even during the desert wars. The archbishop of Buenos Aires has always been my friend. He helped us many times."

"Then why did you not come into the Church before this?"

"There are many reasons, some a huinca cannot understand. All my life I have had many wives -- my father had many more. It is bad for a cacique not to follow the customs of his people. Then the Christian religion forbids us many things which the Indian thinks that he must do, ceremonies like the guillatun or camarujo. The pitonisa always talked against the missionaries, accusing them of betraying the Indian to the huinca. The missionaries themselves were huincas, and the huincas were fighting us . . . "

Manuel shrugged, then proceeded: "A good man like you helps us change our minds. I am an old man now and I look at the Indian gods and ask myself, `What have they done for us>' Everything is in the hands of the huincas. The elders now think that something strange is happening to the Indians. How we die when we mix with the huinca! Before I sent Zepherin to you I sent my son Juan to the military college. When he was ready to help his people, what happened? The huincas killed him with their diseases. The pitonisa blames all our failures on the Christian devils. But she hates the Christians and is not to be trusted. Perhaps the huinca God is angry with us?"

"Although I believe that most of this is due to natural causes," replied Cagliero cautiously, "I also believe that God may have a part in it. We should not offend Him, but do what we can to please Him. Prayer helps -- our own prayers and the prayers of others."

"Yes, it is important to have good people praying for us."

"You already have someone who is very good praying for you," said Cagliero quietly.

"Who?"

"Your son, Zepherin."

The old man's eyes lit up. "Yes, yes! Zepherin is good. I am proud of the way he is making the huincas respect our name. He will become a great man. When the time comes, I shall introduce him to important people. How is his health?"

"Quite good. He just has to be a little careful, that's all."

"Does he now speak Spanish?"

"Marvelously well for the short time he has been at it," the bishop replied.

"Does he remember everybody at the tolderia?"

"He certainly does! He wants to learn everything so as to come back to teach them all he knows."

"Good! That is why I sent him -- to teach his people the things that make the huincas rich and powerful."

Cagliero decided to take the plunge. "He says he wants to come back home as an apostle to his people." As he delivered this message he watched Manuel's face.

The cacique's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?" he said evenly.

"It means, Cacique, that your won wants to become a padre. Then he can return to help his people not only materially but spiritually as well."

The old man slowly rose to his feet, turned his head away. But Cagliero had seen enough. A mixture of anger, bitterness and disgust was registered on those dark-skinned features, for try as he might, Manuel could not control his feelings. The heavy breathing and the almost inaudible mutterings betrayed him. He paced up and down the toldo once or twice."

"I knew it!" He turned and shook his fist in front of Cagliero. "I knew the huincas would plot to take him away from me. But I was prepared. Before I sent him among them I made him promise that no matter what they offered him, no matter what they did to him, he would still come back to me and to his own people. And he will come back to us."

"Seņor Cacique," Cagliero spoke very calmly, "no one is plotting to take Zepherin away. Quite the contrary. We all want to see him return to his people. That is his dream, and yours and mine. The only difference is that he would like to return not merely as a leader, but as an apostle. He has given the matter all the thought and prayer of which he is capable. No one is deceiving him or forcing him against his will. Not only was he himself the first to bring up the question, but he has continually begged me to allow him to begin his studies. The huincas had very little to do with it. If I may say so, I think that the only two involved are God and himself. He certainly has not lost his affection for you. Indeed, if anything, it has increased. That is why he requested me to ask your permission."

Manuel changed his approach. The anger had disappeared now and he held out his hands in a gesture of appeal.

"Don't take him away from me!" he pleaded. "He is my only hope!"

"No one is taking him away from you!" insisted Cagliero. "He will be abroad only while he is studying. Afterward he will return. I promise you that. And what an honor for the cacique to have a son who is a padre! You know how much everybody -- even the most important men in the government -- respect them."

"That is true, Bishop. They do respect them. But tell me: Has any of them ever become rich? Or powerful? Can he have the many children one needs to build up a great name? No! If my son comes back a padre he will be of no use to my plans."

"Seņor Cacique," Cagliero said slowly, "what are your plans?" Once again he saw the cacique's body stiffen, but whether in anger or impatience or protest, he did not know. Manuel clenched his fists, raised them heavenward and cried, Gualichu! I want my people to rise again with me! I want to make them as powerful as they were in the old days! Powerful enough if not to drive out the huincas, to make them respect our people and our ways!"

The cacique's unconscious use of the name of Gualichu startled Cagliero. Had the cacique's entry into the Church something to do with his plans. Manuel was capable of adapting himself to any circumstance that would further his ends. "Do you think it possible to drive out the huinca in these times?" he inquired. "The days of the frontier wars and desert battles are over. They have all gone down as history."

As if unheeding, Manuel continued to pace the floor of the toldo. After some time he seemed to think that there was no longer any sue in pursuing the matter. "Well, Bishop," he said at last, "what you say may be right, but I still have my plans."

Given the intransigent mood the cacique was in, Cagliero saw that he would accomplish very little by insisting. Saying offhandedly that he would take the matter up again before he left San Ignacio, he rose. The cacique held out his hand and Cagliero shook it, interpreting the gesture to mean that despite their disagreement, the cacique wanted to remain his friend.

Later that day Manuel went to inspect the work being don on the new toldo for Rosaria. Rosaria came out to meet him.

"Manuel," she said, "I would like to talk to you."

The cacique eyed her suspiciously. "The bishop settled everything," he grunted.

"That is not what I want to talk to you about."

"What, then?"

"Zepherin."

"What about him?"

"Let him study to become a padre."

"Woman, that is none of your business!"

Don't forget," replied Rosaria indignantly, "that he is my son as well as yours."

Manuel wanted to put her in her place, when he realized that she was no longer his wife but a free woman. Besides, she had always been more independent than any of the other women. He had often lamented that this was due to her cursed huinca blood. But then, too, she had always been brave and loyal, even during those dark days when most of his followers had deserted him. A pity, after all, the bishop had insisted on keeping only one wife!

"Has the bishop been talking to you?"

Rosaria did not answer.

"Has the bishop been talking to you?" He raised his voice.

"What does it matter? I feel the same way he does."

"Ayah!" he cried in disgust. "You are all against me and my plans!"

"Your plans! Always your plans! Nothing else but your plans, what you want to do! I tell you the boy should be allowed to lead the life he wants. It is a good life, it is a holy life. For the sake of all we've been through together, the joys and sorrows we shared, the victories we gloried in, the defeats we suffered, I appeal to you to let our son go where his heart calls him." She met his gaze squarely. "For I warn you Manuel. Either you give him the permission he asks for or he will do what he thinks is right, whether his father agrees or not."

"Yes, woman. I realize he's capable of doing that. He has far too much of his mother's stubbornness in him."

"His religion he got from me, yes; but the rest he got from his father. Who was more stubborn than the cacique? Must I remind you of all the times that you yourself --"

"There is no need for that," Manuel cut in harshly. Secretly, however, he was pleased at Rosaria's remarks. He gave his attention to the toldo. Before he left he turned to her. "Because of many things," he said gruffly, "I shall tell the bishop that I give my permission to my -- to our son."

"Thank you, Manuel."

As soon as Zepherin heard what had happened at San Ignacio his delight knew no bounds. This was the answer to all his prayers. His reaction was so intense that there were moments when he thought he would faint with joy. He resolved to strive harder than ever to attain his new goal -- to make himself the spiritual leader of his people. He was certain that his health had been completely restored, and he looked upon this as yet another providential sign.