The greatest obstacle confronting him was the study of Latin. Spanish had been difficult enough but he found the construction and logic of Latin almost impossible to grasp. Nevertheless, he set to work and as one teacher put it, "listened with both eyes and ears" to the explanations, never once allowing himself the luxury of asking a companion to help him solve his problems. His outstanding characteristic was a sense of neatness; his letters and copybooks show a beautiful hand, something unusual in one born in a toldo. His application became so intense that those who sat near him remarked they would have been completely unaware of his presence had it not been for a slight, persistent cough.

It was only by sheer doggedness that he advanced far beyond any of the other Indians then studying at Viedma. One of these, notes a contemporary, in all the time that he was there had not succeeded in learning even the alphabet!

It was outside the classroom, however, that he succeeded best to gain the confidence of his companions. Not so many years previously, in identical surroundings, he had been living the free life of a young savage, practicing the skills on which life in the pampa depended. As in Buenos Aires, so at Viedma he distinguished himself first with bows and arrows. No boy was satisfied until he had a bow and arrow which Zepherin had made and tested by shooting one of the arrows over the school tower. He made boats for them to sail on the waters of a nearby bond, and fashioned flutes out of reeds. His imitations of the Indians carrying out their malones were popular and during these he delighted the boys with a display of horsemanship

Zepherin was rarely seen to smile. The Indian by nature is serious and not much given to merriment or laughter. Yet everyone noticed that he had a remarkable quality of being able to smile with his eyes. Those close to him were aware of his pleasant manner, his agreeable conversation, hand his constant encouragement of others. This in itself was an indication of the control he was slowly gaining over his natural inclination to melancholy.

If such progress in the way of civilized life made most whites overlook the fact that he was an Indian, there were still a few who never for a moment forgot it.

On the important holidays the school would stage a cookout, the main feature being asado-con-cuero, of which they were very fond. Piercing the side of a steer with a long iron bar, they would stick the bar in the ground close to a great fire and roast the meet on this upright spit.

On one of these outings, Zepherin and his companions were passing the time indifferently until the food would be ready. The scorching embers had already browned the meat and the fat, dripping into the fire, was sputtering and shooting flames into the air. With glistening eyes and watering mouths the boys followed every movement of the cook as he kept turning the side of beef on the spit to make sure it was evenly done.

When the cook was satisfied that the meat was just right, he cupped his hands to his mouth and roared: "Come and get it!"

At this invitation each boy advanced to the spit, slashed off a generous slice for himself and retired to enjoy it. When his turn came Zepherin did the same and withdrew. One of the boys followed him.

"Great stuff, eh, Zepherin?" he remarked.

His teeth already sunk into the meat, Zepherin nodded enthusiastically.

"Sure is," went on the boy. Then raising his voice for others to hear, he went on, "But honest, now, didn't you think that the flesh of the Christians tasted better?"

Followed a moment of stunned silence. Everyone turned to Zepherin. The usual smile left his eyes; now they flushed with anger. Next his face reddened and seemed to swell as he clenched his teeth and his anger mounted. He put the meat down on the table and for a moment everyone was certain that he was about to attack his tormentor. That question had been asked of him once before in Buenos Aires. But there the children had done it out of innocence. This, however, was a deliberate attempt to insult him and his people. He felt a sudden urge to punish the offender. But almost immediately he remembered the day he had asked his father if he had ever eaten human flesh. All too vividly he saw again the answer on his father's face. The memory of that day brought back the moment on top of the mountain when he had accepted the challenge to offer his life for his people, his resolve to put up with every hardship, every trial. Finally he recalled the horrible incident when in a burst of fury he had jeopardized his chance of carrying out his mission. And now this second fierce temptation, this consuming desire to throw himself on his tormentor and, no matter what the cost, take violent revenge.

"Oh, God," he moaned inwardly, "am I always to bear my father's shame? Am I always to carry on my shoulders the sins of my people?"

"Yes," replied an inner voice that did not seem his own, "you will always have to bear that cross, and bearing that cross will be part of your sacrifice for the redemption of your people."

Slowly the angry rush gave way to a pallor which showed through the dark skin; the lips drew back in a thin straight line, the eyes closed and tightened with pain. But it was not for long. Gradually his whole face softened and resumed its natural expression except for the eyes which were still moist . . .

"Aeeeah! Blast that damned --" A hoarse cry burst from the lips of the cook, a man notorious for language which was a source of trepidation and embarrassment to the padres. In the excitement of the moment he had burnt himself and was now expressing his feelings in his own way. A scandalized padre dashed up to shush him into silence, the boys began to laugh, breaking the tension, and everybody quickly resumed the onslaught on the roast.

For most, the incident was immediately forgotten. But there were those who understood that they had witnessed a fierce struggle between the two elements which must always be warring for control of the young Indian's spirit: that of the pagan savage, quick to avenge the slightest insult; and that of the Christian, the test of whose strength is to forgive. For these it was another indication of how far Zepherin had departed from the ways of his ancestors.

In sending Zepherin to Viedma in order to stall Manuel's demands for the boy's return, Cagliero's strategy had apparently succeeded. Nothing had been heard from the cacique for some time and Cagliero was content to let sleeping dogs lie. The long the matter rested like that the more difficult it would make things for Manuel.

Manuel, however, was a persistent man. He had fought so many uphill battles against the huincas he considered himself as expert as they were in the art of stalling and cheating. After a period of waiting, he decided that the time had come for him to make another attempt to bring back his son. Always a great one for embassies, on this occasion he sent off to Viedma Zepherin's uncle, Painefilu. He was a tough, bronzed warrior who enjoyed the esteem of the young men of the tribe. After himself, thought Manuel, Painefilu would be the one most likely to influence his son.

On his part Zepherin was supremely happy to see his uncle. After a long conversation in which he heard all the news of the tolderia, there came a moment when neither spoke.

"Tell me, Zepherin," Painefilu finally said in a low voice so that it would not carry outside the little parlor, "are you happy here?"

"What do you mean, Uncle? Of course I am!"

"I do not understand. How can the son of our cacique be happy in a place like this?"

"I still don't know what you mean, but I repeat I am happy, very happy here."

"I do not understand how you can be happy locked up inside these four walls . Such a life is not for an Indian. You cannot have any pleasure here, any singing and dancing --"

"Uncle," the youth broke in, "I don't want that kind of pleasure. I don't need it."

"Do you not realize, Zepherin, that as the son of our cacique all the young girls of the tribe would be happy to dance with you and --"

"Stop it, Uncle! Stop talking like that! That kind of life is not for me. I have something better. I want to work for the souls of my people."

Painefilu had no wish to hurt Zepherin. He only wanted him to return. Now he realized very clearly that he had completely misunderstood the boy. "You mean you do not like girls, Zepherin?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"I repeat, Uncle, I have something else in my life. I cannot go back with you. Please do not insist any longer."

"What have the huincas done to you? Have they used their incantations to change the son of a tiger into a jackal? You are no longer the Zepherin we knew. Have the huincas also killed your love for your people?"

"No, no, no!" cried Zepherin. "I love them very much."

"Then why will you not come back to them when they call you?"

"Oh, Uncle!" pleaded Zepherin desperately. "Can't you see that it is because I love my people that I can't go back, that I must stay here?"

"Will nothing change your mind?"

"Nothing."

Shaking his head again, Painefilu rose to leave. Something had happened to the boy which he could not fathom. He could only conclude that the huincas had finally succeeded in casting a spell over Zepherin!

With the failure of his second try, Manuel still did not give up. He was too seasoned a campaigner for that. Instead, he seemed to relent by laying down the condition that before Zepherin left Argentina for Rome he would at least pay a visit to the tolderia to bid farewell to his people. What the cacique hoped to achieve by this was not clear, but when Zepherin received the invitation he grew fearful.

Alerted to this fresh move, Cagliero quickly stepped in to remove the possibility of the trip by arranging a compromise: Zepherin would pay a quick farewell visit to San Ignacio, and Manuel, in order to discuss the boy's future, would come to Buenos Aires -- a trip, Cagliero know, he was never reluctant to take!

This was agreed upon, and father and son met in the capital. While the cacique was there, moreover, Cagliero this time recruited the aid of Luis Saenz Pena. Now aware of the reason for the cacique's maneuver, Saenz Pena put so much pressure on Manuel that he finally consented to allow Zepherin to go abroad for a time to continue his studies. The former president of Argentina sense that Manuel may even have been secretly proud of his son's stubbornness. As others pointed out -- it was so like his own!

Since this would be the last time his father would raise any objection, Zepherin returned to Viedma with a light heart. A letter he wrote from Buenos Aires sounded like a sigh of relief because he had not been obliged to remain at the tolderia. For the time being he was appointed to work in the sacristy. "They have given me," he wrote, "the welcome job of sacristan. How happy I am to be able to work in the house of the Lord!"

The feast of Our Lady of Ransom, celebrated on September 24, 1903, was the most important feast of the year in the town of Viedma. The town was dedicated to her and the people solemnized the occasion with a procession through the streets in which everyone, including the authorities, took part. The troops of the garrison, too, insisted on marching. Was not Our Lady of Ransom also called "Patron of the Armed Forces"?

Naturally, there was a lot to do in the sacristy and since the others were occupied in various ways, Zepherin found himself alone with more than his share of the work. When the strenuous day was over, perhaps the heaviest of the chores still lay before him -- rolling up the thick carpets which had been spread across the sanctuary. Finding no one around to help him, he decided to do the job by himself. After much pushing and pulling, accompanied by a great deal of coughing and choking from the dust, he finally succeeded in rolling up and storing away the heavy carpets.

That night he went to bed feeling tired but happy. As he prepared to lie down he was attacked by a fit of coughing. That was not unusual. The coughing continued, however; it even increased so much in intensity that he felt an urge to relieve the congestion in his throat. After using his handkerchief, he was about to put it away when he noticed something which made him catch his breath -- the handkerchief was stained with blood!

He tried to control himself, tried not to be frightened. But as the full realization of what was happening could no longer be ignored, the sweat broke out on his forehead. This was the one thing he had always secretly feared, because this would present the sole, perhaps insurmountable obstacle to the fulfillment of his dream. And now, what he had dreaded most, had happened. The disease of the huincas, the scourge of his people had struck!

For a long time he stared at the cold stone floor hearing nothing, feeling nothing, seeing nothing, until slowly, like a huge tidal wave, a surge of emotion welled up from the depths of his being, broke over him, completely engulfing him, making him shudder. At last, unable to resist, he doubled over, and his shoulders shook uncontrollably as he wept in near-despair.