That evening when the family had eaten, Rosario withdrew to a corner of the toldo. She lit a sliver of bark which floated in a cupful of grease, and while she settled down to listen to the chatter of the children, resumed her weaving of headbands of bright colors. Zepherin, as usual, began humming a melancholy tune, accompanying himself on his violin of two bows of horsehair stretched across dried bones. Clarisa played softly on the tunepipe and their song echoed the strange, monotonous sound of the winds that moaned unceasingly across the pampas.

Manuel listened to all this while smoking the earthen pipe Rosario had made for him. Where less fortunate men had to be content with dried herbs, his pipe was filled with white man's tobacco. Now and then he raised his eyes to gaze at his children. What sacrifices he had not made for them! Even at that moment his whole thought was how to provide for their future, or, for that matter, for the future of all his people. They were disintegrating before his eyes. Something had to be done to save them, and done quickly, before he grew too old.

Clarisa put down her instrument. "Papa," she said, "tell us a story tonight, please."

Clarisa was the most beautiful of his daughters. She looked like her mother when young, and like her mother, she was a favorite with the people.

"Yes, please do, papa," urged Zepherin. Manuel held his gaze for a moment. "Tell us about our people."

These stories never grew old. They never had the chance. At each telling the cacique added so many fresh details, such a wealth of new incidents, true or imagined, that he could hold the attention of his young audience for hours. Not possessing a written language, the Araucanos relied on the spoken word for the teaching and preservation of their traditions so that eloquence was held in high esteem. Manuel, most eloquent of the Indians, used his gift to advantage. Not only the children and the elders of the tribe listened when he spoke, but even the white man was enthralled.

In the dusty clearing outside the toldos the red-and-yellow gleam of dying fires dotted the blackness of the night. Even though it was spring, it was bitterly cold. But the people had long become inured to this; their warm blood protected them, and in spring they had food enough.

Inside their toldo a haze of blue smoke rose idly to the hole in the top where it dissipated quickly into the cold night air. How good it felt, thought Zepherin, to come home during these days when the hunting was successful and there was plenty to eat: well-seasoned coagulated blood, soups and stew, smoked stomach and entrails and sometimes event -- supreme delicacy! -- spiced lung. Eggs and butter he did not relish, and milk only when they made it into cheese. Occasionally they had shellfish and seaweed, when these were brought to the cacique by other Araucanos who lived near the great salt lakes.

Formerly the outcome of the malones determined the supply of food, but now that depended on the success of the hunt. Although Manuel's people grew maize and other vegetables, they still loved beef, mutton, venison and guanaco -- in that order. The older Indians had acquired from the whites a craving for sugar, tobacco, mate and alcohol. But the finest dish for any Indian, one which they enjoyed only on great occasions, was the half-raw flesh of a young mare -- just as the finest drink in the world was its fresh, warm blood.

Zepherin was glad winter was over. Besides the frequent pangs of hunger, there were other things which made life unpleasant in the toldo. But summer brought relief. Everything was cleaner and brighter -- except when the hurricane blew up from the southwest or when the rain fell across the sad and empty wastes of the pampa. Then brothers and sisters -- and the dogs, too -- huddled together for comfort.

"Very well," said Manuel. This was the signal for his audience to snuggle together and draw their rugs about their shoulders against the chill night air which had already penetrated the toldo. A dozen staring eyes fixed themselves on Manuel whose face shone like ancient bronze in the dull glow of the fire.

"Once upon a time," he began in a deep, resonate voice, "Gneche filled a long with high mountains, broad lakes, deep rivers of clear water, and endless plains. The Araucanos roamed it at will, hunting beasts, birds and fish so that everybody had plenty to eat and drink. They left here only to go to their forefathers and hunt among the stars. If they fought, it was to practice the art of war and to give their warriors a chance to prove that they were fearless.

"But one tribe ruled!" he declared, raising his voice and glaring at his audience. "Which was that?"

"The Araucanos!"

"Right! We who ruled the land where the sun sets, conquered the Queredies who ruled the land where the sun rises. But there was still plenty of space for everyone, plenty to eat and drink until one day appeared --" Manuel stopped abruptly, scowled, peered at his young audience through eyes grown small with age, and asked, "Who appeared?"

"The huinca!" came the response in union.

"The huinca! The white Christians invaded our land. They forced us across the mountains to Chile. But before we left, we wiped out many of their settlements, slaughtered many of their chiefs."

"Papa," interrupted Zepherin, "why could we not chase out the huincas?"

"Because they possessed secret weapons. And they had horses. No matter how swiftly we ran, no matter how much we could endure, we were no match for a horse."

"Did the Araucanos not have horses?"

"No. In the beginning we had to travel on foot. But we could follow the chase for days, run a hundred miles each day, drinking only the juice of thistles or the warm blood of wild animals. Did not this prove that we were far stronger than the huincas? But even this was not enough, for our pampas stretch for hundreds and hundreds of miles.

"The first time the huincas landed we routed them so quickly they left many horses behind. We caught and trained them and made them our friends. Then we could take the huincas by surprise and after a malon we could escape back into the pampas. We became better horsemen than they and could fight better on horseback. The horses gave us skin for clothing and shoes, flesh to eat; and what does a good Araucano like to drink duri

ng a feast?" "The hot blood of a young mare!"

"Aha! Since we could not drive the huincas out and since there was still plenty of land for everybody, our caciques decided to make peace. But each time we made peace the huincas would start calling more of this land, its rivers and mountains,theirs. As if we had not been here before them, as if the pampas, like the sun and the sky, did not belong to everybody! By stealing our hunting grounds they left us without food, and forced us to steal their cattle. Finally, they tried to destroy us. Impossible! We had swifter horses and they were afraid to follow us into the interior. If some did try to follow us, we led them into a swamp, the surrounded and killed them, or else we watched them sink and die in the quicksands. But we were never able to form one great army under one great chief, even though we know that unless we united, the huincas would destroy us tribe by tribe. Just then, however," Manuel lowered his voice dramatically, "a very exciting thing happened."

A delicious shiver of anticipation ran through the children. "What happened?" they whispered.

Manuel told them the strange story of the rise of the Indians under the Cura.

The Vorogas tribe held a strategic area in the pampas and Rondeau, their cacique, by his courage and cunning, had made them the most feared tribe of the Araucanos. One day messengers appeared requesting safe passage through his territory for another group of Araucanos from the Cordilleras. To attempt to pass through his territory without permission was to invite slavery or death.

"How many?" Rondeau asked. "And what is your business?"

"Two hundred peaceful Araucanos on our way to the interior to sell goods we brought from Chile -- cloth, silver ornaments; paints and perfumes for the women; knives and spears for the men. We also want to pay homage to the great Rondeau whose fame has spread far and wide."

Rondeau held council with the elders and finding no cause to oppose his brother Araucanos, granted permission. Besides, their arrival would provide pleasant diversion. The women would delight in bargaining for trinkets; the men would purchase things for themselves and their families; the children would enjoy the excitement; and everybody would find it a good excuse for feasting and drinking. The whole tribe retired that night filled with anticipation.

Next morning the shrill blast of a trumpet startled Rondeau from his sleep. It came from the center of the tolderia. He heard war cries from men, screams of terror from the women and children, grunts and groans from warriors in agony.

Seizing the spear which always stood within reach he bounded out of the toldo. As he burst through the flap and saw the awakening sky, he also caught a quick glimpse of a hatchet flashing in an upraised hand, felt a crushing blow on his skull, and sank into the darkness of death.

This massacre, begun with startling unexpectedness, continued until warrior after warrior, until every man and woman, even every boy or girl who resisted, had been killed. The slaughter was soon over. Araucanos were never good at fighting when attacked in their tolderias. They had to be prepared, find themselves in the open and whipped up to a pitch of fury.

In one fearful act of treachery, the invaders had wiped out their strongest rivals and made themselves masters of the pampas. By pretending to be merchants they had approached without arousing suspicion, and by traveling all night they had sprung this dreadful surprise.

When Manuel had finished this frightening account, he looked at his young listeners. "Who," he asked,, "carried out this courageous act?" His eyes gleamed like a prowling puma's

The children with one voice replied: "Calfucura!"

"Calfucura!" echoed Manuel. "My father." At the mention of the name the broad nostrils of the cacique distended. He raised his head and glared at his audience with a mixture of fierceness and scorn. Next he fixed his gaze on Zepherin as if to say: "Are you worthy to be called a descendant of his, or a son of mine?" The mood passed quickly, however, and he lowered his voice again. "Don't forget that he was called Blue Stone for a very special reason. What was that reason?"

Clarisa was the first with the answer. "Because he found a blue stone shaped like a man." Manuel glanced his approval. "That was a sign for our people that he was marked out by the gods. With that magnificent attack he made himself the gran cacique."

In the midst of the excitement created by Manuel's stirring account, Rosaria quietly laid down her work. Rising and keeping close to the shadows she left the toldo. No one saw her leave. No one, except he whose eyes were still those of a keen hunter. When he saw Rosaria leave, his face darkened.

He often wondered about Rosaria. Oh, he was fond of her and she had proved a good wife -- far superior to the Indian wives. He recalled the night he had taken her for his wife. He had rescued her from the painful death she had merited for her attempted escape and she had been grateful.

When he had taken her for a wife he had had in mind what every Indian know resulted from the mixing of bloods. It was the same when you ate the liver or the heart of a brave enemy -- you acquired his courage and vigor. The evidence that it had worked stood before his eyes. In his tolderia or in any other there were no better-looking children than those from his union with Rosaria. Her children were singled out by visitors for their handsome appearance, their grace and bearing. Yet he was not happy. There was some mystery about her, some secret he could not fathom. Perhaps it was because she was a huinca. Perhaps all huincas were like that. She had little heart, he know, for the violence and excess, the cruelty, looting, drinking and killing that formed part of the Indian way of life. This was excusable in a woman, though he would have preferred it otherwise. He desperately hoped, however, that this part of her nature, this lack of spirit, would not pass on to his children, especially to the males.

Most white wives he had observed, soon settled down to the Indian way of life. They were never totally isolated from their own, since separation between the Indian and the white had never been complete. Some sort of commerce was always carried on. From the traders the Indians bought sugar, alcohol, wine, mate, tobacco; the whites in return bought the silver ornaments the Indians made, the cloth they wove. Even their very clashes established a certain ritual, which was called the "festival of peace" during which the Indians and the whites would cross boundaries, make friendly overtures and exchange gifts.

Naturally this contact had the civilizing effects which men (with more vision than the ordinary Indian) hoped for, and there was the inevitable blending of cultures and customs. There was also an adverse side to this exchange. Thousands of deserters, outlaws and adventurers seeking refuge in the tolderias, also married Indian women and founded homesteads. From such unions had sprung up a new breed: the gauchos, or "wild ones." Some found the gaucho romantic. Many of their sons were even carving names for themselves in the history of the country, especially in the army. The cacique disliked them, nevertheless, for they held themselves bound neither by the customs and traditions of the Indians nor by the laws of their own people.

Manuel's face cleared only when he turned again to his young audience, and he went on with his story. He told how Calfucura enrolled the other caciques in his empire either by conquering or by killing them. Those he found too strong to subject he bound to himself by treaty. Next he created the legend that he had been divinely sent to destroy all those opposed to the rise of the Indians under the Araucanos, claiming that in his vision, heaven indicated which tribes to subdue. He ruthlessly swept aside everything in his path until finally he earned for himself the title "King of the Pampas." Proposing a treaty with the Argentines, he releases some captive white women as token of his good intentions. From this treaty he obtained, for not waging war, an annual subsidy of 1500 horses, 500 cows and enormous quantities of supplies.

Every cacique soon found his way to Calfucura's toldo to pay homage. In its smoky interior Calfucura treated all with cordiality and regal generosity. He dispatched letters to caciques, government official, and even to the president of Argentina, proving that he could match wits with their generals and diplomats. He tacitly agreed not to molest the whites within the government-controlled area of Argentina, provided the remained, then known as "the interior," remained under his control.

The interior was a mysterious and forbidding Indian territory, to be entered only by brave men or daring merchants. Even the conquistadors had no stomach for penetrating the interior and it was only much later that the white man gave his attention to this territory.

With his own people Calfucura was merciless. An embassy he sent to Buenos Aires included one of his sons. When the embassy returned, however, they told Calfucura that his son had been killed in ambush. Ordered to investigate, Manuel discovered along the embassy's route the remains of a body. He cut out the tongue which Calfucura immediately dispatched to a trusted sorcerer in Chile who reported his findings: valuable gifts had been presented to Calfucura's son; the others had killed him and kept the gifts. Summoning the leader of the embassy, Calfucura accused him point-blank of the murder. When the man did not utter a word in his own defense, Calfucura plunged a dagger into his heart. Then he commanded Manuel to wipe out every trace of the accused men and their families.

The history of the pampas became the history of Calfucura. The ablest leader the Indians ever had, he could muster more than 10,000 warriors -- an enormous force for those times. He would sign treaties with the government, break them, then place the blame on some far-off cacique. His audacity knew no bounds. He would order an attack on government troops, declare that his people had simply rebelled because they did not have enough to eat and follow this up with a request for further subsidies!

Five days after one president had happily declared to congress that he had the Indian situation well in hand, Calfucura swept down on a settlement south of Buenos Aires, set it on fire, and slaughtered its 300 inhabitants! At the same time Manuel delivered the government forces a humiliating defeat that was not soon forgotten.

He demoralized the government forces by his method of waging war. With a line of attack shaped like a half-moon he would advance, retreat, even bypass the enemy, or else he would make sudden sallies, complete the action, then quickly withdraw. The lightening nature of his attacks forced the enemy to engage in hand-to-hand fighting -- something at which the Indians excelled. He could outride any cavalry, and was infinitely more expert in taking advantage of desert or mountain terrain. An uncanny gift for finding trails through trackless pampas enabled him to travel all night, reach the settlements undetected, and attack them at dawn. A glance at a cloud of dust told him the strength of an advancing foe. Sentries were no defense against him and in the end, the soldier came to rely more on the instinct of his horse than on the readiness of his arms.

Calfucura directed but did not take part in most of these engagements. After all, he pointed out to the other caciques, he was receiving generous subsidies for not waging war! Moreover, if a report reached him that some distant tribe without permission had planned a malon, he warned the government in advance. If the invaders were repulsed, he took credit for it. If, instead, they were successful, he claimed as gran cacique a share of the loot!

The burden of paying these subsidies finally wore out the government's patience. The war with the Indians had become a national disgrace. It was astonishing, the people complained, that whenever Calfucura planned to fight the government troops, he first stole a supply of government horses! On the other hand, when the government planned to attack Calfucura they first had to buy back from him the horses he had stolen!

-