With a wave of her bony hand, the pitonisa ordered the three trumpeters to blow on their long instruments made from the horns of a bull. With puffed cheeks they blew out mournful notes that echoed through the valley. When the sounds had faded away, she signaled the assembly to gather round her.

The pitonisa was a wild creature, barely tolerated in the tolderia of Manuel, who lived in a crumbling toldo on the outskirts of the reservation. The coming of the missionaries had forced her to limit to the hours of darkness her incantations and dealings with the spirits. Although these had been officially condemned, there were still many who consulted her, especially on those matters in which they doubted the competence of the huinca padre. One had to be brought up in the rites and mysteries of the Araucanos to understand. Moreover, it was not right to reveal certain Araucano secrets to the huinca.

The witch was speaking from the top of a mound at the far end of a small valley. The eastern end of it was closed by a slope that hid it from view; the western side opened to the river. This sandy region was full of such sites and this particular one, since the time of Calfucura, had been the scene of many camarujos. Blackened patches of earth, bones and broken jars, told of many feasts which were part of the ritual. The broad track round the edge of the site had been pounded to dust by a thousand hoofs. Since the conversion of the tribes, the site had not been used -- except for those rare occasions when Indians, needing special help from heaven, had felt that the huinca God had failed them.

When the men and women had formed a straggling crescent in front of her, the pitonisa turned her attention to the horsemen who still continued to ride around the track. She signaled them to approach, and they began to ride in ever-diminishing circles until finally they almost brushed against the gathering.

"Before I begin," she screamed, "I want someone to come close so Gualichu can see that he stands here in the name of the Araucanos -- Manuel Namuncura!"

The crowd took up the cry. "Manuel! Manuel!"

Manuel led his horse to the center. "I am here," he said.

He wore only a leather apron and loincloth -- traditional dress of the Indian before the coming of the huinca. A white headband accentuated the high color of his cheeks and bloodshot eyes. His body and face were streaked bright red; his feet and legs were bare. His horse carried no saddle.

"Manuel, Gran Cacique of the Araucanos!" cried the witch. "Why do you hold this camarujo?"

"To placate Gualichu, great god of the Araucanos, so that he will make my son Zepherin happy forever among the stars."

"Are you ready to do all the Gualichu commands?"

"I am."

"Then make your people swear they will not reveal what happens here."

Manuel mounted his horse, wheeled and faced the assembly. "Do you swear to keep the secret?" he called out.

"We swear!"

"Pass around the pulchu!" cried the pitonisa.

Several woman bearing jars of the potent liquid began to weave in and out among the crowd. Manuel set the pace by downing several generous draughts.

When the drinking had ceased he led his horsemen to the outside of the circle where they again took up their wild ride. Inside the circle the men and women began an equally wild dance, stopping only to gulp down more of the pulchu which the women continued to supply. Finally, because of the exertion of the danced and the potency of the drink, both the riders and dancers one by one dropped to the ground and lay where they fell.

Tutu-rutu! Tutu-rutu! Tutu-rutu!

Manuel sat up, rubbed his bleary eyes, and struggled to his feet. He was being taken by surprise, and the trumpets were a warning . . . Slowly, however, his mind cleared of pulchu fumes.

He became aware that the trumpets were not a warning but a reminder that this was the day when the pitonisa had promised that if he agreed to perform the camarujo she would bring his son back to earth for a short time. Manuel had readily agreed. He would have agreed to anything for a glimpse of his son. But now he wondered if he had been wise. Certainly he would have a lot to say to Zepherin, but certainly also Zepherin would have a lot to say to his father who, after his promise to follow the Christian faith, was now leading the others in a pagan ceremony. Despite all this he was still anxious to meet Zepherin. He was sure that the boy by this time possessed the secrets of the huincas and he wanted above all else to learn those secrets. To possess those secrets he was ready to face Zepherin, the padres -- even the bishop himself!

The day was well advanced by the time the rest of the assembly began moving down to the river where they washed and doused each other. The women mingled shamelessly with the men -- something unthinkable had they not been in a state of stupor. The bathing over, Manuel and the others threw themselves on the ground. The witch sent her aides among them with more jars of liquor, urging everyone to drink in preparation for the feast. Meanwhile, she built a great fire, heaping logs on it until it shot flames, smoke and sparks into the sky. The sight of this moved her to a pitch of frenzy.

"The sacrifice!" she screamed.

A young mare was led in and tethered to a stake. On a signal from the pitonisa, Manuel, followed by a few other Indians, stealthily approached. At the sight of them the helpless animal reared up in fright, tugged at the cord and strained her whole body trying to break free.

Once the men had succeeded in muzzling her, they seized her by the head and held her steady. Manuel came up with his dagger drawn. He could not get close enough for she was swinging her hindquarters and kicking desperately with her hind legs. One Indian forgot caution as he approached her. Sensing his nearness, she swung her haunches around and, at the same time striking out with her hind legs, caught the unwary Indian full in the stomach. With his hands clutched to his stomach the man ran wildly across the compound screaming in pain. Manuel ignored him and edged closer to the mare who fixed on him eyes filled with hate and fear. He nodded to another Indian to distract the mare with a sudden gesture, then dashed in and raising his arms plunged the dagger into the mare's neck, jerking the knife toward him. The mare's eyes opened wide at the blow as if in wonder, then they glazed over. The movement of the limbs slowed down, stopped; her head drooped, her front legs splayed out, and she crumpled to the ground. A few spasmodic kicks spent all her nervous energy, then she lay quite still.

Manuel knelt down at the animal's head, thrust the bloody dagger into the neck and slit open the jugular vein. Putting his moth to the wound he sucked long and deep as the hot blood that gushed from it. When satiated, he rose and left the women to collect the rest of the blood in jars and make an asado of the carcass. He had drunk the hot blood of a young mare. He had experience an ecstatic feeling of which only an Indian was capable.

"Manuel Namuncura," instructed the pitonisa, "tonight your son will come riding on the full moon. He will reveal to you the secrets you have always wanted to know. But I warn you. Gualichu will not let him come if you still adore the Christian gods. You have already betrayed the great spirit once. He will not let you betray him again. Now all of you must join me in asking him to send us the son of the cacique." Waving her arms and weaving her emaciated body, she broke out into a series of incantations in which she was accompanied by the rise and fall of the voices of the people.

Suddenly she clapped her hands for silence. "The moon!" she cried. "The moon!"

When the startled audience looked to the horizon they saw a tiny yellow rind appear which even as they watched grew larger.

"The moon! The moon!" The noise became deafening as the watchers worked themselves into a frenzy.

"Gran Cacique," called out the witch. "Prepare! This may be the most important day of your life. Prepare to meet your son!"

Manuel stationed himself on a rise of land beyond the fire so that he was silhouetted against the light of the full moon.

"Keep your eyes fixed on the moon and think how your son looked the last time you saw him. For Gualichu may only let your eyes see him, only your ears hear what he has to say. If the great spirit does not let him come, it means that he is angry with you. I shall try to turn away his wrath." With that she threw herself on the ground and began pounding the earth with her fists, screaming and kicking until she was utterly exhausted and covered with sweat. Rising she lifted up her arms toward the moon in an attitude of supplication.

The moon had now cleared the horizon and was gradually changing until it stood out in solitary splendor. To the consternation of the watchers, however, it wore an ominous expression. They began to raise their voices in lamentation, when all at once something happened which froze them into silence. Sharply outlined against the moon which was now shining with an uncanny brightness, appeared a horse and rider, coming at full gallop.

"Zepherin!" they exclaimed in awe. "Zepherin is coming!"

In a short time the horse covered the distance to the compound, slithered down the embankment and trotted into the center of the clearing. Slipping off the horse, the rider, draped from head to foot in a long poncho, walked up to where Manuel stood rooted to the ground. The people rose to their feet, terrified at what was about to happen and fearful that the cacique was in some kind of danger. They watched in silence as the rider in one single sweeping gesture cast off the poncho.

At the sight of the figure before him Manuel stepped back in horror.

"Rosaria!" he gasped. "Not Zepherin? What sort of trick is this?" Grinding his teeth in rage and frustration, he drew his dagger and advanced menacingly.

Seeing what he was about to do, Rosaria straightened up. "Go ahead, Manuel," she challenged. "Kill me. But before you do, answer me one question. What will your son think of all this?" With a wave of her hand she embraced the whole repulsive scene. "This mocker of everything that he loved, this mocker of his friend the bishop, of his faith, even of his God?"

"Shut up, woman! Don't you understand? You have shamed me in front of my people. For this you deserve to die."

Rosaria shook her head in scorn. "Did you really think that this she-devil could bring down Zepherin from heaven? Oh, Manuel, Manuel, will you never learn? If anything had happened it would have been the work of the devil. If nothing, she would have blamed it on you."

The pitonisa started to protest Rosaria, however, was determined not to leave her mission half-accomplished. With the rage of truth possessing her, she advanced on the witch. Sensing the power of this angry woman with all the resources of the Christian God on her side, the pitonisa cringed before her. For a moment Rosaria studied her. "To think that one such as you," she scolded, "could pretend to represent a god! What must he be like if you represent him? Are you not afraid that the true God will make an example of you? Go, take your trickery with you and never show yourself in the tolderia again. Because, if you do," Rosaria measured the words, "then the true God may use you to teach the Araucanos a terrible lesson!"

This onslaught frightened the pitonisa into subjection. She quickly hobbled off and disappeared into her shelter.

Rosaria returned to the gathering. "Araucanos," she said, "what have you to show for your camarujo? Nothing except filth and sickness that follows debauchery. You always lament that the huincas have taken everything and left you nothing. Have you ever thought that the reason for your failure might lie in your own stupidity? I have always loved my adopted people, the Araucanos, but I know their weaknesses. What hope lies in the past? None. We can no longer stand alone. We must work together, the clever huinca and the proud Araucano." For a moment she covered her eyes with her hand. The memory of her huinca heritage had always affected her. But she quickly stood erect again. "Mount your horses and leave this haunt to the devil. Pray that God may not wish to avenge this insult! Go home! I say, go home!"

There was a moment of hesitation but little by little the people began to disperse and seek out their horses. Silently they rode off in the direction of the tolderia. When they had gone, Rosaria approached the cacique.

"Manuel."

"Humph?"

"Why did you do this?"

"More than anything else in the world I wanted to see my son. You do not understand these things. He was my son. Do you understand? My son."

"He was my son, too, Manuel."

"He is gone."

"God took him."

"I needed Zepherin to carry out my plans. God took him. God is against my people. God is against me; I am against God."

"God took Zepherin because He loved him," Rosaria said quietly.

"Do I kill the one I love?"

"You told your friend the bishop that you wanted to live as a good Christian. A good Christian accepts the will of God, even when it causes pain. The bishop told you that not all our happiness is to be found on this earth. Do you think he would deceive you?"

"He is the only huinca I trust," the cacique conceded.

"Then you must believe what he tells you. Yet you hold a secret camarujo."

"You talk like a woman!"

"A woman suffers more than a man when she loses her favorite child. Yet now I see that I suffer not for Zepherin but for myself. My faith tells me that he is in heaven. As far as Zepherin is concerned there's no reason for either of us to be sad."

"What would you want me to do? Call the tribe and hold a great feast to celebrate his death?"

"I wanted you to do what the bishop wants you to do. He is a good man and he asks you to accept the will of God."

Manuel remained in thought. At last he rose and approached Rosaria. Stretching out his hand he stroked her cheek. "You are right." The anger had gone out of his voice. "The bishop is a good man. I shall try to do what he says. You are a good woman and I shall try to do what you say. You were always a good wife. Perhaps I should have --"

"There is no need to say more," broke in Rosaria. "I loved you very much. But the bishop insists that our ways must always be separate. Will you promise me one thing?"

"What?"

"Go see the padres. They did so much for Zepherin. Like us they loved him deeply; like us they suffered at great loss. It is your duty."

"I will go."

After a moment's silence Manuel raised his head and gazed up at the stars. "But my people!" he suddenly burst out in anguish. "Zepherin is gone and soon I shall go, too. What will become of my people?"

Rosaria answered quietly, "Leave them to God."

A week later Manuel arrived at the capital and made his way to San Carlos. At the end of a meeting with the padres, he rose and spoke for some time in the tongue of the Araucanos. One of the two sons who had accompanied him interpreted. "I am very grateful to the padres," he said, "and in particular to the bishop, for what they have done for my son and for my people. I feel the death of my son very much, especially since it took place so far way that when he died I could not hold him in my arms. But I am consoled by the thought that his friend and mine, the bishop, was able to take my place. I accept the will of God."

With the passing of Zepherin hope died in Manuel for the restoration of the Cura dynasty and for the return to the Araucanos of their former glory. With the death of his first son, Juan, h e had been forced to renounce whatever plans he had had for restoring his military power. With Zepherin no more, he had lost his hope of elevating his people to a place of importance in the rising young republic. Of all his sons, Zepherin had been the one most likely to lead them to success in the huinca world.

The three riders at this time were jogging along on their way home, the old man in the middle, the two younger men allowing him to keep a pace or two ahead. The cacique sat wearily in the saddle, his body bent slightly forward. Not a word passed between them.

Suddenly they heard a sound like the hoot of an owl. The horses pricked their ears and pranced nervously. The eldest son shifted in his saddle and looked behind. "The train! Papa!" he cried. "The train!"

The other young man turned quickly and far down the valley made out a dark shape forming against the yellow sand. In a moment it had grown to enormous proportions. His body tautened and he drew the reins tight. "Shall we challenge it, Papa?" he asked eagerly.

By this time the train had come much closer and would soon be level with them. The two young men, their blood racing, braced themselves for the word.

As if he had heard or seen nothing unusual, the cacique raised his head. Even as the train thundered up behind them he neither changed his pace nor made one move more than was necessary to quell the nervous dancing of his horse. He seemed strangely untouched by the clanging, crashing fury roaring past him. Nor did he speak until the outline of the train had dwindled to nothing and its sound had become no more than a distant echo.

"Why challenge it?" His voice was low and monotone. "It belongs to the huinca. What sense is there in struggling?" He seemed to be talking more to himself than to the others. "Once I was a great cacique. Once when I spoke my voice was heard across the pampas. Once I needed no one's help to look after my people. But now. . . what can I do? Where did all my power go? What happened to my voice that no one listens? When I am gone who will take care of my people? She said God will take care of my people. Will He take care of them the way He takes care of the huincas? She said I should stop struggling against the huincas, that we should work together to make things better for our children. Perhaps my dreams were foolish. Perhaps I have blinded myself to what is happening."

With tired eyes he questioned each of the two riders in turn. But they only stared ahead in silence.

When they came to an abandoned hut by the side of a hill, Manuel called a halt for the night. "My sons," he said, "you may sit up and talk. I am going to sleep. Tomorrow I must travel to the mountain where Zepherin promised me that he would help me take care of my people. Perhaps when I am there his God will allow him to visit me. If He does I shall ask my son to explain to me all the things I do not understand."

In silence he unsaddled his horse and when that was done, he stared up at the sky. Once again he seemed to be communing with himself.

"Of one thing I am certain," he said. "Now that Zepherin has gone, the name of the cura will be forgotten. Our names, like the bones of our ancestors, will lie buried deep and unknown beneath the pampa sands."