"
The answer was intelligible enough.
"I am a miner from Argentina. I have been among these Indians five
years. When their attack failed, I thought there was a chance of
escape. For pity's sake, senor, help me instantly, or I shall die from
the cold."
"Have the Indians gone?" asked Christobal.
"Yes. They thought to surprise you. When they come again it will be
by daylight, as they are afraid of the dark. But be quick, I implore
you. My hands are numb."
There was no resisting the man's appeal. A rope ladder was lowered,
and a Chilean sailor went down in obedience to the captain's order,
though he disliked the job, and crossed himself before descending. He
passed a rope under the fugitive's armpits, and, with aid from the
deck, hoisted him aboard. The unfortunate miner gave proof of his
wretched state by promptly collapsing in a faint, with a sigh of "Madre
de Dios!"
His only garments were a species of waistcoat and rough trousers of
untanned guanaco hide. The white skin of his breast and legs, though
darkened by exposure, showed that he had told the truth as to his
descent, notwithstanding the amazing daubs on his face.
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