They had scarcely gone three hundred yards in this way, when a frightful clamour was heard behind them: a great light illumined the forest, and between the leaves the fugitives perceived the black outlines of the Indians running in every direction, gesticulating and yelling ferociously.

"Hilloh," Red Cedar said, "I fancy the Comanches have found out your desertion."

"I think so, too," Nathan replied, with a grin; "poor fellows! They are inconsolable at my loss."

"The more so, because you probably did not quit them without leaving your card."

"Quite true, father," the other said, as he raised his hunting shirt and displayed two bloody scalps suspended to his girdle; "I did not neglect business."

The wretch, before fastening the lasso round him, had, with horrible coolness, scalped his two victims.

"In that case," Fray Ambrosio said, "they must be furious; you know that the Comanches never forgive. How could you commit so unworthy an action?"

"Trouble yourself about your own affairs, señor Padre," Nathan said, brutally, "and let me act as I think proper, unless you wish me to send you to take my place with the butt end of my rifle."

The monk bit his lips.

"Brute beast!" he muttered.

"Come, peace, in the devil's name!" Red Cedar said; "let us think about not being caught."

"Yes," Sutter supported him, "when you are in safety, you can have an explanation with knives, like true caballeros. But, at this moment, we have other things to do than quarrel like old women."

The two men exchanged a glance full of hatred, but remained silent. The little party, guided by Red Cedar, gradually retired, pursued by the yells of the Comanches, who constantly drew nearer.

"Can they have discovered our track?" Red Cedar said, shaking his head sadly.

CHAPTER XXXIII
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT

We will now return to Valentine and his friends, whom we left preparing to pursue Red Cedar once more.

Valentine had began to take a real interest in this protracted manhunt; it was the first time since he had been in the desert that he had to deal with a foeman so worthy of his steel as was Red Cedar.

Like him, the squatter possessed a thorough knowledge of life in the Far West – all the sounds of the prairie were known to him, all tracks familiar; like him, he had made Indian trickery and cunning his special study; in a word, Valentine had found his equal, if not his master. His powerfully excited self-love urged him to bring this game of chess to a conclusion; hence he was resolved to press matters so vigorously that, in spite of his cleverness, Red Cedar must soon fall into his hands.

After leaving, as we have seen, the upper regions of the Sierra, the hunters advanced in the shape of a fan, in order to find some sign which would enable them to find the long lost trail, for, according to the axiom well known to the wood rangers, any rastreador, who holds one end of a trail, must infallibly reach the other within a given time. Unfortunately, no trace or sign was visible; Red Cedar had disappeared, and it was impossible to find the slightest trace of the way he had gone.

Still, Valentine did not give in; he studied the ground, examined every blade of grass, and cross-questioned the shrubs with a patience nothing could weary. His friends, less accustomed than himself to the frequent disappointments in a hunter's life, in vain gave him despairing glances; he walked on, with his head bent down, neither seeing their signals nor hearing their remarks.

At length, about midday, after going nearly four leagues in this fashion – a most wearying task – the hunters found themselves on a perfectly naked rock. At this spot it would have been madness to look for footprints, as the granite would not take them. Don Miguel and his son fell to the ground, more through despondency than fatigue.

Curumilla began collecting the scattered leaves to light the breakfast fire, while Valentine, leaning on his rifle, with his forehead furrowed by deep wrinkles, looked scrutinisingly round. At the spot where the hunters had established their temporary bivouac, no vegetation grew on the barren rocks; while an immense larch tree over-shadowed it with its well-covered branches.

The hunter incessantly turned his intelligent eye from earth to sky, as if he had a foreboding that at this spot he must find the trail he had so long been seeking. All at once he uttered a sonorous "hum!" At this sound, a signal agreed on between the Indian and him, Curumilla left off collecting the leaves, raised his head, and looked at him. Valentine walked towards him with a hasty step; the two Mexicans eagerly rose and joined him.

"Have you discovered anything?" Don Miguel asked, curiously.

"No," Valentine replied, "but in all probability I soon shall."

"Here?"

"Yes, at this very spot," he said, with a knowing smile; "believe me, you shall soon see."

While saying this, the hunter stooped, picked up a handful of leaves, and began examining them attentively, one by one.

"What can those leaves teach you?" Don Miguel asked with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Everything," Valentine firmly replied, as he continued his examination.

Curumilla was surveying the ground, and questioning the rock.

"Wah!" he said.

All stopped; the chief pointed to a line about half an inch, of the thickness of a hair, recently made on the rock.

"They have passed this way," Valentine went on, "that is as certain to me as that two and two make four; everything proves it to me; the steps we discovered going away from the spot where we now are – are a sure proof."

"How so?" Don Miguel asked in amazement.

"Nothing is more simple; the traces that deceived you could not humbug an old wood ranger like myself; they pressed too heavily on the heel, and were not regular, proves them false."

"Why false?"

"Of course. This is what Red Cedar did to hide the direction he took; he walked for nearly two leagues backwards."

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it. Red Cedar, though aged, is still possessed of all the vigour of youth; his steps are firm and perfectly regular; like all men accustomed to forest life, he walks cautiously, that is to say, first putting down the point of his foot, like every man who is not certain that he may not have to go back. In the footsteps we saw, as I told you, the heel was put down first, and is much deeper buried than the rest of the foot; that is quite impossible, unless a person has walked backwards, especially for some time."

"That is true," Don Miguel answered; "what you say could not be more logical."

Valentine smiled.

"We have not got to the end yet," he said; "let me go on."

"But," Don Pablo remarked, "supposing that Red Cedar did come here, which I now believe as fully as you do, how is it that we do not find his traces on the other side of the rock? However carefully he may have hidden them, we should discover them, if they existed."

"Of course; but they are not here, and it is useless to lose time in looking for them. Red Cedar has come here, as this mark proves; but you will ask me why he did so? For a reason very easy to comprehend; on this granite soil, footsteps are effaced; the squatter wished to throw us out by bringing us to a spot where we must completely lose his direction, if we succeeded in finding his track. He succeeded up to a certain point; but he wished to be too clever, and went beyond his object; before ten minutes, I will show you the trail as clear as if we had been present when he went off."

"I confess, my friend, that all you say greatly astonishes me," Don Miguel replied. "I never could understand this species of sublime instinct which helps you to find your way in the desert, although you have already given me the most astonishing proofs; still, I confess that what is taking place at this moment surpasses everything I have hitherto seen you do."

"Good gracious!" Valentine answered; "you pay me compliments I am far from deserving; all this is an affair of reasoning, and especially of habit. Thus, it is as plain to you as it is to me, that Red Cedar came here?"

"Yes."

"Very good; as he came, he must have gone away again," the hunter said with a laugh; "for the reason that he is no longer here, or we should have him."

"That is certain."

"Good; now look how he can have gone."

"That is exactly what I do not see."

"Because you are blind, or because you will not take the trouble."

"Oh, my friend, I swear – "

"Pardon, I am in error: it is because you cannot explain what you see."

"What?" Don Miguel said, slightly piqued by this remark.

"Certainly," Valentine went on phlegmatically; "and you shall confess I am in the right."

"I shall be delighted to do so."

In spite of his good sense, and the other great qualities with which he was gifted, Valentine had the weakness, common to many men, of liking, under certain circumstances, to, make a parade of his knowledge of desert life. This defect, which is very frequently found on the prairies, in no way injured his character, and was pardonable after all.

"You shall see," he said with that sort of condescension which persons who know a thing thoroughly, assume on explaining it to the ignorant: "Red Cedar has been here and has disappeared: I arrive and look: he cannot have flown away, or buried himself in the ground: hence he must absolutely have gone by some road a man can use; look at these leaves scattered over the rock, they are sign No. 1."

"How so?"

"Hang it! That is clear enough, we are not at the season when trees lose their leaves: hence they did not fall."

"Why so?"

"Because, if they had, they would be yellow and dry, and instead they are green, crumpled, and some are even torn; hence it is positive, I think, that they have been removed from the tree by violence."

"That is true," Don Miguel muttered, his surprise at its height.

"Now, let us seek what unknown force tore them from the tree."

While saying this, Valentine had begun walking on, with his body bent to the ground, in the direction where he had seen the black line. His friends imitated his movements and followed him, also looking carefully on the ground. All at once Valentine stooped, picked up a piece of bark about the size of half his hand, and showed it to Don Miguel.

"All is explained to me now," he said: "look at that piece of bark: it is pressed and broken as if a rope had been round it, I think?"

"It is."

"Well, do you not understand?"

"On my word, no more than I did just now."

Valentine shrugged his shoulders.

"Listen to me then," he said; "Red Cedar came thus far: with his lasso he caught the end of that heavy branch just above our heads; and with the help of his companions, pulled it down to the ground. The black mark we saw proves what an effort they made. Once the bough was bent, the squatter's comrades mounted on it one after the other: Red Cedar, the last, went up with it, and all found themselves some seventy feet above ground. You must allow this is all very ingenious; but, unluckily, the squatter's boots left on this rock a graze about the width of a hair, and leaves fell from the tree; on unfastening his lasso, a piece of bark broke off, and as he was in a hurry, and could not come down again to remove all these ruinous proofs, I have seen them, and now I know as well all that happened here, as if I had been present."

The hunters did not merely display surprise at this clear and lucid explanation, but seemed struck speechless by such an incredible proof of sagacity.

"It is miraculous," Don Miguel at length exclaimed; "then you believe Red Cedar went off by that tree?"

"I would bet anything on it. However, you shall soon be convinced of it, for we shall follow the same road."

"But we cannot go far on that way."

"You are mistaken. In the virgin forests like the one that stretches out before us, the road we are about to follow is often the only one practicable. And now that we have found the bandits' trail, not to lose it again, I hope, let us breakfast quickly, so as to start the sooner in pursuit."

The hunters sat down gaily round the fire, and ate some grizzly bear meat. But their impatience made them take double mouthfuls, so that the meal was over in a twinkling, and they were soon ready to commence their researches. Valentine, in order to prove to his friends the exactness of the information he had given them, employed the same means Red Cedar had done to mount the tree, and when the hunters had assembled there, they allowed the truth of Valentine's statements: Red Cedar's trail was plainly visible.

They went on thus for a long time following the bandit's trail; but the further they went, the less distinct it became, and it was soon lost for the second time.

Valentine stopped and collected his friends.

"Let us hold a council," he said.

"I think," Don Miguel observed, "that Red Cedar fancied he had been long enough up a tree, and so went back to the ground."

Valentine shook his head.

"You have not got it," he said, "what you assert, my friend, is materially impossible."

"Why so?"

"Because the trail, as you see, suddenly ceases over a lake."

"That is true."

"Hum! It is plain that Red Cedar did not swim across it. Let us go on at all hazards, I feel certain that we shall speedily recover the trail; that direction is the only one Red Cedar could have followed. His object is to cross the line of foes who surround him on all sides; if he buried himself in the mountains, we know by experience, and he knows as well as we do, he would infallibly perish; hence he can only escape in this way, and we must pursue him."

"Still remaining on the trees?" Don Miguel asked.

"By Jove! Do not forget, my friends, that the bandits have a girl with them. The poor child is not accustomed like them to these fearful desert journeys; she could not endure them for an hour if her father and brothers were not careful to lead her by comparatively easy roads. Look beneath you, and you will feel convinced that it is impossible for a girl to have passed that way. This is our road," he added peremptorily, "and it is the only one by which we shall discover our enemy."

"Let us go, then," the Mexicans exclaimed.

Curumilla, according to his habit, said nothing; he had not even stopped to listen to the discussion, but walked on.

"Wah!" he suddenly said.

His friends eagerly hurried up. The chief held in his hand a piece of striped calico, no larger than a shilling.

"You see," Valentine said, "we are in a good direction, so we will not leave it."

This discovery stopped all discussion. The day gradually passed away, the red globe of the sun appeared in the distance between the stems of the trees, and after marching two hours longer, the darkness was complete.

"What is to be done?" Don Miguel asked; "We cannot spend the night perched up here, like parakeet. Let us choose a convenient spot to camp; tomorrow, at daybreak, we will ascend again and continue the chase."

"Yes," Valentine said, with a laugh, "and during the night, while we are quietly asleep down there, if any incident occurs that compels Red Cedar to turn back, he will slip through our fingers like a snake, and we know nothing about it. No, no, my friend, you must make up your mind to perch here for the night like a parroquet, as you say, if you do not wish to lose the fruit of all your trouble and fatigue."

"Oh, oh, if it is so," Don Miguel exclaimed, "I consent. I would sooner sleep a week in a tree than let that villain escape."

"Do not be alarmed; he will not keep us at work all that time; the boar is at bay, and will soon be found. However large the desert may be, it possesses no unexplored refuge to men who are accustomed to traverse it in every direction. Red Cedar has done more than a common man to escape us. Now all is over with him, and he understands that it is only a question of time."

"May Heaven grant it, my friend. I would give my life to avenge myself on that monster."

"He will soon be in your power, I assure you."

At this moment Curumilla laid his hand on Valentine's arm.

"Well, chief, what is it?" the latter asked.

"Listen!"

The hunters did so. They soon heard, at a considerable distance, confused cries, which momentarily became more distinct, and soon merged into a fearful clamour.

"What is happening now?" Valentine asked, thoughtfully.

The shouts increased fearfully, strange lights illumined the forest, whose guests, disturbed in their sleep, flew heavily here and there, uttering plaintive cries.

"Attention!" the hunter said, "Let us try and discover what all this means."

But their uncertainty did not last long. Valentine all at once left the branch behind which he was concealed, and uttered a long, shrill cry, which was replied to with fearful yells.

"What is it?" Don Miguel asked.

"Unicorn!" Valentine answered.

CHAPTER XXXIV
COUSIN BRUIN

Nathan's flight was discovered by a singular accident. The Comanches are no more accustomed than other Indians to have grand rounds and night patrols during the night, which are inventions of civilised nations quite unknown on the prairie. In all probability, the Indians would not have perceived their prisoner's disappearance till daybreak.

Nathan fully built on this. He was too well acquainted with Indian habits not to know what he had to depend on in this respect. But he had not taken hatred into calculation, that vigilant sentry which nothing can send to sleep.

About an hour after Nathan's successful ascent, White Gazelle, aroused by the cold, and more probably by the desire of assuring herself that the prisoner could not escape, rose, and crossed the camp alone, striding over the sleeping warriors, and feeling her way as well as she could in the dark; for most of the fires had gone out, and those which still burned spread only an uncertain light. Impelled by that feeling, of hatred which so rarely deceives those who feel its sharpened sting, she at length found her way through this inextricable labyrinth, and reached the tree to which the prisoner had been fastened. The tree was deserted. The cords which had bound Nathan lay cut a few paces off, while Gazelle was stupefied for a moment at this sight, which she was so far from expecting.

"Oh!" she muttered savagely, "it is a family of demons! But how has he escaped? Where can he have fled?"

"Those villains are quietly asleep," she said, seeing the warriors reposing, "while the man they were ordered to watch is laughing at them far away."

She spurned them with her foot.

"Accursed dogs!" she yelled, "wake up! The prisoner has escaped!"

The men did not stir.

"Oh, oh!" she said, "What means this?"

She stooped down and carefully examined them: all was revealed to her at once.

"Dead!" she said; "he has assassinated them. What diabolical power must this race of reprobates possess!"

After a moment of terror, she sprang up furiously and rushed through the camp, shouting in a shrill voice:

"Up, up! Warriors, the prisoner has fled!"

All were on their feet in a moment. Unicorn was one of the first to seize his weapons, and hurried towards her, asking the meaning of those unusual sounds. In a few words White Gazelle informed him, and Unicorn, more furious than herself, aroused his warriors, and sent them in all directions in pursuit of Nathan.

But we know that, temporarily at least, the squatter's son had nothing to fear from this vain search. The miraculous flight of a man from the middle of a camp of warriors, unperceived by the sentries, had something so extraordinary about it, that the Comanches, superstitious as all Indians, were disposed to believe in the intervention of the Genius of Evil. The whole camp was in confusion: every one ran in a different direction, brandishing torches. The circle widened more and more. The warriors, carried away by their ardour, left the clearing and entered the forest.

All at once a shrill cry broke through the air, and everybody stopped as if by enchantment.

"Oh," White Gazelle asked, "what is that?"

"Koutonepi, my brother," Unicorn replied briefly, as he repeated the signal.

"Let us run to meet him," the girl said.

They hurried forward, closely followed by a dozen warriors, and soon stood under the tree where Valentine and his companions were standing. The hunter saw them coming, and hence called to them.

"Where are you?" Unicorn asked.

"Up this larch tree," Valentine shouted; "stop and look."

The Indians looked up.

"Wah!" Unicorn said with astonishment, "What is my brother doing there?"

"I will tell you, but first help me to come down; we are not comfortably situated for conversing, especially for what I have to tell you, chief."

"Good; I await my brother."

Valentine fastened his lasso to a branch and prepared to slide down, but Curumilla laid a hand on his shoulder.

"What do you want, chief?"

"Is my brother going down?"

"You see," Valentine said, pointing to the lasso.

Curumilla shook his head with an air of dissatisfaction.

"Red Cedar!" he said.

"Ah, Canarios!" the hunter exclaimed, as he struck his forehead, "I did not think about him. Why, I must be going mad. By Jove, chief! You are a precious man, nothing escapes your notice – wait."

Valentine stooped, and forming his hands into a speaking-trumpet, shouted —

"Chief, come up."

"Good."

The sachem seized the lasso, and by the strength of his wrists raised himself to the branch, where Valentine and Curumilla received him.

"Here I am," he said.

"By what chance are you hunting in the forest at this time of night?" the hunter asked him.

Unicorn told him in a few words what had occurred. At this narration Valentine frowned, and in his turn informed the chief of what he had done.

"It is serious," Unicorn said, with a shake of his head.

"It is," Valentine answered; "it is plain the men we seek are not far from here. Perhaps they are listening to us."

"It is possible," Unicorn muttered; "but what is to be done in the darkness?"

"Good! Let us be as clever as they. How many warriors have you down there?"

"Ten, I believe."

"Good. Have you among them any in whom you can trust?"

"All," the sachem answered, proudly.

"I do not allude to courage, but to experience."

"Wah! I have Spider."

"That's the man. He will take our place here with his warriors; he will cut off the communication aloft, while my comrades and I follow you. I should like to inspect the spot where your prisoner was tied up."

All was arranged as Valentine proposed. Spider established himself on the trees with his warriors, with orders to keep a good look-out; and Valentine, now sure of having raised an impassible barrier before Red Cedar, prepared to go to the camp, accompanied by Unicorn. Curumilla again interposed.

"Why go down?" he said.

Valentine was so well acquainted with his comrade's way of speaking, that he understood him at half a word.

"True," he said to Unicorn; "let us go to the camp, proceeding from branch to branch. Curumilla is right; in that way, if Red Cedar is concealed in the neighbourhood, we shall discover him."

The Comanche Sachem nodded his head in assent, and they set out. They had been walking for about half an hour, when Curumilla, who was in front, stopped and uttered a suppressed cry. The hunters raised their heads, and perceived, a few yards above them, an enormous black mass, carelessly swaying about.

"Well," Valentine said, "what is that?"

"A bear," Curumilla replied.

"Indeed!" said Don Pablo; "it is a splendid black bear."

"Let us give him a bullet," Don Miguel remarked.

"Do not fire, for Heaven's sake!" Don Pablo exclaimed eagerly, "it would give an alarm and warn the fellows we are looking for of the spot where we are."

"Still, I should like to collar it," Valentine observed, "were it only for its fur."

"No," Unicorn peremptorily said, who had hitherto been silent, "bears are the cousins of my family."

"In that case it is different," said the hunter, concealing with difficulty an ironical smile.

The prairie Indians, as we think we have said before, are excessively superstitious. Among other articles of faith, they believe they spring from certain animals, which they treat as relatives, and for which they profess a profound respect, which does not prevent them, however, from killing them occasionally, as, for instance, when they are pressed by hunger, as frequently happens; but we must do the Indians the justice of saying, that they never proceed to such extremities with their relatives without asking their pardon a thousand times, and first explaining to them that hunger alone compelled them to have recourse to this extreme measure to support life.

Unicorn had no need of provisions at this moment, for his camp was choked with them, hence he displayed a praiseworthy politeness and gallantry to his cousin Bruin. He bowed to him, and spoke to him for some minutes in the most affectionate way, while the bear continued to sway about, apparently not attaching great importance to the chief's remarks, and rather annoyed than flattered by the compliments his cousin paid him. The chief, internally piqued by this indifference in such bad taste, gave a parting bow to the bear, and went on. The little party advanced for some time in silence.

"I do not care," Valentine suddenly said; "I do not know why, but I should have liked to have your cousin's hide, chief."

"Wah!" Unicorn answered, "there are buffaloes in camp."

"I know that very well," Valentine said, "so that is not my reason."

"What is it, then?"

"I don't know, but that bear did not seem to me all right, and had a suspicious look about it."

"My brother is jesting."

"No; on my word, chief, that animal did not seem to me true. For a trifle, I would return and have it out."

"Does my brother think, then, that Unicorn is a child, who cannot recognise an animal?" the sachem asked, haughtily.

"Heaven forbid my having such a thought, chief; I know you are an experienced warrior, but the cleverest men may be taken in."

"Oh! Oh! what does my brother suppose, then?"

"Will you have my honest opinion?"

"Yes, my brother will speak; he is a great hunter, his knowledge is immense."

"No, I am only an ignorant fellow, but I have carefully studied the habits of wild beasts."

"Well," Don Miguel asked, "your opinion is that the bear – ?"

"Is Red Cedar, or one of his sons," Valentine quickly interrupted.

"What makes you think so?"

"Just this: at this hour wild beasts have gone down to drink; but even supposing that bear had returned already, do you not know that all animals fly from man? This one, dazzled by the light, startled by the cries it heard in the usually quiet forest, ought to have tried to escape if it obeyed its instincts, which would have been easy to do, instead of impudently dancing before us at a height of one hundred feet from the ground; the more so, because the bear is too prudent and selfish an animal to confide its precious carcase so thoughtlessly to such slender branches as those on which it was balancing. Hum! The more I reflect, the more persuaded I am that this animal is a man."

The hunters, and Unicorn himself, who listened with the utmost attention to Valentine's words, were struck with the truth of his remarks; numerous details which had escaped them now returned to their minds, and corroborated the Trail-hunter's suspicions.

"It is possible," Don Miguel said, "and for my part I am not indisposed to believe it."

"Good gracious!" Valentine went on, "You can understand that on so dark a night as this it was easy for the chief, in spite of all his experience, to be deceived – especially at such a distance as we were from the animal, which we only glimpsed; still, we committed a grave fault, and I first of all, in not trying to acquire a certainty."

"Ah!" the Indian said, "my brother is right; wisdom resides in him."

"Now it is too late to go back – the fellow will have decamped," Valentine remarked, thoughtfully; "but," he added a moment after, as he looked round, "where on earth is Curumilla?"

At the same instant a loud noise of breaking branches, followed by a suppressed cry, was heard a little distance off.

"Oh, oh!" Valentine said, "Can the bear be at any tricks?"

The cry of the jay was heard.

"That is Curumilla's signal," said Valentine; "what the deuce can he be up to?"

"Let us go back and see," Don Miguel remarked.

"By Jove! Do you fancy I should desert my old companion so?" Valentine exclaimed, as he replied to his friend by a similar cry to the one he had given.

The hunters hurried back as quickly as the narrow and dangerous path they were following allowed. Curumilla, comfortably seated on a branch whose foliage completely hid him from anyone who might be spying overhead, was laughing to himself. It was so extraordinary to see the Ulmen laugh, and the hour seemed so unsuited for it, that Valentine was alarmed, and at the first moment was not far from believing that his worthy friend had suddenly gone mad.

"Halloh, chief," he said, as he looked round, "tell me why you are laughing so. Were it only to follow your example, I should be glad to know the cause of this extreme gaiety."

Curumilla fixed his intelligent eye on him, and replied, with a smile full of good humour —

"The Ulmen is pleased."

"I can see that," Valentine replied, "but I do not know why, and want to do so."

"Curumilla has killed the bear," the Aucas said, sententiously.

"Nonsense!" Valentine remarked, in surprise.

"My brother can look, there is the chief's cousin."

Unicorn looked savage, but Valentine and his friends peered in the direction indicated by the Araucano. Curumilla's lasso, securely fastened to the branch on which the hunters were standing, hung downwards, with a black and clumsy mass swaying from its extremity. It was the bear's carcass.

Curumilla, during the conversation between Unicorn and his relative, carefully watched the animal's movement; like Valentine, its motions did not seem to him natural enough, and he wished to know the truth. Consequently, he waited the departure of his friends, fastened his lasso to a branch, and while the bear was carelessly descending from its perch, fancying it had got rid of its visitors, Curumilla lassoed it. At this unexpected attack the animal tottered and lost its balance – in short, it fell, and remaining suspended in the air; thanks to the slip knot, which pressed its throat and saved it from broken bones; as a recompense, however, it was strangled.