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When I tried to rise, my captors tautened the rope and dragged me along the ground. Resistance being futile, I resigned myself to my fate. As Mamcuna's affianced husband, I was a person of importance, and they were evidently at a loss how to dispose of me. If they treated me roughly, they might incur her displeasure. The discussion was long and rather stormy.
One good result of our betrothal, if I may so call it, was that the preparations for the wedding took up so much of Mamcuna's time that she had none left for me, and I had leisure and opportunity to contrive a plan of escape, if I could, for, as I quickly discovered, the difficulties in the way were almost if not altogether insurmountable.
Though the caciques had not dared to make any open protest against Mamcuna's matrimonial project, I knew that they were bitterly opposed to it, and nothing, I felt sure, would please them better than to kindle the queen's jealousy by making it appear that I was engaged in an intrigue with one of Chimu's wives. Yet no, I could not believe it. No Christian woman would play so base a part.
Save for an occasional outburst of homicidal mania and his abnormal size and strength, the man-killer did not materially differ from the other nandus of Mamcuna's flock. His keeper controlled the bird without difficulty, and I had several times seen him mount and ride it round an inclosure. The American ostrich.
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