Glenarvan was regretting this exceedingly, when he unexpectedly met with
a singular justification of his rendering of the eventful document.
In pursuing the course the travelers had laid down for themselves, they
had several times crossed the routes over the plains in common use, but
had struck into none of them. Hitherto Thalcave had made no remark about
this. He understood quite well, however, that they were not bound for
any particular town, or village, or settlement. Every morning they set
out in a straight line toward the rising sun, and went on without the
least deviation. Moreover, it must have struck Thalcave that instead
of being the guide he was guided; yet, with true Indian reserve, he
maintained absolute silence. But on reaching a particular point, he
checked his horse suddenly, and said to Paganel:
“The Carmen route.”
“Yes, my good Patagonian,” replied Paganel in his best Spanish; “the
route from Carmen to Mendoza.”
“We are not going to take it?”
“No,” replied Paganel.
“Where are we going then?”
“Always to the east.”
“That’s going nowhere.”
“Who knows?”
Thalcave was silent, and gazed at the geographer with an air of profound
surprise. He had no suspicion that Paganel was joking, for an Indian is
always grave.
“You are not going to Carmen, then?” he added, after a moment’s pause.
“No.”
“Nor to Mendoza?”
“No, nor to Mendoza.”
Just then Glenarvan came up to ask the reason of the stoppage, and what
he and Thalcave were discussing.
“He wanted to know whether we were going to Carmen or Mendoza, and was
very much surprised at my negative reply to both questions.”
“Well, certainly, it must seem strange to him.”
“I think so. He says we are going nowhere.”
“Well, Paganel, I wonder if it is possible to make him understand the
object of our expedition, and what our motive is for always going east.”
“That would be a difficult matter, for an Indian knows nothing about
degrees, and the finding of the document would appear to him a mere
fantastic story.”
“Is it the story he would not understand, or the storyteller?” said
McNabbs, quietly.
“Ah, McNabbs, I see you have small faith in my Spanish yet.”
“Well, try it, my good friend.”
“So I will.”
And turning round to the Patagonian he began his narrative, breaking
down frequently for the want of a word, and the difficulty of making
certain details intelligible to a half-civilized Indian. It was quite
a sight to see the learned geographer. He gesticulated and articulated,
and so worked himself up over it, that the big drops of sweat fell in a
cascade down his forehead on to his chest. When his tongue failed, his
arms were called to aid. Paganel got down on the ground and traced a
geographical map on the sand, showing where the lines of latitude and
longitude cross and where the two oceans were, along which the Carmen
route led. Thalcave looked on composedly, without giving any indication
of comprehending or not comprehending.
The lesson had lasted half an hour, when the geographer left off, wiped
his streaming face, and waited for the Patagonian to speak.
“Does he understand?” said Glenarvan.
“That remains to be seen; but if he doesn’t, I give it up,” replied
Paganel.
Thalcave neither stirred nor spoke. His eyes remained fixed on the lines
drawn on the sand, now becoming fast effaced by the wind.
“Well?” said Paganel to him at length.
The Patagonian seemed not to hear. Paganel fancied he could detect an
ironical smile already on the lips of the Major, and determined to carry
the day, was about to recommence his geographical illustrations, when
the Indian stopped him by a gesture, and said:
“You are in search of a prisoner?”
“Yes,” replied Paganel.
“And just on this line between the setting and rising sun?” added
Thalcave, speaking in Indian fashion of the route from west to east.
“Yes, yes, that’s it.”
“And it’s your God,” continued the guide, “that has sent you the secret
of this prisoner on the waves.”
“God himself.”
“His will be accomplished then,” replied the native almost solemnly. “We
will march east, and if it needs be, to the sun.”
Paganel, triumphing in his pupil, immediately translated his replies to
his companions, and exclaimed:
“What an intelligent race! All my explanations would have been lost on
nineteen in every twenty of the peasants in my own country.”
Glenarvan requested him to ask the Patagonian if he had heard of any
foreigners who had fallen into the hands of the Indians of the Pampas.
Paganel did so, and waited an answer.
“Perhaps I have.”
The reply was no sooner translated than the Patagonian found himself
surrounded by the seven men questioning him with eager glances. Paganel
was so excited, he could hardly find words, and he gazed at the grave
Indian as if he could read the reply on his lips.
Each word spoken by Thalcave was instantly translated, so that the whole
party seemed to hear him speak in their mother tongue.
“And what about the prisoner?” asked Paganel.
“He was a foreigner.”
“You have seen him?”
“No; but I have heard the Indian speak of him. He is brave; he has the
heart of a bull.”
“The heart of a bull!” said Paganel. “Ah, this magnificent Patagonian
language. You understand him, my friends, he means a courageous man.”
“My father!” exclaimed Robert Grant, and, turning to Paganel, he asked
what the Spanish was for, “Is it my father.”
“-Es mio padre-,” replied the geographer.
Immediately taking Thalcave’s hands in his own, the boy said, in a soft
tone:
“-Es mio padre-.”
“-Suo padre-,” replied the Patagonian, his face lighting up.
He took the child in his arms, lifted him up on his horse, and gazed
at him with peculiar sympathy. His intelligent face was full of quiet
feeling.
But Paganel had not completed his interrogations. “This prisoner, who
was he? What was he doing? When had Thalcave heard of him?” All these
questions poured upon him at once.
He had not long to wait for an answer, and learned that the European
was a slave in one of the tribes that roamed the country between the
Colorado and the Rio Negro.
“But where was the last place he was in?”
“With the Cacique Calfoucoura.”
“In the line we have been following?”
“Yes.”
“And who is this Cacique?”
“The chief of the Poyuches Indians, a man with two tongues and two
hearts.”
“That’s to say false in speech and false in action,” said Paganel, after
he had translated this beautiful figure of the Patagonian language.
“And can we deliver our friend?” he added.
“You may if he is still in the hands of the Indians.”
“And when did you last hear of him?”
“A long while ago; the sun has brought two summers since then to the
Pampas.”
The joy of Glenarvan can not be described. This reply agreed perfectly
with the date of the document. But one question still remained for him
to put to Thalcave.
“You spoke of a prisoner,” he said; “but were there not three?”
“I don’t know,” said Thalcave.
“And you know nothing of his present situation?”
“Nothing.”
This ended the conversation. It was quite possible that the three men
had become separated long ago; but still this much was certain, that the
Indians had spoken of a European that was in their power; and the date
of the captivity, and even the descriptive phrase about the captive,
evidently pointed to Harry Grant.
CHAPTER XVII A SERIOUS NECESSITY
THE Argentine Pampas extend from the thirty-fourth to the fortieth
degree of southern latitude. The word PAMPA, of Araucanian origin,
signifies -grass plain-, and justly applies to the whole region. The
mimosas growing on the western part, and the substantial herbage on the
eastern, give those plains a peculiar appearance. The soil is composed
of sand and red or yellow clay, and this is covered by a layer of
earth, in which the vegetation takes root. The geologist would find rich
treasures in the tertiary strata here, for it is full of antediluvian
remains--enormous bones, which the Indians attribute to some gigantic
race that lived in a past age.
The horses went on at a good pace through the thick PAJA-BRAVA, the
grass of the Pampas, -par excellence-, so high and thick that the
Indians find shelter in it from storms. At certain distances, but
increasingly seldom, there were wet, marshy spots, almost entirely
under water, where the willows grew, and a plant called the -Gygnerium
argenteum-. Here the horses drank their fill greedily, as if bent on
quenching their thirst for past, present and future. Thalcave went first
to beat the bushes and frighten away the cholinas, a most dangerous
species of viper, the bite of which kills an ox in less than an hour.
For two days they plodded steadily across this arid and deserted plain.
The dry heat became severe. There were not only no RIOS, but even the
ponds dug out by the Indians were dried up. As the drought seemed to
increase with every mile, Paganel asked Thalcave when he expected to
come to water.
“At Lake Salinas,” replied the Indian.
“And when shall we get there?”
“To-morrow evening.”
When the Argentines travel in the Pampas they generally dig wells, and
find water a few feet below the surface. But the travelers could not
fall back on this resource, not having the necessary implements. They
were therefore obliged to husband the small provision of water they had
still left, and deal it out in rations, so that if no one had enough to
satisfy his thirst no one felt it too painful.
They halted at evening after a course of thirty miles and eagerly looked
forward to a good night’s rest to compensate for the fatigue of day. But
their slumbers were invaded by a swarm of mosquitoes, which allowed them
no peace. Their presence indicated a change of wind which shifted to the
north. A south or southwest wind generally puts to flight these little
pests.
Even these petty ills of life could not ruffle the Major’s equanimity;
but Paganel, on the contrary, was perfectly exasperated by such trifling
annoyances. He abused the poor mosquitoes desperately, and deplored
the lack of some acid lotion which would have eased the pain of their
stings. The Major did his best to console him by reminding him of the
fact that they had only to do with one species of insect, among the
300,000 naturalists reckon. He would listen to nothing, and got up in a
very bad temper.
He was quite willing to start at daybreak, however, for they had to get
to Lake Salinas before sundown. The horses were tired out and dying for
water, and though their riders had stinted themselves for their sakes,
still their ration was very insufficient. The drought was constantly
increasing, and the heat none the less for the wind being north, this
wind being the simoom of the Pampas.
There was a brief interruption this day to the monotony of the journey.
Mulrady, who was in front of the others, rode hastily back to report
the approach of a troop of Indians. The news was received with very
different feelings by Glenarvan and Thalcave. The Scotchman was glad
of the chance of gleaning some information about his shipwrecked
countryman, while the Patagonian hardly cared to encounter the nomadic
Indians of the prairie, knowing their bandit propensities. He rather
sought to avoid them, and gave orders to his party to have their arms in
readiness for any trouble.
Presently the nomads came in sight, and the Patagonian was reassured at
finding they were only ten in number. They came within a hundred yards
of them, and stopped. This was near enough to observe them distinctly.
They were fine specimens of the native races, which had been almost
entirely swept away in 1833 by General Rosas, tall in stature, with
arched forehead and olive complexion. They were dressed in guanaco
skins, and carried lances twenty feet long, knives, slings, bolas,
and lassos, and, by their dexterity in the management of their horses,
showed themselves to be accomplished riders.
They appeared to have stopped for the purpose of holding a council with
each other, for they shouted and gesticulated at a great rate. Glenarvan
determined to go up to them; but he had no sooner moved forward than
the whole band wheeled round, and disappeared with incredible speed. It
would have been useless for the travelers to attempt to overtake them
with such wornout horses.
“The cowards!” exclaimed Paganel.
“They scampered off too quick for honest folks,” said McNabbs.
“Who are these Indians, Thalcave?” asked Paganel.
“Gauchos.”
“The Gauchos!” cried Paganel; and, turning to his companions, he added,
“we need not have been so much on our guard; there was nothing to fear.”
“How is that?” asked McNabbs.
“Because the Gauchos are inoffensive peasants.”
“You believe that, Paganel?”
“Certainly I do. They took us for robbers, and fled in terror.”
“I rather think they did not dare to attack us,” replied Glenarvan, much
vexed at not being able to enter into some sort of communication with
those Indians, whatever they were.
“That’s my opinion too,” said the Major, “for if I am not mistaken,
instead of being harmless, the Gauchos are formidable out-and-out
bandits.”
“The idea!” exclaimed Paganel.
And forthwith commenced a lively discussion of this ethnological
thesis--so lively that the Major became excited, and, quite contrary to
his usual suavity, said bluntly:
“I believe you are wrong, Paganel.”
“Wrong?” replied Paganel.
“Yes. Thalcave took them for robbers, and he knows what he is talking
about.”
“Well, Thalcave was mistaken this time,” retorted Paganel, somewhat
sharply. “The Gauchos are agriculturists and shepherds, and nothing
else, as I have stated in a pamphlet on the natives of the Pampas,
written by me, which has attracted some notice.”
[illustration omitted] [page intentionally blank]
“Well, well, you have committed an error, that’s all, Monsieur Paganel.”
“What, Monsieur McNabbs! you tell me I have committed an error?”
“An inadvertence, if you like, which you can put among the ERRATA in the
next edition.”
Paganel, highly incensed at his geographical knowledge being brought in
question, and even jested about, allowed his ill-humor to get the better
of him, and said:
“Know, sir, that my books have no need of such ERRATA.”
“Indeed! Well, on this occasion they have, at any rate,” retorted
McNabbs, quite as obstinate as his opponent.
“Sir, I think you are very annoying to-day.”
“And I think you are very crabbed.”
Glenarvan thought it was high time to interfere, for the discussion was
getting too hot, so he said:
“Come, now, there is no doubt one of you is very teasing and the other
is very crabbed, and I must say I am surprised at both of you.”
The Patagonian, without understanding the cause, could see that the two
friends were quarreling. He began to smile, and said quietly:
“It’s the north wind.”
“The north wind,” exclaimed Paganel; “what’s the north wind to do with
it?”
“Ah, it is just that,” said Glenarvan. “It’s the north wind that has
put you in a bad temper. I have heard that, in South America, the wind
greatly irritates the nervous system.”
“By St. Patrick, Edward you are right,” said the Major, laughing
heartily.
But Paganel, in a towering rage, would not give up the contest, and
turned upon Glenarvan, whose intervention in this jesting manner he
resented.
“And so, my Lord, my nervous system is irritated?” he said.
“Yes, Paganel, it is the north wind--a wind which causes many a crime in
the Pampas, as the TRAMONTANE does in the Campagna of Rome.”
“Crimes!” returned the geographer. “Do I look like a man that would
commit crimes?”
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
“Tell me at once that I want to assassinate you?”
“Well, I am really afraid,” replied Glenarvan, bursting into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which all others joined.
Paganel said no more, but went off in front alone, and came back in
a few minutes quite himself, as if he had completely forgotten his
grievance.
At eight o’clock in the evening, Thalcave, who was considerably in
advance of the rest, descried in the distance the much-desired lake, and
in less than a quarter of an hour they reached its banks; but a grievous
disappointment awaited them--the lake was dried up.
CHAPTER XVIII IN SEARCH OF WATER
LAKE SALINAS ends the string of lagoons connected with the Sierras
Ventana and Guamini. Numerous expeditions were formerly made there from
Buenos Ayres, to collect the salt deposited on its banks, as the waters
contain great quantities of chloride of sodium.
But when Thalcave spoke of the lake as supplying drinkable water he was
thinking of the RIOS of fresh water which run into it. Those streams,
however, were all dried up also; the burning sun had drunk up every
thing liquid, and the consternation of the travelers may be imagined at
the discovery.
Some action must be taken immediately, however; for what little water
still remained was almost bad, and could not quench thirst. Hunger and
fatigue were forgotten in the face of this imperious necessity. A sort
of leather tent, called a ROUKAH, which had been left by the natives,
afforded the party a temporary resting-place, and the weary horses
stretched themselves along the muddy banks, and tried to browse on the
marine plants and dry reeds they found there--nauseous to the taste as
they must have been.
As soon as the whole party were ensconced in the ROUKAH, Paganel asked
Thalcave what he thought was best to be done. A rapid conversation
followed, a few words of which were intelligible to Glenarvan. Thalcave
spoke calmly, but the lively Frenchman gesticulated enough for both.
After a little, Thalcave sat silent and folded his arms.
“What does he say?” asked Glenarvan. “I fancied he was advising us to
separate.”
“Yes, into two parties. Those of us whose horses are so done out with
fatigue and thirst that they can scarcely drag one leg after the other,
are to continue the route as they best can, while the others, whose
steeds are fresher, are to push on in advance toward the river Guamini,
which throws itself into Lake San Lucas about thirty-one miles off. If
there should be water enough in the river, they are to wait on the banks
till their companions reach them; but should it be dried up, they will
hasten back and spare them a useless journey.”
“And what will we do then?” asked Austin.
“Then we shall have to make up our minds to go seventy-two miles south,
as far as the commencement of the Sierra Ventana, where rivers abound.”
“It is wise counsel, and we will act upon it without loss of time. My
horse is in tolerable good trim, and I volunteer to accompany Thalcave.”
“Oh, my Lord, take me,” said Robert, as if it were a question of some
pleasure party.
“But would you be able for it, my boy?”
“Oh, I have a fine beast, which just wants to have a gallop. Please, my
Lord, to take me.”
“Come, then, my boy,” said Glenarvan, delighted not to leave Robert
behind. “If we three don’t manage to find out fresh water somewhere,” he
added, “we must be very stupid.”
“Well, well, and what about me?” said Paganel.
“Oh, my dear Paganel, you must stay with the reserve corps,” replied the
Major. “You are too well acquainted with the 37th parallel and the river
Guamini and the whole Pampas for us to let you go. Neither Mulrady,
nor Wilson, nor myself would be able to rejoin Thalcave at the given
rendezvous, but we will put ourselves under the banner of the brave
Jacques Paganel with perfect confidence.”
“I resign myself,” said the geographer, much flattered at having supreme
command.
“But mind, Paganel, no distractions,” added the Major. “Don’t you take
us to the wrong place--to the borders of the Pacific, for instance.”
“Oh, you insufferable Major; it would serve you right,” replied Paganel,
laughing. “But how will you manage to understand what Thalcave says,
Glenarvan?” he continued.
“I suppose,” replied Glenarvan, “the Patagonian and I won’t have much
to talk about; besides, I know a few Spanish words, and, at a pinch,
I should not fear either making him understand me, or my understanding
him.”
“Go, then, my worthy friend,” said Paganel.
“We’ll have supper first,” rejoined Glenarvan, “and then sleep, if we
can, till it is starting time.”
The supper was not very reviving without drink of any kind, and they
tried to make up for the lack of it by a good sleep. But Paganel dreamed
of water all night, of torrents and cascades, and rivers and ponds, and
streams and brooks--in fact, he had a complete nightmare.
Next morning, at six o’clock, the horses of Thalcave, Glenarvan and
Robert were got ready. Their last ration of water was given them, and
drunk with more avidity than satisfaction, for it was filthy, disgusting
stuff. The three travelers then jumped into their saddles, and set off,
shouting “-Au revoir!-” to their companions.
“Don’t come back whatever you do,” called Paganel after them.
The -Desertio de las Salinas-, which they had to traverse, is a dry
plain, covered with stunted trees not above ten feet high, and small
mimosas, which the Indians call -curra-mammel;- and JUMES, a bushy
shrub, rich in soda. Here and there large spaces were covered with salt,
which sparkled in the sunlight with astonishing brilliancy. These might
easily have been taken for sheets of ice, had not the intense heat
forbidden the illusion; and the contrast these dazzling white sheets
presented to the dry, burned-up ground gave the desert a most peculiar
character. Eighty miles south, on the contrary, the Sierra Ventana,
toward which the travelers might possibly have to betake themselves
should the Guamini disappoint their hopes, the landscape was
totally different. There the fertility is splendid; the pasturage is
incomparable. Unfortunately, to reach them would necessitate a march of
one hundred and thirty miles south; and this was why Thalcave thought it
best to go first to Guamini, as it was not only much nearer, but also on
the direct line of route.
The three horses went forward might and main, as if instinctively
knowing whither they were bound. Thaouka especially displayed a courage
that neither fatigue nor hunger could damp. He bounded like a bird over
the dried-up CANADAS and the bushes of CURRA-MAMMEL, his loud, joyous
neighing seeming to bode success to the search. The horses of Glenarvan
and Robert, though not so light-footed, felt the spur of his example,
and followed him bravely. Thalcave inspirited his companions as much as
Thaouka did his four-footed brethren. He sat motionless in the saddle,
but often turned his head to look at Robert, and ever and anon gave
him a shout of encouragement and approval, as he saw how well he rode.
Certainly the boy deserved praise, for he was fast becoming an excellent
cavalier.
“Bravo! Robert,” said Glenarvan. “Thalcave is evidently congratulating
you, my boy, and paying you compliments.”
“What for, my Lord?”
“For your good horsemanship.”
“I can hold firm on, that’s all,” replied Robert blushing with pleasure
at such an encomium.
“That is the principal thing, Robert; but you are too modest. I tell you
that some day you will turn out an accomplished horseman.”
“What would papa say to that?” said Robert, laughing. “He wants me to be
a sailor.”
“The one won’t hinder the other. If all cavaliers wouldn’t make good
sailors, there is no reason why all sailors should not make good
horsemen. To keep one’s footing on the yards must teach a man to hold
on firm; and as to managing the reins, and making a horse go through all
sorts of movements, that’s easily acquired. Indeed, it comes naturally.”
“Poor father,” said Robert; “how he will thank you for saving his life.”
“You love him very much, Robert?”
“Yes, my Lord, dearly. He was so good to me and my sister. We were his
only thought: and whenever he came home from his voyages, we were sure
of some SOUVENIR from all the places he had been to; and, better still,
of loving words and caresses. Ah! if you knew him you would love him,
too. Mary is most like him. He has a soft voice, like hers. That’s
strange for a sailor, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Robert, very strange.”
“I see him still,” the boy went on, as if speaking to himself. “Good,
brave papa. He put me to sleep on his knee, crooning an old Scotch
ballad about the lochs of our country. The time sometimes comes back to
me, but very confused like. So it does to Mary, too. Ah, my Lord, how we
loved him. Well, I do think one needs to be little to love one’s father
like that.”
“Yes, and to be grown up, my child, to venerate him,” replied Glenarvan,
deeply touched by the boy’s genuine affection.
During this conversation the horses had been slackening speed, and were
only walking now.
“You will find him?” said Robert again, after a few minutes’ silence.
“Yes, we’ll find him,” was Glenarvan’s reply, “Thalcave has set us on
the track, and I have great confidence in him.”
“Thalcave is a brave Indian, isn’t he?” said the boy.
“That indeed he is.”
“Do you know something, my Lord?”
“What is it, and then I will tell you?”
“That all the people you have with you are brave. Lady Helena, whom I
love so, and the Major, with his calm manner, and Captain Mangles, and
Monsieur Paganel, and all the sailors on the DUNCAN. How courageous and
devoted they are.”
“Yes, my boy, I know that,” replied Glenarvan.
“And do you know that you are the best of all.”
“No, most certainly I don’t know that.”
“Well, it is time you did, my Lord,” said the boy, seizing his
lordship’s hand, and covering it with kisses.
Glenarvan shook his head, but said no more, as a gesture from Thalcave
made them spur on their horses and hurry forward.
But it was soon evident that, with the exception of Thaouka, the wearied
animals could not go quicker than a walking pace. At noon they were
obliged to let them rest for an hour. They could not go on at all, and
refused to eat the ALFAFARES, a poor, burnt-up sort of lucerne that grew
there.
Glenarvan began to be uneasy. Tokens of sterility were not the least on
the decrease, and the want of water might involve serious calamities.
Thalcave said nothing, thinking probably, that it would be time enough
to despair if the Guamini should be dried up--if, indeed, the heart of
an Indian can ever despair.
Spur and whip had both to be employed to induce the poor animals to
resume the route, and then they only crept along, for their strength was
gone.
Thaouka, indeed, could have galloped swiftly enough, and reached the
RIO in a few hours, but Thalcave would not leave his companions behind,
alone in the midst of a desert.
It was hard work, however, to get the animal to consent to walk quietly.
He kicked, and reared, and neighed violently, and was subdued at last
more by his master’s voice than hand. Thalcave positively talked to the
beast, and Thaouka understood perfectly, though unable to reply, for,
after a great deal of arguing, the noble creature yielded, though he
still champed the bit.
Thalcave did not understand Thaouka, it turned out, though Thaouka
understood him. The intelligent animal felt humidity in the atmosphere
and drank it in with frenzy, moving and making a noise with his
tongue, as if taking deep draughts of some cool refreshing liquid. The
Patagonian could not mistake him now--water was not far off.
The two other horses seemed to catch their comrade’s meaning, and,
inspired by his example, made a last effort, and galloped forward after
the Indian.
About three o’clock a white line appeared in a dip of the road, and
seemed to tremble in the sunlight.
“Water!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes, yes! it is water!” shouted Robert.
They were right; and the horses knew it too, for there was no need
now to urge them on; they tore over the ground as if mad, and in a few
minutes had reached the river, and plunged in up to their chests.
Their masters had to go on too, whether they would or not but they were
so rejoiced at being able to quench their thirst, that this compulsory
bath was no grievance.
“Oh, how delicious this is!” exclaimed Robert, taking a deep draught.
“Drink moderately, my boy,” said Glenarvan; but he did not set the
example.
Thalcave drank very quietly, without hurrying himself, taking small
gulps, but “as long as a lazo,” as the Patagonians say. He seemed as if
he were never going to leave off, and really there was some danger of
his swallowing up the whole river.
At last Glenarvan said:
“Well, our friends won’t be disappointed this time; they will be sure
of finding clear, cool water when they get here--that is to say, if
Thalcave leaves any for them.”
“But couldn’t we go to meet them? It would spare them several hours’
suffering and anxiety.”
“You’re right my boy; but how could we carry them this water? The
leather bottles were left with Wilson. No; it is better for us to wait
for them as we agreed. They can’t be here till about the middle of
the night, so the best thing we can do is to get a good bed and a good
supper ready for them.”
Thalcave had not waited for Glenarvan’s proposition to prepare an
encampment. He had been fortunate enough to discover on the banks of
the -rio a ramada-, a sort of enclosure, which had served as a fold for
flocks, and was shut in on three sides. A more suitable place could
not be found for their night’s lodging, provided they had no fear of
sleeping in the open air beneath the star-lit heavens; and none of
Thalcave’s companions had much solicitude on that score. Accordingly
they took possession at once, and stretched themselves at full length on
the ground in the bright sunshine, to dry their dripping garments.
“Well, now we’ve secured a lodging, we must think of supper,” said
Glenarvan. “Our friends must not have reason to complain of the couriers
they sent to precede them; and if I am not much mistaken, they will
be very satisfied. It strikes me that an hour’s shooting won’t be lost
time. Are you ready, Robert?”
“Yes, my Lord,” replied the boy, standing up, gun in hand.
Why Glenarvan proposed this was, that the banks of the Guamini seemed to
be the general rendezvous of all the game in the surrounding plains.
A sort of partridge peculiar to the Pampas, called TINAMOUS; black
wood-hens; a species of plover, called TERU-TERU; yellow rays, and
waterfowl with magnificent green plumage, rose in coveys. No quadrupeds,
however, were visible, but Thalcave pointed to the long grass and thick
brushwood, and gave his friends to understand they were lying there in
concealment.
Disdaining the feathered tribes when more substantial game was at hand,
the hunters’ first shots were fired into the underwood. Instantly there
rose by the hundred roebucks and guanacos, like those that had swept
over them that terrible night on the Cordilleras, but the timid
creatures were so frightened that they were all out of gunshot in a
twinkling. The hunters were obliged to content themselves with humbler
game, though in an alimentary point of view nothing better could be
wished. A dozen of red partridges and rays were speedily brought
down, and Glenarvan also managed very cleverly to kill a TAY-TETRE,
or peccary, a pachydermatous animal, the flesh of which is excellent
eating.
In less than half an hour the hunters had all the game they required.
Robert had killed a curious animal belonging to the order EDENTATA, an
armadillo, a sort of tatou, covered with a hard bony shell, in movable
pieces, and measuring a foot and a half long. It was very fat and would
make an excellent dish, the Patagonian said. Robert was very proud of
his success.
Thalcave did his part by capturing a NANDOU, a species of ostrich,
remarkable for its extreme swiftness.
There could be no entrapping such an animal, and the Indian did not
attempt it. He urged Thaouka to a gallop, and made a direct attack,
knowing that if the first aim missed the NANDOU would soon tire out
horse and rider by involving them in an inextricable labyrinth of
windings. The moment, therefore, that Thalcave got to a right distance,
he flung his BOLAS with such a powerful hand, and so skillfully, that he
caught the bird round the legs and paralyzed his efforts at once. In a
few seconds it lay flat on the ground.
The Indian had not made his capture for the mere pleasure and glory
of such a novel chase. The flesh of the NANDOU is highly esteemed, and
Thalcave felt bound to contribute his share of the common repast.
They returned to the RAMADA, bringing back the string of partridges,
the ostrich, the peccary, and the armadillo. The ostrich and the peccary
were prepared for cooking by divesting them of their tough skins, and
cutting them up into thin slices. As to the armadillo, he carries his
cooking apparatus with him, and all that had to be done was to place him
in his own shell over the glowing embers.
The substantial dishes were reserved for the night-comers, and the three
hunters contented themselves with devouring the partridges, and washed
down their meal with clear, fresh water, which was pronounced superior
to all the porter in the world, even to the famous Highland USQUEBAUGH,
or whisky.
The horses had not been overlooked. A large quantity of dry fodder was
discovered lying heaped up in the RAMADA, and this supplied them amply
with both food and bedding.
When all was ready the three companions wrapped themselves in the
ponchos, and stretched themselves on an eiderdown of ALFAFARES, the
usual bed of hunters on the Pampas.
CHAPTER XIX THE RED WOLVES
NIGHT came, but the orb of night was invisible to the inhabitants of the
earth, for she was just in her first quarter. The dim light of the
stars was all that illumined the plain. The waters of the Guamini
ran silently, like a sheet of oil over a surface of marble. Birds,
quadrupeds, and reptiles were resting motionless after the fatigues of
the day, and the silence of the desert brooded over the far-spreading
Pampas.
Glenarvan, Robert, and Thalcave, had followed the common example, and
lay in profound slumber on their soft couch of lucerne. The worn-out
horses had stretched themselves full length on the ground, except
Thaouka, who slept standing, true to his high blood, proud in repose
as in action, and ready to start at his master’s call. Absolute silence
reigned within the inclosure, over which the dying embers of the fire
shed a fitful light.
However, the Indian’s sleep did not last long; for about ten o’clock he
woke, sat up, and turned his ear toward the plain, listening intently,
with half-closed eyes. An uneasy look began to depict itself on his
usually impassive face. Had he caught scent of some party of Indian
marauders, or of jaguars, water tigers, and other terrible animals that
haunt the neighborhood of rivers? Apparently it was the latter, for
he threw a rapid glance on the combustible materials heaped up in the
inclosure, and the expression of anxiety on his countenance seemed to
deepen. This was not surprising, as the whole pile of ALFAFARES would
soon burn out and could only ward off the attacks of wild beasts for a
brief interval.
There was nothing to be done in the circumstances but wait; and wait he
did, in a half-recumbent posture, his head leaning on his hands, and his
elbows on his knees, like a man roused suddenly from his night’s sleep.
A whole hour passed, and anyone except Thalcave would have lain down
again on his couch, reassured by the silence round him. But where a
stranger would have suspected nothing, the sharpened senses of the
Indian detected the approach of danger.
As he was thus watching and listening, Thaouka gave a low neigh, and
stretched his nostrils toward the entrance of the RAMADA.
This startled the Patagonian, and made him rise to his feet at once.
“Thaouka scents an enemy,” he said to himself, going toward the opening,
to make careful survey of the plains.
Silence still prevailed, but not tranquillity; for Thalcave caught a
glimpse of shadows moving noiselessly over the tufts of CURRA-MAMMEL.
Here and there luminous spots appeared, dying out and rekindling
constantly, in all directions, like fantastic lights dancing over the
surface of an immense lagoon. An inexperienced eye might have mistaken
them for fireflies, which shine at night in many parts of the Pampas;
but Thalcave was not deceived; he knew the enemies he had to deal with,
and lost no time in loading his carbine and taking up his post in front
of the fence.
He did not wait long, for a strange cry--a confused sound of barking and
howling--broke over the Pampas, followed next instant by the report of
the carbine, which made the uproar a hundred times worse.
Glenarvan and Robert woke in alarm, and started to their feet instantly.
“What is it?” exclaimed Robert.
“Is it the Indians?” asked Glenarvan.
“No,” replied Thalcave, “the AGUARAS.”
“AGUARAS?” said Robert, looking inquiringly at Glenarvan.
“Yes,” replied Glenarvan, “the red wolves of the Pampas.”
They seized their weapons at once, and stationed themselves beside
the Patagonian, who pointed toward the plain from whence the yelling
resounded.
Robert drew back involuntarily.
“You are not afraid of wolves, my boy?” said Glenarvan.
“No, my Lord,” said the lad in a firm tone, “and moreover, beside you I
am afraid of nothing.”
“So much the better. These AGUARAS are not very formidable either; and
if it were not for their number I should not give them a thought.”
“Never mind; we are all well armed; let them come.”
“We’ll certainly give them a warm reception,” rejoined Glenarvan.
His Lordship only spoke thus to reassure the child, for a secret terror
filled him at the sight of this legion of bloodthirsty animals let loose
on them at midnight.
There might possibly be some hundreds, and what could three men do, even
armed to the teeth, against such a multitude?
As soon as Thalcave said the word AGUARA, Glenarvan knew that he meant
the red wolf, for this is the name given to it by the Pampas Indians.
This voracious animal, called by naturalists the -Canis jubatus-, is
in shape like a large dog, and has the head of a fox. Its fur is a
reddish-cinnamon color, and there is a black mane all down the back.
It is a strong, nimble animal, generally inhabiting marshy places,
and pursuing aquatic animals by swimming, prowling about by night and
sleeping during the day. Its attacks are particularly dreaded at the
ESTANCIAS, or sheep stations, as it often commits considerable ravages,
carrying off the finest of the flock. Singly, the AGUARA is not much to
be feared; but they generally go in immense packs, and one had better
have to deal with a jaguar or cougar than with them.
Both from the noise of the howling and the multitude of shadows leaping
about, Glenarvan had a pretty good idea of the number of the wolves, and
he knew they had scented a good meal of human flesh or horse flesh,
and none of them would go back to their dens without a share. It was
certainly a very alarming situation to be in.
The assailants were gradually drawing closer. The horses displayed signs
of the liveliest terror, with the exception of Thaouka, who stamped his
foot, and tried to break loose and get out. His master could only calm
him by keeping up a low, continuous whistle.
Glenarvan and Robert had posted themselves so as to defend the opening
of the RAMADA. They were just going to fire into the nearest ranks of
the wolves when Thalcave lowered their weapons.
“What does Thalcave mean?” asked Robert.
“He forbids our firing.”
“And why?”
“Perhaps he thinks it is not the right time.”
But this was not the Indian’s reason, and so Glenarvan saw when he
lifted the powder-flask, showed him it was nearly empty.
“What’s wrong?” asked Robert.
“We must husband our ammunition,” was the reply. “To-day’s shooting has
cost us dear, and we are short of powder and shot. We can’t fire more
than twenty times.”
The boy made no reply, and Glenarvan asked him if he was frightened.
“No, my Lord,” he said.
“That’s right,” returned Glenarvan.
A fresh report resounded that instant. Thalcave had made short work of
one assailant more audacious than the rest, and the infuriated pack had
retreated to within a hundred steps of the inclosure.
On a sign from the Indian Glenarvan took his place, while Thalcave
went back into the inclosure and gathered up all the dried grass and
ALFAFARES, and, indeed, all the combustibles he could rake together,
and made a pile of them at the entrance. Into this he flung one of the
still-glowing embers, and soon the bright flames shot up into the dark
night. Glenarvan could now get a good glimpse of his antagonists, and
saw that it was impossible to exaggerate their numbers or their fury.
The barrier of fire just raised by Thalcave had redoubled their anger,
though it had cut off their approach. Several of them, however, urged on
by the hindmost ranks, pushed forward into the very flames, and burned
their paws for their pains.
From time to time another shot had to be fired, notwithstanding the
fire, to keep off the howling pack, and in the course of an hour fifteen
dead animals lay stretched on the prairie.
The situation of the besieged was, relatively speaking, less dangerous
now. As long as the powder lasted and the barrier of fire burned
on, there was no fear of being overmastered. But what was to be done
afterward, when both means of defense failed at once?
Glenarvan’s heart swelled as he looked at Robert. He forgot himself
in thinking of this poor child, as he saw him showing a courage so far
above his years. Robert was pale, but he kept his gun steady, and stood
with firm foot ready to meet the attacks of the infuriated wolves.
However, after Glenarvan had calmly surveyed the actual state of
affairs, he determined to bring things to a crisis.
“In an hour’s time,” he said, “we shall neither have powder nor fire. It
will never do to wait till then before we settle what to do.”
Accordingly, he went up to Thalcave, and tried to talk to him by the
help of the few Spanish words his memory could muster, though their
conversation was often interrupted by one or the other having to fire a
shot.
It was no easy task for the two men to understand each other, but, most
fortunately, Glenarvan knew a great deal of the peculiarities of the red
wolf; otherwise he could never have interpreted the Indian’s words and
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