Gustave Aimard
The Flying Horseman
CHAPTER VIII
THE GUIDE
Meanwhile, as we have seen in a preceding chapter, after the council held in the Valle del Tambo, Tyro had charged himself with the guidance of the little caravan, composed of two ladies, the French painter, the two gauchos, and himself.
As Tyro had foreseen, the travellers did not meet on this route any other obstacles than the material difficulties of the road – obstacles that by courage and perseverance they succeeded in overcoming.
The Guarani, as a warrior, thoroughly habituated to traverse an enemy's country, watched with extreme solicitude over the safety of those who had so frankly trusted to him, roaming continually round the caravan – in advance, in the rear, and on either side.
Every evening he camped in a position studied with care – a position which placed them, during their sleep, out of the range of a surprise.
The high peaks of the Cordilleras began by degrees to lower before the travellers. They had left the cold regions, and now found themselves in a temperate climate; the air became milder, the sun warmer, the atmosphere less sharp to breathe; the trees assumed less harsh tints, their branches were more leafy, and the birds appeared more numerous, and in brighter colours.
And the two ladies felt hope by degrees returning to their hearts, broken by suffering; and dimly saw, through a not distant future, the end of their misfortunes.
Some days had passed since their departure from the Valle del Tambo, when they found themselves almost in a civilised country, and although they had to redouble their prudence to escape the numerous bands of patriots which traversed the country in every direction, nevertheless, the prospect of soon getting away from these desolate mountains, in the midst of which they had so long wandered, rendered them joyous, and made them not only forget all they had suffered, but induced them to look at everything in a favourable light. For once, they were pursuing their journey gaily.
Tyro alone, who had taken on himself the responsibility of the general safety, did not give himself up to any foolish hope.
He knew, subtle Indian that he was, that the Montoneros, and other rovers on the highway or great plains, had the habit of hiding in the gorges of the mountains, to watch for the passing of travellers or caravans, and to dart on their prey, and carry it away, at the very moment when all danger seemed to have passed.
Tyro, deeply pondering on this circumstance – quite the reverse of his companions, whose features brightened more and more – became more and more gloomy, for he felt that each step that he made brought him nearer to a danger so much the more terrible, that it was, unless by a miracle from the Almighty, nearly inevitable.
On the day of which we speak, when, the camp was raised, and everyone ready to start, the Indian took the painter aside, and gave him all the information necessary to follow the path which opened into the defile, and turned round these abrupt flanks.
"Why so many details?" asked Emile; "Since you are with us, you will know how to guide us, I suppose."
"No, my friend, I shall not be with you," answered Tyro; "that is why I give you this information."
"What! You will not be with us!" cried the young man in surprise; "Where are you going then?"
"I shall be in the advance guard, my friend, in order to reconnoitre the country we must pass through."
"You are mad, my good Tyro; you know very well, and you have frequently told me so, that we have now nothing to fear. We are far from the Valle del Tambo, and the haunts of the Pincheyras. What is the use, then, of this superfluity of precaution?"
"My friend, although I, like yourself," coldly answered the Guarani, "am convinced that we are not threatened with any of the catastrophes which so long have been suspended over us, nevertheless, it would be terrible for us to fail at the very moment when we think we are safe; and as, in this matter, it is my honour which is at stake, let me, I beg, act in my own way."
"Be it so," said the young man; "do as you like, run, look, watch; I give you full liberty of action. We have with us two ladies whom I have sworn to save, and I have no right to be imprudent. Go, but do not be too long."
"As short a time as possible," answered he, bowing.
And putting his horse into a gallop, he darted forward, leaving the travellers to continue their journey.
"What has Tyro been doing to you, and why does he leave us thus?" asked the marchioness.
"He has been telling me, Madame," he answered, bowing to her, "the route we ought to take, and he has set off in advance as our trusty pioneer."
"Always devoted," replied the marchioness, smiling, "always faithful."
"Like his master," added, in a low voice, Doña Eva.
Several hours passed, and about eleven in the morning the travellers stopped under the shade of a clump of trees, so as to let the hottest part of the day pass.
Tyro had not reappeared; never since the commencement of the expedition had he made so long an absence. The painter felt uneasy, and several times had risen, and, with an anxious look, had examined the desolate route which stretched before him, till it was lost to sight. At last, about three in the afternoon, the young man gave the signal for starting.
They resumed their journey; only this time, instead of keeping near the ladies, Emile spurred his horse and dashed ahead.
The clump of trees under which the travellers had found a protecting shade had long disappeared in the distant bluish horizon, and the sun had begun sensibly to decline, when the painter perceived a horseman galloping towards him.
In this horseman the young man immediately recognised his guide.
Giving way, immediately, to the impatience which had so long tormented him, the painter put his horse into a gallop and soon rejoined him.
"Well," he asked, "what news?"
"Many things, my friend," resumed the Indian.
"I understand, pardieu!" cried he; "Only I wish to know whether these things are good or bad."
"That depends on how you judge them, my friend; for my part, I think them good."
"Let us have them, then."
"With all my heart; but perhaps it would be better, instead of remaining stationary in the middle of the route, if we continued our journey. I should like that at first you alone should hear what I have to tell you."
"You are right, my friend; let us push on then, and as we proceed you shall tell me what you have done," said the young man. "Now, speak," added he.
Tyro, by habit rather than from prudence, looked carefully round him.
"What I have to report is not much," he said, "but I think it very important for you."
"Go on!" answered the young man with impatience.
"Briefly, it is this. We are approaching the plains. The more we advance in this direction, the greater is the risk of finding enemies before us. We must, therefore, be continually on our guard against the traps that may be set for us. I do not know Why, but this morning, I felt myself seized with secret anxiety, without apparent cause."
"It is the same with me," interrupted the young man, who became suddenly sad; "I do not know what is passing within me, but I have the presentiment of a misfortune, or at least of an important event. Is it for good? Is it for evil? That is what I cannot say."
"I incline to the former opinion, my friend, and for this reason: this morning, after having for some minutes talked with you, I left you to go in search of news, as you know."
The painter nodded, and the Guarani continued:
"I followed the path for a long time without seeing anything suspicious; I was even preparing to retrace my steps to rejoin and reassure you; but I did not like to do so without taking a last precaution. I alighted, and with my ear to the ground, I listened. I then heard a distant sound, indistinct, but resembling that produced by a numerous troop of horsemen. I remounted and started ahead. A quarter of an hour afterwards all my doubts were removed; I was right; at about two gun shots before me I saw, coming at a moderate pace, the advance guard of this troop."
"The advance guard!" cried Emile; "They are soldiers then." "Partisans; but listen attentively, my friend; for now the question becomes more interesting."
"Speak! Speak!"
"You have heard, have you not," he resumed, "that the Portuguese have taken as auxiliaries several Indian tribes."
"Just so; but what has this to do with the matter?"
"Wait, wait, my friend. The troop that I have met is composed of warriors of these tribes – the most warlike of all, perhaps, the Guaycurus."
"What do you infer from this?"
"A very simple thing; according to the route that they travel, these warriors are proceeding towards Brazil."
"Brazil!" cried the young man.
"Yes, Brazil, the country that we wish to reach."
"What can we do in the matter, my poor friend?"
"It only depends on yourself, my friend; here is what is to be done!"
"Let us have it then," answered the young man.
The Indian did not remark, or feigned not to remark, the tone in which this was said, and continued coldly:
"These Guaycurus warriors form a troop of at least two hundred men, enemies of the Spaniards. Either they will try to glide unperceived in the midst of the Montoneros who skirt the plains, or, if they cannot escape thus, they will open a passage at the point of their lances."
"Well!" said the young man, becoming attentive.
"Well, my friend, in joining them we shall follow their fortunes."
"But you forget one thing, my poor friend, and a very important thing."
"What is it, mi amo?"
"This; we cannot thus join ourselves to this troop; if we are sufficiently foolish to discover ourselves to it we shall be immediately taken prisoners."
"Is it that only which embarrasses you, my friend?"
"My faith, yes," laughingly replied the young man.
"Then, my friend, be easy; I charge myself with causing you to be received by this troop in a manner not only flattering, but also advantageous to you. I know Indian customs."
"Very good, my friend; continue."
"I will claim the rights of Indian hospitality. You need have no dread of treachery; they would die themselves to defend you."
"Hum! Do you know, that this is very tempting that you thus propose to me, my friend?"
"Accept it, then!"
"I do not demand anything better; but I ought to consult the ladies."
"Well, my friend, consult them, then; but quickly, if possible, for time presses."
"It shall not be long," responded the young man, and, turning bridle with that promptness which formed the basis of his character, he rejoined at a gallop the ladies, who were not a great distance in arrear.
They listened with serious attention to the communication of the young man; the project of Tyro appeared to them simple, and sure of success. Consequently, they agreed to it promptly.
The Guarani prepared himself speedily to put it into execution.
We have reported in full his interview with Gueyma, at the conclusion of which he returned to his companions, who awaited his return with impatience, not unmixed with anxiety; but all inquietude ceased when they learned the noble and frank response of the chief.
Emile, followed by the two ladies, then advanced towards the Guaycurus, who had halted to receive their visitors, and warmly thanked Gueyma for the protection which he had consented to accord to him and his companions.
The Indian chief replied with majestic dignity, that, in acting as he had done, he fulfilled a duty prescribed by honour; that thanks were superfluous; and that while the strangers remained with the warriors they would be considered as cherished brothers, and as children of the nation.
The Cougar remained a passive spectator of this scene, with which he had not interfered in any way; when the strangers had retired, he leaned towards the ear of Gueyma:
"Have you well considered these gentlemen?" he demanded.
"Yes," responded the chief; "why do you ask me the question?"
"Because two of them are women."
"Well, what of that?"
"More than you suppose," he said, and strode away, ending brusquely the interview, to escape the questions to which he did not care to: reply.
CHAPTER IX
THE CAMP
Zeno Cabral, after his interview with the young painter, departed at gallop from the Valle del Tambo, followed naturally by the Spanish officers, who had no plausible motives for remaining with Don Pablo Pincheyra.
The Montonero galloped thus during about four hours, incessantly exciting his horse, the speed of which seemed almost a miracle, until arrived at a crossroad, where the route branched into two paths. Here he stopped, and leaning towards his two companions, who had followed him at almost as great a pace:
"Caballeros," said he, ceremoniously saluting them, "I beg you to accept all my thanks for the loyal manner in which you have kept the word you have given me; but here is your road," said he, pointing to the path on the left, "and this is mine," added he, indicating that to the right. "Let us separate now; I wish you a good journey."
"I thank you, monsieur," responded the count courteously; "only, Will you permit me to ask you a question?"
"Speak."
"It is not a question that I would ask you; it is a prayer that I desire to make."
"Prayer or question, speak, monsieur; I will answer you."
"Sir, my companion and I are Spaniards, from Europe – that is to say, strangers to this country. If you leave us here, we shall inevitably be lost, ignorant as we are of the route that we ought to follow."
"When do you wish to go?"
"Mon Dieu, señor! That is just what troubles us," said the captain, joining in the conversation.
"Just so; then you desire – "
"Mon Dieu! We desire to reach its advanced posts, and that as soon as possible."
The Montonero reflected for some time.
"Gentlemen," he at last answered, "what you wish is very difficult; it is evident that you will have great trouble in passing through our troops. I only see one way of getting you out of the difficulty, but I fear that you would not accept it."
"What way is this?" cried the two Spaniards.
"This is it – to follow me where I go; only I exact your word of honour, as soldiers and gentlemen, that you will be dumb as to what you may see and hear. On this condition I engage to enable you to reach, with very little delay, the advanced posts of your army. Do you accept?"
"Yes, we accept heartily, caballero," cried the two officers.
"Enough, gentlemen," said Zeno Cabral; "we make a new contract which, I am convinced, will be as loyally kept as the first. Come, then, gentlemen; we have already been here a long time."
"Proceed, sir," answered the count; "we follow."
They set out.
They proceeded thus till the evening, without exchanging a single word. Why should they speak? They had nothing to say.
At the moment when the sun disappeared behind the snowy peaks of the Cordilleras, on a sign from the partisan, the horsemen stopped.
Night was coming on, but the darkness was yet only so deep that the landscape, half veiled by the shadows of evening, appeared all the grander.
The path had by degrees become broader; it now formed a route bordered right and left by high forests of cork trees, through which it passed under magnificent arches of foliage; a thick, coarse grass reached nearly to the chests of the horses; and a waterfall, bounding in disordered masses from the top of a chaos of rocks, formed to the right of the travellers a large silvery sheet, in which the pale moon was reflected.
"We have arrived, gentlemen," said Zeno Cabral; "you can quit your saddles."
"Arrived!" said the count, looking round him.
"For the evening, at all events, count," answered the partisan; "for the few paces we have to go we can take on foot."
Speaking thus the Montonero had attached the bridle of his horse to the pommel of his saddle, and removed the stirrups.
"But our horses?" asked the captain.
"Do not disturb yourself about them."
"But they cannot remain thus."
"They will not remain here; be easy, care will be taken of them."
The count and the captain alighted.
"Well," resumed Zeno, "now wait a bit."
He then took a whistle which was hanging at his neck by a gold chain, concealed under his clothes, and gave a long and shrill whistle.
In a moment a man appeared.
"Ah! Ah! It is you, Don Sylvio," said the partisan, in a good-humoured tone.
"Yes, general, it is me," said the old soldier.
"Very good; let your men take care of the horses, and let us be conducted to the camp."
The officer turned towards the shrubbery from which he had so unexpectedly emerged.
"Hola!" cried he in a loud voice, "Come here, you fellows!"
The six soldiers, who were doubtless in ambuscade not far off, darted suddenly from the underwood, and, having respectfully bowed to Zeno Cabral, ranged themselves behind the old officer, ready to obey blindly the orders which they might receive.
"Is the camp far?" asked the Montonero, addressing Don Sylvio.
"At a gunshot at the most, general."
"You will guide us; as to you," he added, turning to the soldiers, "you know where you have to put the horses."
The soldiers bowed without answering, and quickly approached the horses.
Don Zeno looked round him as if he wished to fathom the darkness, and assure himself that no enemy was watching him; then, motioning Don Sylvio to go on before him:
"Come, gentlemen," he said; "let us go on."
The three then entered the wood, following the captain. Notwithstanding the increasing darkness, the latter found his way with a certainty which showed either that, like certain animals, he had the faculty of seeing in the dark, or that he had a thorough knowledge of the locality through which he was passing.
A quarter of an hour thus passed, during which the four men marched in Indian file – that is to say, following each other one by one – without exchanging a word. At the end of this time they began to perceive the reddish tints of several fires shining through the trees, which now became thicker.
"Halt! Who goes there?" suddenly cried a man.
"Zeno and liberty!" answered the captain, coldly.
"Pass!" said the sentinel, lowering his gun.
The travellers continued their journey. At about ten paces further on, a second sentinel stopped them, and then a third barred their passage at the moment when they reached the skirt of a large glade, in the midst of which was established a camp, which, by the number of fires lighted, appeared to be considerable. This sentinel, when he had exchanged the password with the captain, did not raise his gun as the others had done; he contented himself with turning half round.
"Officer of the guard!" he said; "Reconnoitre!"
There was a movement in the glade, the clatter of arms was heard, followed immediately by the hasty step of several men, and ten soldiers, commanded by an officer, came towards the sentinel.
"¡Vive Dios!" said in a low voice the captain Don Lucio Ortega, to the partisan, "Receive my felicitations, señor; you maintain a rare discipline in your camp."
"What would you have, captain?" asked Don Zeno, smiling; "It ought to be so. Would it not be very stupid for us some day, for a want of a little vigilance, to be surprised by the enemy?"
The officer who had been called by the sentinel arrived at this moment, followed by several soldiers, apparently ready to aid him, if necessary.
But this time it was Zeno Cabral who took on himself to reply. On perceiving the officer, he motioned away Don Sylvio, and taking his place:
"Each one in his turn," said he in a low voice, placing his hand in a friendly way on the old officer's shoulder.
"That is right," answered the latter, bowing respectfully, and moving off.
"Who goes there?" cried the chief of the patrol, who had come to the call of the sentinel.
"Ah!" exclaimed the Montonero, apostrophising the officer, "Are you there, then, Captain Don Estevan Albino?"
"Cuerpo de Cristo!" cried the officer; "It is the general's voice."
"There! I knew you would recognise me."
"Ah! This is a fortunate arrival!" said the captain.
"You know," said Don Zeno, "that I expect that you will permit me to pass."
"¡Vive Dios! General, are you not chief among us? We will escort you."
"Come, gentlemen," said he, addressing the two Spaniards, "I believe we shall be well received."
"I should like to see it otherwise," grumbled Don Sylvio, through his moustache.
The news of the arrival of the general had now been spread through the camp; those who had been watching had risen; the sleepers, rudely awakened, had imitated them, rubbing their eyes; and all hastened, with torches and cries of joy, into the presence of the chief whom they adored.
Zeno Cabral then entered his camp, amidst the bright reflection of the torches, agitated by the night breeze.
As soon as the chief found himself in the midst of his staff, who hastened round him to congratulate him, he, by a gesture, ordered silence.
"Gentlemen," said he, pointing to the two men who accompanied him, and who stood modestly behind him, "these two caballeros are my friends, and not my prisoners. Although devoted to another cause than our own, and not sharing our political convictions, they are, for a time at least, placed under the security of our honour. I commend them to your honourable care; see that they want for nothing, and are treated with the respect due to them."
"Thank you, general," said the two men; "we did not expect less from your courtesy."
The introduction over, the soldiers occupied themselves with the newcomers.
Probably the arrival of the general, as the Montoneros called him, was expected, for a vast tent in the middle of the camp had been raised for him; but, notwithstanding the weariness and hunger that he felt, he did not consent to retire then, till he had seen the Spaniards installed as comfortably as circumstances would permit.
By degrees, quiet was re-established in the camp; the Montoneros resumed their places round their bivouac fires, and were soon asleep under their mantles.
The sentinels alone kept watch.
We are wrong; there was another that kept watch – Zeno Cabral.
Leaning on a table, his head between his hands, he was examining attentively, by the uncertain light of a smoky lamp, a map unrolled before him.
The map was one of the viceroyalty of Buenos Aires.
Now and then, on certain places on the map which he was so carefully studying, the Montonero stuck pins, the heads of which had been dipped in black or red wax.
Don Zeno had, for about an hour, given himself up to this work, which so much absorbed him that he had forgotten fatigue and sleep, when the curtain of the tent was drawn aside, and a man appeared.. At the sound of his steps the general raised his head.
"Ah! It is you, Don Juan Armero?" said he, saluting the person in a friendly way; "What news? You return from a reconnoitering trip, do you not?"
"Just so, general," answered Don Juan, after having given a military salute to his chief; "I have just arrived, and I bring news."
"Speak without fear. Everyone is asleep."
"That may be, but if you will allow me, I will tell you the news in the open air – not here."
"How is that?" said Don Zeno; "We are, I think, in a very good position to talk here."
"Excuse me, general," said Don Juan Armero, "but these walls of canvas, which intercept the view, without preventing words from being heard, cause me a fear which I cannot surmount. I am afraid, though I may be deceived, that there may be a spy on the watch."
"Is what you have to say to me important, then?" asked Don Zeno.
"I think it is of some importance."
"Hum!" said Zeno, in a reverie; "Come then."
The night was calm; millions of stars glittered in the dark blue sky; the breeze gently agitated the leafy tops of the trees; the moon, on the wane, spread an uncertain light on the landscape.
The two men proceeded a few steps silently side by side. Zeno Cabral was reflecting, and Don Juan Armero respectfully waited till his chief should address him.
"Well," the partisan asked, "what is this news, Don Juan? You can without fear tell me here."
"Just so, general," he answered. "I have been, as you know, on a journey of discovery. The Brazilian army has left its cantonments in the Banda Oriental; a division of this army is advancing by forced marches in this direction to take possession of the fords of the rivers, and the mouths of the defiles, so as to permit a second division, which follows it at a day's march behind, to invade Tucumán."
"Oh! Oh!" murmured the partisan, "That is, indeed, serious. Is this news reliable?"
"Yes, general."
"Well, go on; but just a word – have you learned by what general this Brazilian division is commanded?"
"Yes, general."
"And his name is?" he asked.
"It is the Marquis Don Roque de Castelmelhor."
Something like a smile crossed the austere face of the Montonero, and gave him an inexpressible look of hope and hatred.
"What direction do these troops follow?" he said.
"They are preparing to cross the desert plains of the Abipones."
"Good!" he murmured; "However quick they will march, we will rejoin them; and," slightly raising his voice, "what news of the Guaycurus?"
"None, general."
"That is strange; have you nothing else to communicate to me?"
"Pardon, general; I have indeed some more important news for you."
"Come, speak! I am listening."
"Don Pablo Pincheyra, the Bear of Casa-Frama, has suddenly abandoned his inaccessible repair."
"I know it," said the general.
"But what you doubtless do not know is, that, furious at having been so completely deceived by you, he is pursuing you – with only a few men, it is true."
"Good!" said Zeno Cabral, smiling; "Let them come, Don Juan, let them come. Anything else?"
"Nothing, general, unless it is to ask you if your expedition has succeeded, and if you are satisfied."
"Enchanted, Don Juan, enchanted! I hope that, in a few days, we shall have attained the end that I have for so long contemplated."
"God grant it, general."
"Thank you, Don Juan," said he. "I hope God will not destroy my hopes. Good night."
The officer bowed and immediately retired, and Zeno Cabral regained his tent with slow steps.
"Ah!" murmured he, falling on a seat; "Would that fortune may at last favour me, and that I may be allowed to capture them all by a throw of the net!"
He remained a short time pensive; then, having trimmed his lamp, he again bent over his map.
The most profound silence reigned without; except the sentinels, everyone in the camp was asleep.
Till the morning, the general's lamp burned in his tent.
He alone, of the partisans, kept unquiet vigil.
