Gustave Aimard
The Flying Horseman
CHAPTER XIII
EXPLANATIONS
The fire had been lighted; the four men, conquered by sleep, and fatigued by the struggle which they had had with the lions, were wrapped in their ponchos and their blankets, and were not long in getting to sleep.
When the sun appeared on the horizon, the four men awoke nearly at the same time.
Zeno Cabral, thanks to the repose that he had taken, had recovered, and, apart from some feebleness of speech, he awoke fresh, and in a condition to continue his journey.
The first care of the Montonero on awaking was to rise and run to his horse, which he began carefully to groom, and then gave him some provender.
This duty accomplished, the young man returned to his companions, who had carelessly and without curiosity noticed his movements.
As to the painter, he had drawn from his game bag some palomas, had plucked them, and spitting them on the ramrod of his gun, had placed them over the fire, placing at the same time some sweet potatoes on the hot embers.
The Frenchman was thinking of refreshment; the events of the night had sharpened his appetite, and made him ready for breakfast.
The great haste which the Montonero had exhibited with regard to his horse was but a pretext for him to put his ideas in order, and to prepare to answer questions which the Indian chiefs would no doubt put to him. The surprise that they had manifested on seeing that he knew Don Emile had not escaped him; he did not wish to give them time for their doubts to change into suspicions; he knew the instinctive distrust of the Indians, and it was of the greatest importance to him not to arouse it; he therefore resolved to confront the difficulty so as to avoid disagreeable remarks.
"Eh, Don Emile!" said he gaily to the young painter, taking his seat by his side; "You are a man of precaution, it seems to me that's a succulent breakfast that you are preparing there."
"A breakfast of which you and these caballeros will take part, I hope," graciously answered the young man.
"As to me, I accept your offer with the greatest pleasure; but," added he, changing his tone, "will you permit me to ask you a question?"
"Two, if you like, señor."
"You will pardon this apparent indiscretion, for which the interest I have in you is the only excuse."
"I am persuaded of it, señor; but you can speak. I have not, thank God, occasion to fear any indiscretion."
"If that is the case – and I congratulate you on it – I will explain myself without fear."
"Pardieu!" said Emile, turning the spit on which he was concentrating all his attention; "Speak, my dear sir; do not hesitate the least in the world."
The two chiefs, apparently indifferent to this conversation, which they understood perfectly, for it was carried on in Spanish, listened attentively to it.
"In the first place," pursued the Montonero, "let me express my astonishment at meeting you here, when I thought you were very far off."
"The matter is very simple however. After the storm that had assailed us near the Valle del Tambo, when you had left us as well as Señor Pincheyra, I confess that my companions and I were much embarrassed."
"What! Señor Don Pablo Pincheyra left you suddenly?" cried the Montonero, feigning surprise.
"Mon Dieu! Yes," answered the young man, good naturedly; "he pretended that we were too far from his camp for his escort to be useful to us, and that, since you thought fit to attend to your affairs, he did not see any reason why he should not attend to his; and thereupon made us his compliments, and went away – of which, between ourselves, I was very glad, for notwithstanding all the courtesy which Don Pablo has manifested towards us, his company, I confess, was not at all agreeable to me."
"But the persons with whom I had set out from the camp of Casa-Frama, and whom I had commended to you before my departure?"
"Señor Don Pablo did not concern himself with them, and after having taken leave of me in a few words, he set off with his partisans."
"Ah! And then?"
"Then I also set out, a little embarrassed, as I have already told you. Happily for me, and for the persons who accompanied me, at the moment when lost in the mountains, we wandered through unknown paths without knowing where to direct our steps, Providence sent us a numerous troop of Indian horsemen."
"What!" quickly interrupted Zeno Cabral; "These whites of whom you spoke to me last night, chief – "
"That caballero and the persons of his suite," answered the old chief, affirmatively nodding his head.
"That, upon my word, is a very extraordinary incident. When the chief spoke to me on the subject, I boldly answered that I did not know you."
All the suspicions of the chief had suddenly vanished before this frank explanation.
The Montonero understood that he had attained the end which he sought.
"You have no other questions to ask me, señor," said the painter, in a slightly jeering tone.
"Well, I will ask you one thing more."
"Do so; I will answer you."
"Well, I should like to know if chance, alone, has brought you here?"
"The two wild animals brought me here," answered the young man, in a somewhat sardonic tone.
"Which means – ?"
"Simply this – wakened by the roar of the lions, the thought suddenly occurred to me to chase them. As soon as my resolution was taken, I rose, seized my gun, and, without any other indications than the roar of the animals, I immediately pursued them. Chance led them here, and I followed them; that is the whole history – are you satisfied with it?" added he.
"Perfectly, my dear sir," answered the Montonero, and mentally adding – "this lion hunt is only a pretext; it conceals something from me; I will watch."
"And now, if you like, señor," resumed the young man, "we will take breakfast."
"With all my heart," answered the Montonero.
The palomas were taken from the spit, the sweet potatoes drawn from under the embers, and the breakfast began. We need not add that the four people did justice to this improvised repast.
The meal finished – and it did not last more than a quarter of an hour, for the dangers of desert live induced frugality – the cigarettes were lighted.
"I think," said Emile, addressing the chiefs, "that it is time for us to return to the camp. If nothing detains Don Zeno Cabral in this place, he will perhaps do us the honour to accompany us."
"It would be with the greatest pleasure that I should accept your obliging offer, caballero," answered the partisan. "Unhappily, my way is diametrically opposite to that in which you are going."
"Permit me, then, caballero, to take leave of you," answered the young man, rising.
"You will not go away without taking the skin of your lion."
"And that of the lioness, that I am happy to offer you," added Gueyma
"I thank you, and accept your offer joyfully," said the young man; "unhappily, I do not know how to proceed to skin these noble animals."
"Will you permit us to say a few words to our friend? We shall then be happy to render you this service."
"Very well, gentlemen, I am at your orders," answered the young man, stretching himself again upon the grass; and he mentally added – "Perhaps I shall thus learn something."
But the painter's hope was completely deceived; it was in vain for him to pay the most earnest attention; it was impossible for him not to hear, for they spoke in a very high voice, but to understand a word of the conversation, for the simple reason that, either from mistrust or because they could more easily express their thoughts in that language, the conversation of the three men took place in Guaycurus.
The conversation lasted for more than an hour, in a very animated way; at last, Zeno Cabral turned towards Emile, who was still lying on the grass, and carelessly smoking his cigar. Extending his hand to him, he said in a friendly tone —
"I am going, Señor Don Emile; we leave on good terms, I hope?"
"I do not see why it should be otherwise, señor," answered the young man, taking the hand that was extended to him.
"Thank you; adieu, Don Emile," and he went towards his horse, that he began to saddle and bridle.
The French painter had risen, and had gone to the wild beasts, which the Indian chiefs, as soon as their conversation was ended, had proceeded to skin. The young man was anxious to be present at this curious operation, which the Guaycurus, armed only with their knives, executed with unimaginable skill and rapidity.
"Don Emile!" cried Zeno Cabral.
"What do you want with me, señor?" answered the latter.
"Not adieu; it is au revoir that I ought to have said; I do not know how it is, but I have the conviction that we shall soon see one another again."
"And I, too," answered the painter.
"What do you mean?" asked Zeno Cabral.
"Nothing more than what you say yourself, señor; you have a conviction – I have a presentiment – is there anything astonishing in that?"
The partisan looked at him with profound attention; then, appearing to take a sudden resolution —
"Au revoir, Señor Don Emile," said he, in a sorrowful voice; and lifting his hand to his hat, which he slightly raised, set off at a full gallop.
The young man followed him some time with his eyes along the windings of the route; when at last he had disappeared on the border of a forest, into which he plunged without slackening his pace, the painter shook his head.
"There is evidently something in the wind; I must watch more than ever!"
The two chiefs, after having skinned the lions, were proceeding to rub the inside of the skins with ashes, so as to preserve them from decomposition until they could dry them in the sun.
It was about seven o'clock in the morning. The camp of the Guaycurus was not more than half a league from the spot where the partisan had established himself for the night; the distance, then, could be accomplished in very little time.
"Well!" asked the painter, "What shall we do now, chiefs?"
"What you like, señor," answered the Cougar; "the skins are prepared; it only remains for us to shoulder them."
"That shall devolve on me," said the young man; "I have already given you sufficient trouble."
The old chief smiled gently.
"Let me carry one, and you shall take the other."
The painter offered no further objection; he soon felt the justice of the remark of the old Indian. The skin that he had taken on his shoulders still wet, was very heavy and difficult to carry.
As there was nothing else to do in the partisans' camp, they then set off left the bloodstained bodies of the lions to the vultures, who had been for a long time wheeling above them, and who swooped down immediately the men had disappeared.
The latter had resumed – walking with that gymnastic step peculiar to the Indians, and which, in a very short time, enables them to cover a great deal of ground – the way to their camp, followed with great difficulty by the Frenchman, who was nearly all the time forced to run to keep up with them.
We will now explain to the reader what motive had led the young man so suddenly to the camp of Zeno Cabral.
To do this we must go back a few hours to the moment when the Cougar and Gueyma, after having conversed a long time with Arnal round the council fire, had risen, and made the tour of the camp to assure themselves that everyone was asleep, and had then gone away under the pretext that they were going to reconnoitre a spot where they had seen a fire in the night, shining like a solitary lighthouse at a short distance off.
After their departure, Arnal made sure of the calm sleep of Dove's Eye, spread several furs over her, and then, wrapping himself in his furs, the chief lay down not far from the young girl, and was soon asleep.
The Indians keep but a poor lookout when they do not suspect enemies near them.
In the desert where the Guaycurus were now camped, a surprise was not to be feared; moreover, their two most experienced chiefs were on the lookout, and would warn them of the least danger.
Half an hour after the departure of the chiefs, Emile Gagnepain, comfortably lying near a fire, removed the furs which covered his face.
There was the most profound silence in the camp.
After a careful examination, the young man, convinced that all the warriors were asleep, and that consequently no one would notice him, rose, passed his pistols through his girdle, and seized his gun.
Light as were the steps of the painter, a man heard him, and abruptly raised his head. Emile inclined his ear, said a few words, and the other lay down again without taking any further notice of him.
The young man entered the enramada, which served for a refuge to the marchioness and her daughter. The marchioness did not sleep; with her back supported against the trunk of a tree, she held on her knees the charming head of her daughter, plunged in a calm and refreshing sleep.
The marchioness raised her head on the arrival of the young man; she seemed to be anxious to question him. But the latter quickly put a finger to his lips to recommend prudence, and took his place by her side, not, however, without having cast on the sweet countenance of Doña Eva a look full of love and admiration.
The marchioness, rendered anxious by the visit of the young man at such an hour, impatiently waited for him to speak.
"Reassure yourself, Madame," said he, in a low voice; "up to the present time, God be praised, we have not, I think, anything to fear."
"But," she answered in the same tone, "you have not interrupted your sleep without important reasons."
"I have, indeed, a motive in coming here, Madame, but this motive only arises from fears and suspicions."
"Explain yourself, I beg, Don Emile."
"The fact is this, Madame. For several days I have heard frequently the name of your implacable enemy, Don Zeno Cabral."
"Ah!" said she, with sudden emotion. "These people are his friends. We are lost!"
"Do not go so fast or so far, Madame; although we should certainly redouble our precautions, and keep ourselves on our guard."
"Dear Don Emile, do not leave me in this situation. Something has happened, has there not?"
"Of what is passing I am ignorant, Madame; only, in case there should be anything important, I am resolved to know it. That is why I have ventured to disturb your repose."
"But what is it that has happened?" pursued she.
"Less than nothing, Madame."
"Ah, you at last avow – I knew well that – "
"Pardon, Madame," interrupted he, quickly; "you misunderstand me, here is the fact in a few words."
"Tell me quickly, I beg you."
"This evening," the young man resumed, "the three Guaycurus chiefs had a long conversation round the council fire; then, after this conversation, the Cougar and Gueyma, after having gone the round of the camp, set out, to go, as they said, and reconnoitre on foot."
The marchioness remained a short time in a reverie, and then, raising her head —
"I do not think that is anything extraordinary, or that it should disquiet us," said she.
"There would be nothing, indeed, disquieting in this sortie," answered he, "if it had not been induced by a motive."
"It has a motive?"
"Yes, Madame. Without doubt the desire of visiting the people camped near us, whose fire can be seen shining in the darkness."
"Oh!" she said, with a thrill of fear, "You are right; that is serious. What do you intend doing?"
"I intend to set out from the camp to follow the two chiefs to this encampment, where, perhaps, I shall meet faces that I know."
"You run great danger in this excursion," said the marchioness.
"I thank you sincerely for this good opinion, Madame, and to justify it I shall set out as soon as possible."
"Mon Dieu! If you are discovered!"
"I will take precautions not to be so, Madame."
"These Indians are so crafty."
"Bah! If they discover me I shall get out of it by inventing some pretext or other. But I wish to assure myself whether my conjectures are true. I leave you, Madame."
"Go then, since you insist on it," answered she, with sadness, "and heaven bless you."
The young man bowed respectfully to the marchioness, and quitted the enramada. At his exit from the camp, a sentinel half opened his eyes.
"Where are you going, brother?" asked the Indian.
"I have been wakened by the wild beasts. I cannot sleep, and am going to kill one of them."
"Success to you," answered the sentinel.
Lying on the ground, again he closed his eyes.
"Good," said Emile, as soon as he was alone. "I have no further need of secrecy now. This sleepy sentinel has done well to question me abruptly. Thanks to him, I have found what I was seeking."
Things had turned out better for the Frenchman than he had dared to hope; for he had no occasion to offer his pretext, and his explanation with Zeno Cabral was quite friendly.
CHAPTER XIV
EVENTS
Great was the surprise of the marchioness when, at about eight o'clock in the morning, she saw the young painter enter the camp, in company with the two Guaycurus chiefs, and bearing boldly on his shoulders the spoils of a lion, that terrible king of the desert.
The long absence of the young man, which was, as we have said, prolonged during the whole night, began seriously to disquiet the marchioness, who, like many persons tried by long misfortunes, was ready to think that even the most common events would have lamentable results. Already, giving freedom to her thoughts, she pictured to herself the young man surprised by the Indians in the act of spying, being killed by them; and she reproached herself with this supposed death, as if she had really been the cause of it. The remarks of her daughter and those of Tyro, to whom she had related her interview with the painter, did not tend to reassure her, although Tyro, who was the man to whom the young man had spoken before entering the enramada, told him he was certain that it was not probable that his master had been the victim of his curiosity, as, if it had been so, the chiefs would have immediately returned to the camp, and he (Tyro) as well as all the persons in the suite of the young man, would have been interrogated by them, to learn what reason Don Emile had for acting the spy upon them.
The marchioness, acutely sensitive from long suffering, would not hear anything, and as the time passed her anxiety became more poignant.
But when she perceived the young man, whose bearing was so calm, and whose countenance was so radiant, a sudden reaction took place in her, and she immediately passed from the most profound sadness to the most lively joy.
The warriors, excited by the arrival of their chiefs, and especially by the kind of triumphal entry which they made with the skins of the lions carried on their shoulders, had met at the entry of the camp, where they shouted with joy, and loudly clapped their hands, forgetting in their enthusiasm the mask of impassibility that they usually bore on their countenances.
The Cougar and Gueyma – men habituated to similar ovations for such prowess – did not hesitate to give to the young Frenchman the honour that was due to him in the death of the lions, and related in all its details the event as it had happened; and then Gueyma gave to Emile the skin which up to that moment he had kept on his shoulder.
At this action, done so generously before all the assembled warriors, the shouts redoubled, and the enthusiasm was carried to its height.
The Guaycurus who till then had held the Frenchman in somewhat poor esteem, by reason of the instinctive dislike which they have for the whites generally, exhibited towards him marks of general consideration, for the young man had manifested great courage – a virtue which the Indians honour above all others.
Emile, delighted at his unexpected ovation – not that his pride was flattered by the praises which the Guaycurus addressed to him, but because he hoped that, thanks to the turn of opinion in his favour, he would enjoy more liberty among the Indians, and thus could better protect the ladies – did not notice, any further than he was obliged, the infatuation of which he was the object, and, accompanied by Tyro, who had loaded himself with the skins which he much admired, proceeded hastily towards the enramada, to give the marchioness an account of his expedition during the night.
The two ladies, seated side by side before the enramada, protected by the gauchos, who were a few paces off, understood nothing of what had passed in the camp, and of the joyous cries that the Indians incessantly uttered. Their complete ignorance of the Guaycurus language caused them to suffer secret disquiet, not knowing to what cause to attribute the general commotion. They were too far from the theatre of action to form a correct judgment of what was passing, but near enough to see that the young painter was the centre of a group of warriors, who gesticulated with animation, and, as they supposed, with anger. It was therefore with pleasure that the marchioness and her daughter saw the young man, at last rid of those who had surrounded him, running towards them.
The marchioness was very anxious to hear the news. She scarcely allowed the Frenchman to salute her, so great was her excitement.
Emile related to her, point by point, all that had passed between him and the hunters since his departure from the camp, especially laying stress on the manner in which the two chiefs had proceeded to the spot where the solitary fire was burning.
After this recital, that the marchioness had listened to with sustained interest, there was a pause.
"So," said the marchioness, at last, "you think it is certain that this man really expected the two Guaycurus chiefs."
"I would swear it, señora," answered the young man. "Concealed in the woods for some time, not only all their words reached my ear distinctly, but even the very play of their faces could not escape me. The manner in which they accosted each other, the first words that they exchanged, convinced me that the chiefs knew very well that they would meet the partisan in that place, and that moreover they were intimately connected with him."
"That man is strange, his conduct is incomprehensible," murmured the marchioness, sorrowfully; "everywhere I find himself on my steps, devoted to my ruin, and, moreover, apparently with power almost without limits. What is to be done?" she added, allowing her head to sink in sadness on her breast.
The marchioness, speaking thus, had rather answered her, secret thoughts than the words of the young man; but feebly as this remark had been made, the painter had heard it.
"Madame," he answered, with an accent of tenderness, veiled by profound grief, "I am but a stranger, thrown by chance on this strange land, without friend or support. But I do not despair – I who have devoted my existence to serve you – I fight continually against your numerous enemies. Why should you not do for yourself what I have tried with all the ardour of sincere devotion? Why should you be disheartened when nothing yet proves that we shall fail in the struggle that we have so long sustained, without having up to the present, time met with a real check? Is not our situation really better than it was when we found ourselves at Tucumán, in the hands of your enemies, or prisoners of the Pincheyras at Casa-Frama? Reflect, Madame, and believe me; do not doubt the power and justice of God. He has taken your cause in hand, and He will save you."
"Will He do so?" sorrowfully murmured the marchioness, as she lowered her head to conceal the tears which, in spite of her, filled her eyes.
"Oh, mother," said Doña Eva with tenderness, furtively grasping her hand, fearing, on account of the costume which she wore, to make any manifestations which might have divulged the fact of her being disguised.
"Alas!" pursued the marchioness with that feverish impatience which wounds those who are misunderstood by those whom they address, "Neither of you understand the real situation in which fate has placed us. Our prison is not the less real because it has no visible bounds it is larger, that is all. In place of being shut up in stone walls, we are held prisoners by the walls that our forests, mountains, and rivers form around us. Our persecutor, certain that it is impossible for us to escape, disdains to show himself to us, or to make us feel the weight of the chain fastened to our bodies; he contents himself with watching us from afar, allowing us an appearance of liberty that he will take from us when he thinks necessary. For a long time his plan has been known to me. I have reckoned up this man; hatred is clairvoyant – nothing can hide it. In a week – tomorrow, or today perhaps – you will see him suddenly rise, like an evil genius, before us; all will then be finished and we shall be ruined."
Emile and the young girl did not try to answer these words, the justice of which, however, struck them. Emile, who never concealed from himself the desperate position of the marchioness, and whom devotion, and another sentiment, perhaps, that he did not dare to avow, alone kept near her, felt the uselessness of common consolations. It was evident to him that no human power could succeed in snatching the two ladies from the pursuit of their enemy, and that, unless by a miracle they would positively be lost.
Meanwhile the enthusiasm of the Guaycurus had become somewhat calm. On the order of the chiefs they were occupying themselves, with their ordinary activity, in the preparations for their departure, and were about to mount their horses to descend to the plains, where they hoped to encamp the same evening.
Soon each one was in the saddle; the word "advance" was given, and the troop left the camp.
Emile and Tyro were, side by side, talking in a low voice, followed at a short distance by the two ladies, and as they supposed by the gauchos, who conducted the baggage mules.
The descent, although rapid, was easy, as generally happens in those countries where the roads are unknown, and the path traced, for the most part, by wild beasts. The Indians followed the bed of a dry torrent and everything appeared to indicate that long before the setting of the sun they would reach a spot suitable for encamping, on the borders of a little river, the waters of which, sparkling in the rays of the sun, appeared at some distance in the plain, through the high grass.
This river, named the Rio Bermejo, was an affluent of the Rio Paraguay, and served as a natural frontier to the immense plain known under the name of the llano de Manso, and which, nearly unknown at that epoch, was only traversed by untamed hordes of Indian bravos, for whom it formed a hunting territory abounding in game.
The Guaycurus had just forded the Rio Quachifras, a considerable affluent of the Rio Parana, but nearly dry at that season of the year. The Cougar gave the order to camp on the border of a wood of cotton trees, that the horses might repose during the great heat of the day.
The ladies, fatigued with this long journey (for they had been travelling for nearly five hours), withdrew on one side to take a little repose, which they absolutely needed. Emile prepared to do the same, leaving to Tyro the care of the mules and the horses, and already he had comfortably installed himself in some shrubbery perfectly sheltered from the sun, when he perceived the two gauchos stopping before him, each with his carbine in one hand, and his hat in the other.
The young man looked for a moment at these two honest acolytes – for whom, we may say, he had a profound aversion, though he took good care to hide this feeling from them – and to his great discomfort he thought he saw on the faces of the two rascals an expression which gave him cause for reflection.
The gauchos remained before him silent and motionless. The young man, wishing to put an end to this embarrassing situation, decided to speak to them.
"What do you wish, señores?" he asked.
The two brothers exchanged a stealthy look of intelligence, appearing to invite each other to speak first; but it appeared that neither knew how to commence, for they contented themselves by bowing without answering.
"Upon my word, gentlemen," said Emile, impatient at this dumb show, which he did not understand, "since you will not speak, permit me to have my siesta. I have a great desire to sleep, and I shall be obliged if you will leave me to repose."
"We also, caballero," answered Sacatripas, at last deciding to speak, "we also want sleep, for the sun is very hot, and we have no intention to keep you long; only we desire to have a few words with you."
"Is the affair important, Señor Sacatripas?"
"Very important! – at least for us, caballero," answered Mataseis, becoming bolder.
"Very well," said Emile, "then go on quickly, I beg you; I am listening."
"Señor," pursued Sacatripas, recovering from the passing emotion which he had experienced, and assuming an agreeable air, "you can recall, I suppose, the conditions which we have had the honour of making with you."
"That is to say, with Señor Tyro?"
"With Señor Tyro, caballero; pardon me if I insist on that point – you remember it?"
"I confess, in all humility, señor, that I do but vaguely recall these conditions, and that I should be much obliged to you to refresh my memory on this subject."
"Very well, caballero," said Mataseis, intervening with a gracious smile; "we stipulated that eight days before the end of each month we should tell you if we consented to remain in your service."
"Ah! Very good – I believe that clause exists. Well."
"Señor," interrupted Sacatripas, with a courteous bow, "it is three weeks since the month commenced."
"What has that to do with your conditions?"
"It seems to me, caballero, that it has much to do with them," resumed Mataseis.
"So," sharply answered Emile, "it is your congé that you ask of me, is it, señores?"
The two bandits made a gracious salute, no doubt flattered at having been so well understood.
"I have neither the right, the power, nor the desire to retain you in my service against your will. Since the service is no longer agreeable to you, there is only one thing for me to do – to give you your congé."
"Very well put," observed Mataseis, twirling his moustache, with a courteous smile.
