Gustave Aimard
The Insurgent Chief

CHAPTER VIII
THE TOLDO

On leaving the reception room, Emile Gagnepain proceeded to the toldo occupied by the Marchioness de Castelmelhor and her daughter. In thus acting, the young man obeyed a presentiment which told him that in what had passed before him a melancholy farce had been played by Don Pablo, and that the readiness with, which he had consented to part with them concealed some perfidy or other.

This presentiment had become so fixed in the young man's mind – it had become so real to him – that, although nothing arose to corroborate this suspicion of treachery, he was perfectly convinced of it, and would have asserted as much had occasion called for it.

Drawn, spite of himself, into a series of adventures very disagreeable to a man who, like him, had come to America to seek for that freedom and tranquillity of mind which his country, torn by factions, refused him, the young man had at last – as always happens – become interested in the anomalous position into which he had been thrown, with the feverish anxiety of a man who sees passing before him the scenes of a stirring drama. Moreover, without his taking any heed of it, a sentiment that he could not analyse had taken possession of his heart. This feeling had grown, unknown to himself, almost insensibly, and finally had acquired such force that the young man – who began to be frightened at the novel situation in which he was suddenly placed – despaired of freeing himself from it. Like all natures not feeble, but careless – not daring seriously to question himself, and sound the gulf which had thus opened in his heart – he allowed himself carelessly to be drifted by the current which carried him along, enjoying the present without caring for the future, and assuring himself that when the catastrophe arrived it would be time enough to face the danger and to take his stand.

He had taken but a few steps in the camp when, turning his head, he perceived Don Santiago Pincheyra at a few paces behind him.

The Montonero was walking carelessly, his arms behind his back, with a vague look, whistling a zambacueca– in a word, all the appearance of a man taking a lounging walk. But the painter was not deceived: he knew that Don Pablo, engaged with his guests, towards whom he was obliged to do the honours of the camp, had deputed his brother to watch his movements and render an account of his proceedings.

The young man by degrees slackened his pace unaffectedly, and, turning suddenly on his heel, found himself face to face with Don Santiago.

"Eh!" said he, feigning to see him for the first time; "What a charming surprise, Señor! You have then left to your brother, Don Pablo, the care of treating with the Spanish officers."

"As you see, Señor," answered the other, rather nonplussed, and not well knowing what to say.

"And you are, no doubt, taking a walk?"

"Upon my word, yes; between ourselves, dear Señor, these formal receptions weary me; I am a plain man, you know."

"Caray, if I know it!" said the Frenchman, with a sly air; "So you are free?"

"Mon Dieu! Yes, completely."

"Well, I am delighted that you have succeeded in disengaging yourself from these proud and haughty strangers. It is very fortunate for me that you are free. I confess I scarcely reckoned on the pleasure of meeting you thus."

"You were seeking me, then?" said Don Santiago, with astonishment.

"Certainly, I was looking for you; only, under the present circumstances, I repeat, I did not hope to meet with you."

"Ah! Why were you seeking me, then?"

"Well, dear Señor, as I have long known that you are one of my best friends, I intended to ask a service of you."

"To ask a service of me – me!"

"Parbleu! Who else? Except your brother Don Pablo and you, I do not know anyone at Casa-Frama."

"It is true; you are a forastero stranger."

"Alas! Yes – all that there is left of a forastero."

"What is the service?" asked the Montonero, completely deceived by the feigned good nature of the young man.

"This is the affair," answered the latter with imperturbable coolness; "only I beg you to keep the secret, for it concerns other persons, and consequently is rather serious."

"Ah! Ah!" exclaimed Don Santiago.

"Yes," pursued the young man, nodding his head affirmatively, "you promise to keep it secret, do you not?"

"On my honour."

"Thank you, I am satisfied. I confess, then, that I begin to be horribly bored at Casa-Frama."

"I can understand that," answered the Montonero, shaking his head.

"I wish to leave."

"What prevents you?"

"Mon Dieu! A multitude of things; first, the two ladies whom you know."

"That is true," said he with a smile.

"You do not understand me."

"How so?"

"Why, you appear to suppose that I wish to remain with them, whereas it is they who persistently demand that I stay with them."

The Montonero cast a stealthy and suspicious look on his companion, but the Frenchman was on his guard; his face was inexpressive as marble.

"Good, continue," said he, after a pause.

"You know that I have assisted at the interview."

"Parbleu! Seeing that it was I who conducted you there. You were seated near the secretary."

"Señor Vallejos – just so – a very amiable gentleman. Well, these ladies are on the point of quitting Casa-Frama. Don Pablo consents to their departure."

"You wish to leave with them?"

"You have not guessed it; I should like to leave, it is true, but not with them; since they go under the escort of Spanish officers, I should be of no service to them."

"Just so."

"Then they will no longer have any pretext for preventing me quitting them."

"That is true; then – "

"Then I desire that you get your brother to grant me – unless you would prefer to give it me yourself – a safe conduct to traverse your lines and regain as quickly as possible Tucuman, which I ought never to have left."

"Is it really to return to Tucuman that you want a safe conduct?"

"For what reason should it be, then?"

"I do not know; but my brother," – he suddenly stopped with ill-concealed embarrassment.

"Your brother!" suggested the young man.

"Nothing – I made a mistake; do not attach to what I say to you a sense which cannot be true; I am frequently subject to make mistakes."

"Are there any difficulties in your granting me the safe conduct?"

"I do not see any; however, I should not dare to do so without informing my brother."

"Do not distress yourself about that; I have no intention of leaving the camp without his authority; if you like we will go together to find him."

"You are then in a hurry to depart?"

"To a certain extent; it would be better, I think, if I could go away without seeing these ladies, and before them. In this way I should avoid the request they would not fail to make, to accompany them."

"That would indeed be better."

"Then come and find your brother, in order to settle the affair as soon as possible."

"Be it so."

They proceeded towards the toldo of Don Pablo; but about halfway the Frenchman stopped, slapping his forehead.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Don Santiago.

"I am thinking there is no occasion for us to go together; you will arrange this matter much better than me. While you go there I will prepare everything for my departure, so that I shall be able to set out immediately after your return."

The young man spoke with such decided good nature – his countenance was so expressive of frankness and carelessness – that Don Santiago, despite all his cleverness, was deceived.

"Very good," said he; "while I see my brother, make your preparations – there is no necessity for you to come."

"However, if you prefer it, perhaps it would be better for me to accompany you?"

"No, no, it is needless; in an hour I shall be at your toldo with the safe conduct."

"I thank you in advance."

The two men shook hands and separated, Don Santiago proceeding towards his brother's house, which was also his own, and the Frenchman apparently going in the direction of the habitation which had been assigned to him; but as soon as the partisan had turned the corner of the nearest street, Emile, having assured himself that no new spy was dogging his steps, immediately changed his route, and took that towards the dwelling of the two ladies.

Pincheyra had lodged his captives in an isolated toldo at one of the extremities of the camp – a toldo with its back to an almost perpendicular mountain, and which for that reason assured him against the probabilities of their flight. This toldo was divided into several compartments; it was clean and furnished with all the luxury that the locality admitted.

Two Indian women had been attached by the partisan to the service of the ladies, apparently as servants, but in reality to watch them and render him an account, of what they said and did; for, notwithstanding all the denials of Don Pablo, the marchioness and her daughter, although treated with the greatest respect, were really prisoners – which they had not been long in perceiving.

It was only with great caution and by stealth that the young painter succeeded in seeing them, and in exchanging with them a few words without any witness.

The domestics incessantly hovered round their mistresses, ferreting, listening, and watching; and if by chance they want away, the sister of Don Santiago, who pretended to manifest a lively friendship for the strangers, came and installed herself near them unceremoniously, and remained there nearly all the day, fatiguing them with studied caresses and lying exhibitions of a friendship which they perfectly knew was false.

However, thanks to Tyro, whose devotion did not slacken, and who knew well how to cope with the two Indian women, Emile had succeeded in pretty well escaping from them. The Guaraní had found means of attracting them by little presents, and of bringing them over a little to the interests of his master, who himself never came to the toldo without offering them some trifle. There remained, then, only the sister of Pincheyra. But today, after having during the morning made a long visit to the ladies, she had withdrawn, in order to assist at the repast that her brother gave to the officers, and to fulfil towards them her duties as mistress of the house, a care with which she could not dispense.

The marchioness and her daughter were then, for some time at least, delivered from their spies, mistresses of their time, and free to a certain extent to converse with the only friend who had not abandoned them, without fear of their words being repeated to the man who had so disgracefully betrayed, in their case, the laws of hospitality.

At a few paces from the toldo, the young man came across Tyro, who, without speaking to him, made him understand by mute signs, that the ladies were alone.

The young man entered.

The marchioness and her daughter, sitting sadly by each other's side, were reading a prayer book.

At the sound which Emile made in crossing the threshold of the door, they quickly raised their heads.

"Ah!" exclaimed the marchioness, whose countenance immediately brightened up, "It is you at last, Don Emile?"

"Excuse me, Madame," he answered, "I can but very rarely come to see you."

"I know it. Like us, you are watched, and exposed to suspicion. Alas! We have only escaped the revolutionists to fall into the hands of men more cruel still."

"Have you to complain of the proceedings of Don Pablo Pincheyra, or of any of his people, Madame?"

"Oh!" answered she, with a significant smile, "Don Pablo is polite – too polite, perhaps, for me! Oh! Mon Dieu! What have I done to be thus exposed to his persecutions?"

"Have you seen my servant this morning, Madame! I ask pardon for interrogating you thus, but time presses."

"Is it of Tyro that you speak?"

"Yes, of him, Madame."

"I have seen him for a moment."

"Has he said nothing to you?"

"Very little; he announced to me your visit, adding, that no doubt you would have important news to communicate to me; so I was anxious to see you. In the position in which my daughter and I are, everything is matter for hope."

"I have indeed, Madame, important news to announce to you, but I do not know how to do so."

"How so?" cried Doña Eva, fixing on him her large eyes, with an undefinable expression; "Do you fear to afflict us, Señor Don Emile?"

"I fear, on the contrary, Señora, to raise in your heart a hope which may not be realised."

"What do you mean? Speak, Señor, in the name of heaven," quickly interrupted the marchioness.

"This morning, Madame, several strangers entered Casa-Frama."

"I know it, caballero. It is to that circumstance that I owe not having near me the bodyguard of a cornet that it has been thought I ought to have – that is to say, the sister of Don Pablo Pincheyra."

"Do you know these strangers, Madame?"

"Your question surprises me, caballero. Since my arrival here, you know that I have scarcely been permitted to take a few steps out of this miserable place."

"Excuse me, Madame; I will put my question more definitely. Have you heard speak of a certain Don Sebastiao Vianna?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Doña Eva, clapping her hands with joy; "Don Sebastiao is one of the aides-de-camp of my father."

The countenance of the young man clouded.

"So you are sure you know him?" pursued he.

"Certainly," answered the marchioness; "how can my daughter and I fail to know a man who is our distant relation, and who has stood godfather to my daughter?"

"Then, Madame, I am deceived, and the news I bring you is really good news for you. I have been wrong in hesitating so long in announcing it to you."

"How is that?"

"Among the strangers who have arrived this morning at Casa-Frama, one of them is charged with claiming your being immediately set at liberty, on the part of the Marquis de Castelmelhor – your husband, Madame – your father, Señora. This stranger is named Don Sebastiao Vianna, wears the costume of a Portuguese officer, and is, he says, aide-de-camp of General the Marquis de Castelmelhor. I ought to avow that in this matter Don Pablo Pincheyra has conducted himself as a true caballero. After having denied that you were his prisoners, he nobly refused the sum proposed for your ransom, and engaged to place you today in the hands of Don Sebastiao, who is, under his escort, to conduct you to your husband."

There was a minute's silence. The marchioness was pale, her eyebrows knitted under the influence of internal emotion, and her fixed look denoted an intense feeling, which she repressed with difficulty. Doña Eva, on the contrary, brightened up; the hope of liberty illuminated her features with a halo of happiness.

The young man looked at the marchioness without understanding this emotion, the cause of which he vainly sought. At last she said:

"Are you really certain, caballero," said she, "that the officer of whom you speak is named Don Sebastiao Vianna?"

"Perfectly, Señora. I have several times heard him called in my presence; besides, it would be quite impossible for me to invent a name that I have never before today heard pronounced."

"It is true; and yet what you tell me is so extraordinary, that I confess I do not dare to believe it, and that I fear a snare."

"Oh, my mother," cried Doña Eva, in a tone of reproach, "Don Sebastiao Vianna, the most loyal man, and the most – "

"Which assures you, my daughter," quickly interrupted the marchioness, "that this man is really Don Sebastiao."

"Oh, Madame," said the young man.

"Caballero Don Sebastiao was, scarcely two months ago, in Europe," answered the marchioness, in a peremptory tone.

This remark fell like a thunderbolt in the midst of the conversation, and suddenly chilled the hope in the heart of the young girl.

At the same moment a whistle sounded from without.

"Tyro warns me," said Emile, "that someone comes this way; I can stay no longer. Whatever happens, do not abandon yourself to despair, feign to accept, whatever they are, the propositions that will be made to you; anything is preferable to you than to remain longer here. I also will watch. I shall soon see you again – courage! Reckon on me."

And without waiting for the answer that the two ladies were doubtless preparing to make, the young man darted into the street.

Tyro, who was watching for his appearance, seized him quickly by the arm, and led him towards the toldo.

"Look!" said he.

The painter leant forward cautiously, and perceived Don Pablo Pincheyra, his sister, the Portuguese officer, and three or four other persons, who were going towards the habitation of the ladies.

"Hum!" he exclaimed; "it was time – "

"Is it not? But I was watching, happily."

"Come, Tyro, let us return to my place. Don Santiago must expect me."

"You have given me a rendezvous?"

"Yes."

"Well, have I deceived you, my friend?"

"No, certainly; what I have seen has surpassed my expectation. But who, then, is this Don Sebastiao?"

The Guaraní answered by a sneer of bad omen.

"There is something, is there not?" asked Emile, with uneasiness.

"With the Pincheyras there is always something, my friend," pursued the Indian, in a low voice; "but here we are at your toldo; be prudent."

"Inform the gauchos that probably we shall set out today; prepare all, so that we may be ready."

"We are going to leave?"

"I hope so."

"Oh, then, all is not yet lost."

They entered the toldo; it was deserted; Don Santiago had not yet appeared.

Whilst Tyro went to tell the gauchos to get ready, to saddle their horses, and to bring the baggage mules from the corral, the young man proceeded, with feverish rapidity, to make his preparations.

So when, half an hour later, Don Santiago entered the toldo, the suspicious look that he threw around him did not reveal anything which could give rise to a suspicion that the Frenchman had not commenced his task immediately after having quitted him.

"Ah! Ah!" exclaimed the young man on seeing him, "Welcome, Don Santiago, especially if you bring my safe conduct."

"I bring it you," laconically answered Don Santiago.

"Pardieu! It must be confessed that you are a valuable friend; Don Pablo has not made any difficulties?"

"None."

"Well, he is really very obliging to me; so I can set out?"

"Yes, on two conditions."

"Ah! There are conditions! And what are they?"

"The first is, that you will set out immediately, and without seeing anyone," added he, carefully emphasising the last part of his sentence.

"My people?"

"You shall take them with you; what do you think that we should do with them here?"

"You are right; well – but this condition pleases me much; you know that I especially desire to set out without taking leave of anyone whatever. It's all for the best, then. Now, what is the second condition; if it is like the first, I doubt not that I shall accept it without hesitation."

"Here it is: Don Pablo desires that I escort you, with a dozen horsemen, for a few leagues from here."

"Ah!" exclaimed the young man.

"Does that displease you?"

"Me!" answered Emile, laughing, for he had already recovered his coolness; "Why should it be displeasing to me? I am, on the contrary, very grateful to you, brother, for this new favour. He, no doubt, fears that I should wander in the inextricable mazes of these mountains," added he, with an ironical emphasis.

"I do not know; he has ordered me to escort you; I obey – that is all."

"That is right, and particularly logical."

"So you accept these two conditions?"

"With gratitude."

"Then we will set out when you like."

"I would say immediately, but, unfortunately, I am obliged to wait for my horses, which have not yet come from the corral."

"It is not yet late, so there is no time lost."

"Now that we are agreed, suppose we take a drop of brandy?"

"Upon my word I shall be delighted, Señor."

The Frenchman took a bottle and poured out some brandy into two horn goblets.

"To your health!" said he, drinking.

"To your pleasant journey!" answered Don Santiago.

"Thank you."

A sound of horses was heard from without.

"Here are your animals."

"Then we shall be ready in a few minutes. If you like, while we are loading, inform the men who are to accompany you."

"They have been told; they are waiting for us in the intrenchments."

Tyro and the gauchos then proceeded, aided by Emile and Don Santiago, to load the two mules and to saddle the horses.

The Frenchman, accustomed to travel in these countries, had very little luggage; he never carried with him anything but what was indispensable.

Half an hour afterwards the caravan started out at a gentle pace, accompanied by Don Santiago, who followed it on foot, smoking his cigarette, and talking with the young man in a friendly way.

As the Montonero had said, a dozen horsemen were waiting at the intrenchments.

The Pincheyra mounted his horse, gave the order of departure; the keepers opened the barriers, and the little troop quitted the camp in good order.