Майн Рид
Gaspar the Gaucho: A Story of the Gran Chaco
Chapter Fifty Four.
An Unlooked-for Deliverer
Though the dialogue between Nacena and Shebotha’s slave was in the Tovas tongue, she who has overheard them inside the hut has sufficient acquaintance with it to make out that the Indian girl is seeking an interview with herself. But for what purpose, she has not the most distant idea, and cannot conceive why it should specially be sought at that strange hour, when everybody else is abed. She knows Nacena by name, as by sight; having on many occasions seen her at the old tolderia. But the two have never had acquaintance, nor held conversation; the sister of Kaolin always seeming shy with her, and never visiting the estancia, as did the other girls of the tribe. More than this, she remembers that whenever of late she by chance met the savage maiden, she had observed a scowl upon the latter’s face, which she could not help fancying was meant for herself. Nor had her fancy been astray; since in reality for her was that black look. Though for what reason Francesca could not tell, having never that she could think of done aught that should give offence to Kaolin’s sister. Besides, was not Kaolin himself the bosom friend of her brother Ludwig? Still, recalling that scowl so often seen upon Nacena’s countenance – with a suspicion, purely intuitive, of what may have caused it – not strange she should deem the visit of the Indian girl boding no good to her, but instead something of ill.
As the latter steps inside the toldo, however, and the light falls upon her face, the captive can there see no sign of malice, nor token of hostility. Instead, it is lit up by a smile which seems rather to speak of friendship and protection. And, in truth, such are among the sentiments now moving the Indian girl to action. At the prospect of being for ever rid of a rival she sees so helpless, the feeling of jealousy has passed away out of her heart, as its frown from her face, and she approaches the captive with the air of one who has both the wish and the power to give liberty. She is the first to speak, asking abruptly —
“Do you wish to be free?”
“Why do you ask that?” is the interrogative rejoinder, in a tone distrustful. For that smile may be but to deceive.
“Because Nacena has it in her power to give you freedom if you desire it.”
“Desire it!” exclaims the captive. “Nacena is but mocking me,” she adds, involuntarily falling into the figurative mode of speech peculiar to the American Indian. “Indeed, I do desire it. But how could Nacena set me at liberty?”
“By taking the paleface to her people.”
“They are far away – hundreds of miles. Would Nacena herself take me to them?”
“No. That is not needed. The paleface is mistaken. Her friends are not far away, but near. They wait for her to come out to them.”
The captive gives a start of surprise, the light of hope and joy, long absent from her eyes, rekindling in them, as another light breaks upon her.
“Of whom does Nacena speak?”
“Of your brother the fair-haired youth, your cousin the dark Paraguayan, and the gaucho who has guided them hither. All three are close to the tolderia, on the other side of the hill – as I’ve said, expecting you. Nacena has spoken with them, and promised she will conduct you to where they are. White sister!” she adds, in a tone of unmistakeable sincerity, at the same time drawing closer to the captive, and tenderly taking her by the hand, “do not show distrust, but let Nacena keep her word. She will restore you to your friends, your brother; ah! to one who waits for you with anxiety keener than all!”
At the last words the captive bends upon her would-be deliverer a bewildered, wondering look. Is it possible Nacena has knowledge of her tenderest secret? It must be so; but how can she have learnt it? Surely Cypriano – whom she says she has seen outside and spoken with – surely, he could not have revealed it; would not! Francesca forgets that the Indian girl was for years a near neighbour to her father’s estancia; and though never visiting there, with the keen intuition of her race was like enough to have learnt, that the relationship between her cousin and herself had something in it beyond mere cousinly affection.
While she is still cogitating as to how Nacena could have come to this knowledge, and wondering the while, the latter bleaks in upon her wonderment, and once more urges her to flight, again speaking of him who is near and dear, so anxiously expecting her.
It needs not such pressing appeal. For the captive girl, her surprise once past, is but too willing to embrace the opportunity so unexpectedly offered, and by one so unlikely to offer it. Therefore, without further hesitation, she signifies acceptance, saying, “I will trust you, Nacena. You have called me your white sister, and I believe you sincere. You would not speak so if you meant me harm. Take me where you will; I am ready to go with you.”
Saying which, she holds out her hand, as if offering to be led.
The Indian girl taking it, turns her face for the door, and is about to step towards it, when she remembers the watcher without; and obstruction she had for the time forgotten. Will he bar their exit? A cloud comes over her brow, as she asks herself the question; for, mentally answering it, she thinks he most probably will.
The other observing her hesitation, and quite comprehending it, makes no inquiry about the cause. That is already declared in the dialogue lately overheard by her; and as he outside is likely to be listening, the two now take counsel together, speaking in whispers.
Nacena, from a better knowledge of the situation, is of course the chief adviser, and it ends in her determining to show a bold front, and pass out as if already armed with Shebotha’s permission. If interrupted, they can then make a rush for it. In short, after a hurried consultation, they can think of no other way, much less a better one. For by the shuffling of footsteps, and a wheezing noise – Shebotha’s slave being afflicted with asthma – they can tell that he is close by the entrance.
Soon as resolved how to act, the Indian girl, still holding the captive by the hand, leads her on to the door; and, passing over the threshold side by side, they present themselves to the sentry, Nacena saying:
“In going in I forgot to tell you my errand from Mam Shebotha. She bade me bring the paleface to where she is herself. You see, I am taking her.”
“You cannot take her out of the toldo,” rejoins the man in a tone of dogged denial. “You must not; Shebotha would kill me if I permitted it.”
“But I have Shebotha’s command to do so.”
“How am I to know that?”
“You forget what I have said, and what I’ve given you.”
She points to the strange rosary, which he had taken from her, and still retains – possibly as a voucher against any mistake that may arise.
“No, I don’t,” he rejoins, holding the string up before her eyes, and shaking it till the teeth rattle. “There it is; but withal, I can’t allow her, the paleface, to go with you. It might be as much as my life is worth.”
“But what is your life worth without liberty?”
It is not Nacena who puts this question, but the paleface herself; speaking to him in her native tongue, as his. He gives a sudden start on hearing it, and regards the young girl with a stare of astonishment, rubbing his eyes as though just awakened from a long-continued sleep.
“Ah – eh!” he exclaims, excitedly. “What’s that? Liberty, did you say? Liberty? Mine’s gone long ago. I’m but a poor slave – Shebotha’s slave. I can never be free again; no, never!”
“You may be free now – this very moment – if you wish it.”
“If I wish it! Ha, ha, ha! That’s a good joke! If I wish it! Only show me the way, and let Mam Shebotha go to – ”
“Never mind Mam Shebotha. Listen to me, who am of the same race and people as yourself. There are some of them now near, who have come to take me home to my friends. You must have friends too, whom you left long ago. Why should you not go back to them?”
“Carramba!” he cries out, as if the sound of his native tongue had brought back to remembrance one of its most common exclamations, and along with it a desire to return to the place where he last heard it spoken. “Why should I not? If you say you’ll take me, I will.”
“Ah! I’ll not only take you, but be glad of your company. Nos vamos!”
It is still Francesca who speaks, and at the last words, pronounced in a tone of half encouragement, half command, she stretches out her hand, and taking hold of that of her late jailer, leads him off, as a rough pampas colt just tamed and gentled.
Nacena, astonished at the spirit shown by the little paleface, and delighted with a success which may prove advantageous to herself, says not a word; but steps off forward in front of the other two – making mute pantomimic signs to guide them in the direction they are to go.
Chapter Fifty Five.
An Unlucky Tumble
Soon as Nacena had started on return to the town, the gaucho and his companions commence making preparations to descend from the hill. Not by the road leading down to the tolderia, but the path by which they came up. For before her parting with them the Indian girl and Gaspar had held further speech; she imparting to him additional information of how things stood in the tribe; he, in turn, giving her more detailed instructions how to act, in the event of her being able to obtain an interview with the paleface captive, and to get her off from the place where confined. In the programme arranged between them, the final part to be played by Nacena would be her conducting her charge round to the other side of the hill, where the rescuers would be in waiting to receive her. Delivered to them, the action of the Indian girl would be at end, so far as that affair was concerned, while theirs had yet to be considered.
The place where they were to await her was, of course, mutually understood – by the entrance to the uphill path, under the great ceiba tree. Nacena knew it well, having oft traversed that path, reclined in the shadow of the tree, and played under it from the earliest days of childhood. For it was a pretty spot, much-frequented by the younger members of the community when out for promenade on the plain, or nutting among the palm-groves that studded it. A sort of rendezvous, or stopping place, from the two routes to the town here diverging; the shorter, though by far the more difficult, being that over the Cemetery Hill. Of the roundabout one, Gaspar, of course, had no knowledge. But he knew the ceiba, and the way back to it, all that they needed. The girl had trodden both, hundreds of times, and was acquainted with their every reach and turning. She would come anyhow, and no fear of her not finding the way; their only fear was of her coming unaccompanied.
Least of all has Ludwig this apprehension; instead, full confidence that the Indian will will bring Francesca back with her. Strange this; but stranger still, that, while overjoyed with the thought of his sister being delivered from captivity, his joy should have a tinge of sadness in it, like a mingling of shadow and sun. This due to his suspicion of the motives actuating her who has promised to be his sister’s deliverer. Nacena is not their friend for mere friendship’s sake; nor his, because of the former fellowship between him and her own brother. Instead, jealousy is her incentive, and what she is doing, though it be to their benefit, is but done for the thwarting of Aguara.
Though Ludwig has expressed his opinion that they will soon see Francesca, he is silent about these suspicions. There is no time to speak of them if he would. For in a few seconds after Nacena’s separating from them, Gaspar gives the signal for action, and all three become engaged in getting ready their horses for a return to the plain.
“Por Dios!” mutters the gaucho, while slipping on his bridle. “I don’t much fancy remaining longer in this melancholy place. Though high and airy, it mayn’t be wholesome. If, after all, that brown beauty should change her mind, and play us false, we’d be in a bad predicament up here – a regular trap, with no chance of retreating from it. So the sooner we’re back to the bottom of the hill, the safer ’twill be. There we’ll at least have some help from the speed of our horses, if in the end we have to run for it. Let us get below at once!”
Having by this finished adjusting his bridle, he hands the rein to Cypriano, adding —
“You hold this, señorito, while I go after Shebotha. Botheration take that old hag! She’ll be a bother to us, to say nothing of the extra weight for our poor horses. After all, she’s not very heavy – only a bag of bones.”
“But, Gaspar; are you in earnest about our taking her along with us?” asks Cypriano.
“How are we to help it, hijo mio! If we leave her here, she’d be back in the town before we could get started; that is, if we have the good luck to get started at all. I needn’t point out what would be the upshot of that. Pursuit, as a matter of course, pell mell, and immediate. True, we might leave her tied to the post, and muffled as she is. But then she’d be missed by to-morrow morning, if not sooner, and they’d be sure to look for her up here. No likelier place for such as she, among these scaffolds; except tied to a scaffold of another sort, and in a somewhat different style.”
The gaucho pauses, partly to enjoy his own jest, at which he is grinning, and partly to consider whether Shebotha can be disposed of in any other way.
Cypriano suggests another, asking —
“Why couldn’t we take her in among these trees, and tie her to one of them? There’s underwood thick enough to conceal her from the eyes of anyone passing by, and with the muffle over her head, as now, she couldn’t cry out that they’d hear her.”
“’Twould never do,” rejoins Gaspar, after an instant of reflection. “Hide her as we might, they’d find her all the same. These redskins, half-naked though they are, can glide about among bushes, even thorny ones, like slippery snakes. So many of them, they’d beat every bit of thicket within leagues, in less than no time. Besides, you forget their dogs. Scores they have – ay, hundreds, some of them keen-scented as beagles. Carrai! they’d smell the nasty witch half-a-mile off, and so discover her whereabouts to their masters.”
“True,” returns Cypriano, seeing the plan he has proposed would not do. “In that way they would find her, no doubt.”
“And if they didn’t,” interposed Ludwig, speaking from a sentiment of humanity, “it would be dreadful.”
“Dreadful! what do you mean?” asks Cypriano, looking puzzled. “For them not to find her is just what we want.”
“Ah, cousin! how would it be for her? Tied to a tree, with no hope – no chance of getting loosed from it – she’d die of hunger or thirst – miserably perish. Wicked as Shebotha is, we’d be worse than she if we left her to such a fate as that, to say nothing of our bringing it upon her. Ay, and for doing so we’d deserve the same ourselves, or something as bad.”
“Well, Señor Ludwig,” rejoins the gaucho, with an air of submission rather than conviction, “you may be right in what you say, and I’m not the man to deny it. But there need be no difference of opinion on that point. Leaving Shebotha tied to a tree wouldn’t do on any account, for the reasons I’ve stated. It might – most likely would, and, as you say, it ought – end in ourselves getting tied to trees or stakes, with a bundle of faggots between our legs set to the tune of a slow fire. But,” he adds, after a second or two spent considering, “there’s only one other way I can think of to deal with the witch, if we’re not to take her with us.”
“What’s the other?” asks Cypriano, seeing that the gaucho hesitates to declare it.
“Why, knock her on the head, or draw the blade of a cuchilla across her throat, and so stop her grunting at once and for ever. The old wretch deserves no better fate and hanging’s too good for her. But they’d find her dead body all the same; though not with a tongue in it to tell who stopped her wind, or, what’s of more consequence, how and which way we went off. Besides, I dare say, the Señor Ludwig wouldn’t agree to our getting disembarrassed of her in that fashion.”
“Oh! no, no!” ejaculates the humane youth, horrified at the thought of such cruelty, “anything but that, Caspar.”
“Well, there isn’t anything but what I propose doing – that is, taking her along. I’m willing to accommodate her on the croup of my recado, and will show her all the gallantry she deserves. If you’re jealous, Señor Ludwig, you may have her behind you; and as your horse is the lightest laden, that might be best. When we’re crossing back over that riacho where you left your saddle-bags, if you’re tired of riding double, you can drop her down among the lightning-eels, and let them play their batteries upon her old bones till every joint of them cracks asunder.”
Were it not for the gravity of the situation, Gaspar’s young companions would be greatly amused at his quaint rhodomontade. But as both are too anxious about the future, and in no humour for a jest, Ludwig only answers with a faint smile; while Cypriano, alone thinking of Francesca, has somewhat impatiently listened to it. Having hold of the bridle-rein which the gaucho has handed to him, on the latter ceasing to speak, he says in urgent tone —
“Bring her along, then, good Gaspar; and be quick about it! As you’ve said, we should get down to the plain as soon as possible.”
The admonition is not needed, for Gaspar does not waste time over his jokes, nor allow them to interfere with his action. And while delivering the last sally, he has been looking to his horse-gear, to see that his recade is in a proper condition to receive her who is to be his double.
Satisfied it will do, he strides off to where Shebotha is tied; and in a few seconds returns bearing the sorceress in his arms, as though she were but a bundle of rags.
Hoisting her up to his horse’s withers, and with a stern threat and a shake, telling her to stay there, he springs upon the saddle behind her. It would not be their relative positions, then riding double, were they starting out on a long journey. But it will do for the half-mile or so, to the bottom of the hill, and for that short distance it seems idle either to bind her to his own body or to the saddle. So thinks Gaspar; but in this the gaucho, with all his prudent sagacity, is for once incautious to a fault. As they are groping their way down the steep slope, zig-zagging among the tree trunks that stand thickly on both sides of the path, a troop of ring-tailed monkeys asleep in their tops, having their slumbers disturbed by the clink-clink of the hoofs against stones, set up a lugubrious howling. All the three horses are affrighted by the unearthly noise, but Gaspar’s more than any; so much, that rearing erect upon its hind legs, with the ground so uneven, the animal loses balance, and stumbles over on its side.
As the gaucho gathers himself, stunned and somewhat dazed by the fall, ’tis to learn that for that night his riding double is at an end, with Shebotha sharing the saddle; for the sorceress is no longer to be seen!
Chapter Fifty Six.
An Infuriated Female
There is no mystery about Shebotha’s disappearance nor aught out of the way save in the adroitness with which the aged crone contrived to effect her escape. Soon as touching the ground, and feeling herself free from the arms hitherto holding her on horseback, she has darted into the underwood, and off; not even rising erect to her feet, but on all fours, and silently as a snake. For although the hillside is so thickly overgrown with thorny scrub that a pointer would with difficulty quarter it, the supple old savage worms her way through, without making any more noise than would a badger just got out of the barrel, and away from the dogs that have been baiting it.
In her retreat, she does not proceed for any great distance in a direct line, nor long continue crawling through the tangle of bushes. She is acquainted with every inch of that wooded slope, and all the paths traversing it, even to the tiniest trace of bird or quadruped; and soon coming into one of these, she at length stands upright. But not to stay there for any time, only long enough to give a glance to the right and left, in order that she may assure herself as to which of the two she had best take. Deciding in an instant, she is off again in crouched attitude, but with the agility of youth itself. Up the hill she goes, back towards the Cemetery. And one who saw her ascending before seeing her now, would with difficulty believe it to be the same person. Then, however, she was taking it leisurely, with no particular call for haste nor the taxing of her strength; now there is a motive for her making speed, with every exertion in her power. Indeed, more than one; for she is urged by two of the strongest passions that can agitate the human breast – cupidity and vengeance. While depriving her of her ghastly necklace, Gaspar had taken the occasion to possess himself of the more elegant and valuable ornaments stripped from the person of Nacena; not with any thought to appropriate them to himself, but the intention of restoring them to their rightful owner, when the latter should re-appear to claim them. Coming back, and bringing with her the captive, the Indian girl would well deserve restitution of her trinkets.
Thwarted in her infernal schemes, stung to fury by their failure, Shebotha goes panting up the hill; but, despite her hard breathing, without stopping to take breath. Nor rests she on reaching the summit, but glides on across the Cemetery, finding her way through the wooden structures as one who knows every scaffold there, and whose bones are mouldering upon it.
It is not from fear of being followed that she is now so hastening her steps. She knows that they from whom she has escaped will not return thither. For although hindered from hearing their conversation with Nacena, and so becoming acquainted with their plans, if not fully comprehending, she at least surmises them. For, having recognised the gaucho and his companions – all three of them – what purpose could they have there other than to release the paleface girl she has in her charge? And from the fact of their having themselves released Nacena – let her go without further detention than would be required to come to an understanding – she concludes that this has been come to, and the Indian girl consented to aid them in their intended rescue. But it will not be successful if she, Shebotha, can prevent it; and desperately bent on doing so, she rushes on through the scaffolds, and down the road to the tolderia, as if some danger threatened her from behind.
Arriving by the door of her own hut, she utters an exclamation of surprise at not there seeing her slave. Still another, after having called out his name, and received no answer. Her astonishment is complete and her rage at full height, when, having stepped up to the threshold of the toldo, she sees there is no one inside. The beeswax dip, burnt low and flickering in the socket, faintly lights up the hideous objects of her craft and calling; but shows no form of human being!
It is only a mechanical act her entering within the hut, and proceeding on to its inner apartment; for she is quite as sure it, too, will be found empty – as she finds it.
Almost instantly returning to the door, she stands gazing out into the darkness. Were there a light in front, her eyes would be seen to glare in their sunken sockets with the brightness of fire-balls; while in her breast is burning the fury of a concentrated vengeance. Once again she calls out the name of her slave, but as before getting no answer; and now sure that he, too, has either betrayed her, or been himself betrayed, she glides silently out of the toldo, and off towards that in which sleeps Aguara.
Soon she reaches its door, which she finds wide open; for it is within the tropics, and the night is a warm one. Craning her head inside, and listening for a second or two, she can tell by his breathing that the cacique is asleep. A slumber abruptly broken by her calling out —
“Son of Naraguana, awake!”
“Shebotha!” he exclaims, recognising her shrill treble. “What is it?” he adds, raising his head over the edge of his hamaca.
“Arise, Aguara! and make all haste. Know that there are enemies near, and treason in your tribe. You’ve been betrayed, and so has Shebotha!”
“Betrayed! How?” he asks in wonderment, but without leaving the hammock. “Who are these enemies you speak of? Who the traitors?”
“You’ll learn that in time, chief. It may be enough for you now to know, that your paleface captive has escaped.”
“Escaped!” he cries out, bounding down upon the floor, and coming forward to the entrance. “The paleface escaped, you say? Are you speaking truth, Mam Shebotha?”
“Come to my toldo, and see for yourself.”
“No, that’s not needed, if you say she’s gone. Tell me how, when, and whither. Be quick!”
In hurried phrase she recounts the incidents which have occurred to her and Nacena on the Cemetery Hill, adding her conjectures as to what may have transpired since, and may still be in the act of occurrence. Among these last are her suspicions, well founded as we know, that Kaolin’s sister has aided the paleface to escape; and that her own slave, who should have hindered, has not only connived at it, but taken himself away as well. In short, the cage is empty, and the bird with its keeper both flown!
What direction the fugitives have taken, is a question to which the sorceress can give answer without the need of any doubtful surmise or conjecture. She knows it as well as if she herself had appointed the place of rendezvous, given by Gaspar to the Indian girl. For while riding double with the gaucho, she had heard him speak of it to his companions; heard, despite the poncho spread over her ears, the word ceiba, with others, which told of their intention to stay by that tree.
The cacique knows the noted spot, as well as Nacena herself, he too having oft played beneath its shade, or climbed up its grand trunk and disported himself among its branches, when more of a boy than he is now.
But he reflects not on these past times, so full of innocence and happiness. Instead, wild with rage, and wretched as he is angry, he stays not to reflect at all; but hastily, and little better than half-dressed, he rushes forth from his toldo, calling loudly for his horse.
Meanwhile, the sorceress has aroused others of the tribe; several of whom, in obedience to their chief’s command, start off for the corrals to procure the horses necessary for a pursuit of the fugitives.
Aguara’s is on the ground first; and, without waiting for companion or attendant of any kind, he vaults upon the animal’s back, and goes off at a gallop along the path, which, after turning around close to the hill, at about a mile’s distance, farther on passes the ceiba tree.
