Meanwhile the storm had abated, the sky became cloudless, and the sun burst out with a warm glow that was very welcome.
Emile, after having confided the two ladies to the care of the Guarani, had left the tambo, oppressed by a sad apprehension.
At first, carried away by the vivacity of his disposition, he had, at the peril of his life, tried to save men threatened with a frightful death; but, the danger passed, all the difficulty of his position suddenly appeared to him.
The young man's position was critical; an event impossible to foresee had destroyed all his plans. The storm, in thus coming to the aid of the Pincheyras, obliged the Frenchman to adopt a system of dissimulation incompatible with his loyal character.
However, there was no other means than that; he must adopt it. The young man resigned himself to it—against his will, it is true—hoping that perhaps fate might weary of persecuting the two weak creatures whom he wished to serve.
A prey to by no means pleasurable thoughts, Emile, with his arms crossed behind his back, and his head leaning on his breast, paced with an agitated step the open space before the tambo, when he heard himself called several times in a loud voice.
He raised his head. Don Zeno and Don Pablo Pincheyra, seated side by side on the banks of a ditch, made a sign to him to join them.
"What do these demons want with me?" murmured he, in his manner of speaking to himself in a low tone. "They are certainly two good specimens of scoundrels. Ah!" said he, with a sigh, "How happy was Salvator Rosa—he who could at his ease paint all the brigands that he met! What a splendid picture I could make here! What a magnificent landscape!"
Speaking thus, the young man directed his steps towards the two partisans, before whom he found himself just at the last word of his "aside." He bowed to them, with a smile on his face.
"You wish to speak to me, gentlemen?" said he. "Can I be of any service to you?"
"You can," answered Zeno Cabral, smiling, "render me a service for which I should be ever grateful."
"Although I am ignorant as to what you expect of me, and what is the service you are about to ask of me, I do not wish to abuse your confidence, and to deceive you. It is well that we should thoroughly understand our position."
"What do you mean, señor?" asked Don Zeno, with a start of surprise.
"I will explain. You doubtless do not recognise me, señor. I confess that at first, when I came to your help, I did not know who was the man whose life I had saved; but now I recognise you as Don—"
"Sebastiao Vianna, a Portuguese officer, a friend and aide-de-camp of General the Marquis de Castelmelhor," quickly interrupted Don Zeno.
"Parbleu! Why hesitate? I by no means conceal my name; I have no reason for making a mystery of it. Don Pablo knows that—a devoted friend of the marchioness and her daughter—my mission has no other design than the conducting them safely to the general."
"There is nothing but what is very honourable in this mission," chimed in the Pincheyra, "and with God's help the colonel will accomplish it."
"I hope so," answered Don Zeno.
"Just so," answered the young man, taken aback by what he heard.
"Ah!" murmured he, "Whom do they think they are deceiving?"
"Is that all you wished to say?" continued Don Zeno.
"Yes, that is all," answered the painter, bowing.
"Very well," pursued the partisan with an agreeable smile, "I did not expect less from your courtesy; but what you do not wish to state, it is for me to make known, and to avow boldly."
"Your conduct towards me, Don Emile," he continued—"you see I remember your name—is so much the handsomer and more generous, inasmuch as mine, in appearance at least, is not in your estimation free from blame. At our first meeting, I wished, I believe, if my memory is faithful, to arrest you as a spy."
"I thank you for this frankness, señor," answered the young man, smiling.
"You misunderstand me, caballero," pursued the partisan with animation, "and that does not surprise me. You cannot understand the strange and abnormal position that we Southern Americans occupy at this time. I speak decisively, because I expect a last service, or, if you prefer to call it so, a last proof of your generosity."
Emile Gagnepain was a thoroughly clear-sighted man. The deliberate manner of the partisan who, while passing lightly over the details, yet confessed his errors, pleased him by its very eccentricity.
"Speak, Don Sebastiao," he answered; "I shall be happy to render you the service that you expect, if it is in my power."
"I know it, and I thank you for it, señor. I will state what it is in a few words."
"Speak, señor," answered the young man, his curiosity excited by such long preambles.
Don Zeno appeared for some time a prey to uncertainty and indecision; but, overcoming his feelings, whatever they were, he cast a look to where Don Pablo Pincheyra was apathetically smoking a cigarette, without appearing in any way to concern himself with the conversation.
"Here is the fact in a few words," he said; "Don Pablo Pincheyra, my friend, has informed me that you accompanied the Marchioness de Castelmelhor and her daughter, when his brother conducted them to Casa-Frama."
"That is true," gravely answered the painter; "these ladies did me the honour to accept me as guide."
"Then you are devoted to them?" decisively asked the partisan.
The painter did not wince; he suspected a snare.
"Pardon," he said, in a tone of kindliness, impossible to describe. "Before going any further, let us understand each other thoroughly, caballero. You say, do you not, that I am devoted to these unfortunate ladies?"
"Is it not true?" added the Pincheyra.
"To a certain extent it is, señor. These ladies required aid; I was near them, and they claimed mine. To refuse them would neither have been gallant nor in good taste. I, therefore, acceded to their wishes; but you know as well as anyone, Don Pablo, that yesterday, having learnt that they had no further need of me, I took leave of them."
"Hum I that is awkward," murmured Zeno Cabral. "Had you, then, serious reasons for acting thus?"
"Not precisely, señor; I have always acted in good faith with these ladies."
There was a long silence between the three speakers. The tone of the young painter was so artless and decidedly frank, that Don Zeno, notwithstanding all his skill, could not ascertain whether he gave expression to his real thoughts, or was deceiving him.
"I am disheartened by what you tell me, as I intended to ask you to do me a service."
"With regard to these ladies?" said the young man, with astonishment.
"A service for which, by the by, I should be extremely grateful."
"I do not see in what I can serve you, señor."
"But I do. Look here, my dear sir; we are playing with our cards under the table."
"I do not know why you speak thus, señor; my policy towards you should, I think, be sufficient to place me above suspicion of treachery," answered he.
"These ladies," Don Zeno continued, "whether rightly or wrongly, I will not discuss with you, imagine that they are surrounded by enemies determined on their destruction. Perhaps, if I presented myself to them, their mind, embittered by misfortunes, would see in me, whom they know but imperfectly, instead of a sure friend and a devoted servant, one of their enemies."
"Oh," cried the painter, haughtily, "what is that you are saying, señor? Are you not the aide-de-camp of General the Marquis de Castelmelhor?"
"That is true," answered the partisan, with embarrassment.
"Well, it seems to me, caballero, that that position ought to serve as a safeguard."
"Well, it probably would do so—at least I hope so. Unfortunately, reasons of the highest importance necessitate my trusting to someone else. That other—"
"Is to be me, is it not?" quickly interrupted the young man. "That is what you wanted to propose, caballero?"
"Whom could I choose if not you, señor?—you who know these ladies, and they have full confidence in you."
"Unhappily, caballero, my consent is necessary in this matter, and I have already had the honour to say, if not to you, at least to Don Pablo, that I do not feel at all disposed to continue, in respect to these ladies, the part that I have played for nearly a month. I am much concerned for them, but I must withdraw my support from them."
This tirade was uttered by the young man with such comic desperation, that the two partisans could not prevent themselves from laughing.
"Come, come," answered Don Zeno; "you are an excellent companion, and I see with pleasure that I was not deceived in you. Reassure yourself; the mission that I wish to confide to you is by no means perilous."
"Hum! Who knows?" murmured the young man.
"I give you my word, as a gentleman," resumed Don Zeno, "that when you arrive you will be free, and nobody will molest you."
"Hum! Hum!" again murmured the young man.
"Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Don Pablo Pincheyra, rising. "Why, then, my dear Don Sebastiao, do you not continue the escort of these ladies?"
"Have I not acquainted you," responded Don Zeno, "with the message which was given to me by the cavalier who met us on our first departure from the camp?"
"That is true," said Don Pablo, "I did not think of that. The message is important, then?"
"It could not be more so."
"Diable! Let us see, Don Emile," pursued the Pincheyra, in a conciliatory tone. "If I could, I would not hesitate to escort these two unfortunate ladies."
"You refuse me this service, then, caballero?" added Don Zeno.
"Well," said the young man, as if it had cost him a great deal to make this determination, "as you wish it, for this time I again consent to take upon myself an embarrassment of which I thought I was rid. I will escort these ladies."
Don Zeno made a gesture of joy which he immediately repressed.
"Thank you, caballero," said he. "Perhaps God will permit me, someday, to acquit myself of all that I owe you. Now that this affair is settled to our mutual satisfaction, allow me to take leave of you."
"Do you intend to depart so quickly then?"
"It must be. I cannot make too great haste. So, now that I have rested myself sufficiently for the various fatigues that I have for some time endured, I leave you, confiding in your loyal word, and convinced that you will act up to it."
"I shall fulfil my promise, señor."
"Thank you, caballero. I entirely reckon on you."
And after having amicably taken the hand of the young Frenchman, and having courteously bowed to Don Pablo, the partisan proceeded to rejoin his companions.
Don Zeno mounted his horse, made a last salute, and giving his horse the bridle, departed at full speed.
The painter followed him with his eyes as long as he could perceive him. Then, when at last the Montonero had disappeared behind the point of a rock, he gave a sigh of relief.
"That is one; now for the other? As to the latter, I think it will not be very difficult."
Don Pablo, still seated on the hillock of which he had made a seat, continued to smoke his cigarette.
The young man seated himself at his side, considered a moment, and placing his hand on the other's shoulder:
"Vive Dieu! Don Pablo," cried he with vigour; "For A month past I have lived in your camp; I have seen you accomplish marvellous things; but this far surpasses all the others."
"Eh!" said the partisan. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing. I render you homage, that is all."
"Homage!" repeated Don Pablo; "Why?"
"What makes you say why? Parbleu! I did not expect such an excess of modesty."
"Are we speaking in enigmas?"
"Do I not Know that you have played your part to perfection—I who, without being in the secret of the motives which have induced you to act thus, know the man as well as you."
"What secret? What motives? And of what man do you speak, companion?" cried Don Pablo impatiently.
"Pardieu! Of the man who has just left us."
"Don Sebastiao Vianna, the aide-de-camp of General de Castelmelhor."
"Well, it is capitally played," said Emile. "But now all dissimulation is useless. For the rest, if you persist in not uttering his name, that is your own affair. All this, in fact, does not much disturb me. You are free to give to Don Zeno Cabral the name of Dom Sebastiao."
"Eh!" cried the partisan, jumping up, "What name did you say?"
Don Pablo knit his eyebrows. A livid pallor covered his face.
"So this man," cried he, in a voice stifled by anger, "this man is Don Zeno Cabral?"
"Did you really not know that?" asked the young man.
"Yes, I was ignorant of it," cried the Pincheyra. "Do you swear it?"
"Pardieu! I have known him so long that I cannot be deceived."
The partisan darted a fierce look at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but changing his mind, he turned suddenly, and proceeded hastily towards his men, encamped around the tambo.
"To horse! To horse!" cried he to them.
"I believe," murmured the Frenchman, following him with a searching glance, "that the first one will free me from this one, unless it should be that this man should deliver me from the first."
After his Machiavellian soliloquy, the Frenchman, rubbing his hands, advanced cautiously towards the tambo, following with a gloomy countenance the preparations for departure being made by the Pincheyras.
Don Pablo was ready the first.
"Don Emile," said he to the young man, "I do not seek to fathom the motives which have induced you to conceal from me till this moment the name of a man whom—you have known for a long time as my enemy."
The Frenchman wished to interrupt him.
"Do not say anything to me," cried he with violence; "the service that you have rendered me is still too recent for me to demand an account of this ambiguous conduct; but remember this, I consider myself as now freed from all gratitude towards you."
"Be it so," answered the young man. "You know me well enough, I suppose, to be convinced that I do not fear; any more than I love you."
"I know that you are a brave man, señor, and that if the moment were to come for you to face me, you would bear yourself valiantly; but I did not wish to leave you without telling you my intentions, and to warn you to place yourself on your guard."
"I thank you for that act of courtesy, señor; and I will take advantage of your warning."
"Now, adieu! Do not try again to cross my path."
Then striking the pommel of his saddle angrily with his fist, he placed himself at the head of his troop; and after having cried "Forward! Forward!" in a voice of thunder, darted off at a gallop.
"Aha!" said Emile, "All goes well; the vultures have rushed after the prey. It is a good game to win, to withdraw these two doves from the outstretched talons of these two birds of prey. God helping me, I will try."
And completely restored to good humour by this soliloquy, the painter entered the tambo.
The two ladies were half reclining on the skins before a fire lit by the Guarani. Scarcely recovered from the perils and the terrors they had undergone, they remained motionless and silent, their countenances pale, and their eyes half-closed absorbed in their own thoughts, not knowing whether they ought to be glad or sorry at being at last sheltered from danger, and at having escaped the fury of the tempest.
At the entry of the young painter, a faint smile appeared upon their faces.
"So," said the marchioness, after a stealthy glance at her daughter, "it is, thanks to your courage, and to your presence of mind, that we have escaped from a frightful death?"
"I have only been an instrument in the hand of God."
"This Indian has told me all," said the marchioness, designating Tyro by a gesture. "I know that now Don Pablo Pincheyra, bound by the gratitude which he owes you, would not dare to refuse you anything."
"Don Pablo was not alone, Madame."
"In fact, Don Sebastiao Vianna accompanies him, they say."
The painter smiled slyly.
"You laugh, Don Emile," she cried.
"Pardon me, Madame, this overflow of spirits. I will explain myself. Don Sebastiao Vianna was not the name of the man who came to the camp to demand your liberty."
"Ah!" murmured she; "Is he a man I know?"
"You know him, certainly; his name is Zeno Cabral."
"Don Zeno Cabral?" cried she, in a fright; "That man! Oh, then, I am lost!"
"Reassure yourself, Madame; you are in safety."
"What do you mean?"
"Don Pablo has departed, Madame. I have started him off in pursuit of Don Zeno, by revealing to him the name of the latter. Thus, apparently, we are completely delivered from all our enemies."
The marchioness tendered him her hand.
"I thank you," said she. "Your devotedness never fails."
"And never shall fail, Madame. We have not long to remain here. It is necessary for us to make a last effort, and to compete in strategy with our enemies."
"Have you any plan?"
"Unhappily, no, Madame; but perhaps with the aid of our brave and faithful Tyro, we may concert a plan."
"Let us try, then," responded she, "and lose no time, which is so precious to us."
Tyro re-entered at this moment.
"Well," asked Emile of him. "Has anything fresh happened?"
"No, my friend; Sacatripas, whom I have charged to watch the departure of the Pincheyras, has seen them go at full speed towards the plain. There is no fear of a surprise on the part of Don Zeno; for a considerable distance from here there is only one practicable road, and that is the one on which we are."
"That is to be regretted, indeed; our flight is impossible."
"Mon Dieu!" murmured Doña Eva, clasping her hands with anguish.
"So we are lost," said the marchioness.
"I did not say so, Madame. I am compelled, however, to confess that the situation is extremely critical."
"Let us see, Tyro, my friend; you who know so well these mountains, in the midst of which you have been brought up—seek, invent! As for me, what do I know? Find an expedient which gives us a chance of safety," cried the painter.
"God is my witness, my friend, that my best desire is to see you out of danger," replied he.
"We have no hope but in you, my brave Indian," said Emile.
"Listen, then, since you insist on it; and first, I must tell you, that at a league from here, more or less, there is an almost impracticable path, which is, in fact, only the dry bed of a torrent. This path few persons know, and no one, I am convinced, would venture to follow it, so difficult is it. Scarcely traced on the side of the mountains, it winds through rocks and precipices, and must at the present time be inundated, by reason of the frightful storm which has raged in these parts. This path, however, has this advantage over the other; it very much shortens the passage from here to the plain."
"Up to the present time," interrupted the painter, "I do not see anything but what is very advantageous to us in what you say."
"Patience, my friend, I have not yet finished."
"Finish, then, in mercy's name," cried the Frenchman, with impatience.
"If it were only you and me, my friend," pursued the Guarani, "I should not hesitate."
"Why do you stop short?" asked the young man.
"I understand you," said the marchioness. "What two men can undertake, with a chance of success, would be madness for women to attempt."
The Indian bowed respectfully to the two ladies.
"That is just my idea, señora," said he. "But there are other objections."
"Of what objections do you speak?"
"This path, very little known by the whites, is nevertheless much frequented by Puelche and Pampas Indians, fierce and untamed tribes, into whose hands we should be pretty nearly certain to fall. We should only escape one danger, to fall into another. At all events, it is necessary that these ladies should consent to resume the men's clothing."
"Do not trouble yourself about that," cried the marchioness.
"It would be necessary to march with the greatest prudence, watching, for fear of a surprise."
"And should a surprise happen," quickly interrupted the marchioness, "rather to allow ourselves to be killed, than to become the prey of these men."
"You admirably understand my thoughts, señora," answered the Guarani, respectfully bowing. "I have nothing more to add."
"This project is hazardous, and fraught with difficulties, I am convinced," said the painter; "but, for my part, I see nothing which renders its execution impossible. Let us set out at once, unless," added he, considering, "you think differently from me, Madame la Marquise, and that the dangers which, without doubt, await us on the road appear to you too great; in which case, Madame, I will conform to your wishes."
"As that is the case," nobly replied the marchioness, "a longer discussion becomes useless. Let us set out immediately. Go, then; in a few moments we shall be quite ready to follow you."
"Be it so, Madame," said the painter; "we will obey."
He made a sign to the Guarani to follow him, and both quitted the tambo.
A quarter of an hour, indeed, had not passed, when the ladies came out of the tambo, ready to start.
It was about half past three in the afternoon—an hour rather late to commence a journey, especially in the midst of the mountains, in these wild regions, where storms are so frequent, and changes of weather so rapid. But the fugitives, surrounded by enemies, from whom they had escaped as if by a miracle, had the gravest reasons to take themselves quickly from the spot.
The sky was of a dull blue; the sun, near the horizon, spread profusely its oblique rays on the earth, which it warmed; a light breeze tempered the heat, and agitated the leaves of the trees; black swans rose from the depths of the valleys, and flew rapidly in the direction of the plains, followed by great bald vultures. The evening was magnificent, and seemed to presage the continuance of fine weather.
Notwithstanding the rather perplexed state of mind in which the travellers were, the journey was commenced gaily. They talked, and even joked, forcing themselves to look hopefully to the future. As Tyro had stated, at about a league from the valley, hidden in the midst of a thick wood, they found the commencement of the path.
For any but those long habituated to life in the desert, the aspect of the path would have appeared very encouraging. In fact, the underwood almost wholly obstructed it; a high and tufted grass covered it as with a green carpet.
However, notwithstanding these encouraging signs of complete solitude, the Guarani knew too well the astuteness of his race to be so easily deceived. The deserted appearance of the locality, instead of inspiring him with confidence, led him to redouble his precautions.
"Well, Tyro," the painter asked him, "you have nothing to complain of, I hope? Upon my word, this path is wild."
"Too wild, my friend," answered the Indian, shaking his head. "This disorder is too well managed to be real."
"Oh, oh! And what makes you suppose that, my friend? I see, absolutely, nothing to suspect."
"That is because you do not look above you, my friend. In the desert, and especially in the mountain, a track is marked in the trees, and not on the ground."
"But as to ourselves, It appears to me we simply follow the path."
"And we are wrong, my friend. On our entrance into the wood, we ought only to have advanced from branch to branch on the trees; our horses will betray us. Unhappily, what you and I could do, with some chance of success, the ladies who accompany us could not attempt."
"If what you say is very true, our efforts will only end in retarding our capture."
"Perhaps so, perhaps not, my friend; if God only gives us till tomorrow at noon, we shall probably be saved."
"How is that?"
"Look here; this path goes towards the desert of the Frentones. The Frentones are, especially, enemies of the whites, to whatever country they belong; but they are good and hospitable to travellers. If we succeed in reaching their territory, we shall be comparatively in safety."
"Very good; and you expect to reach this territory tomorrow?"
"No; but we shall find ourselves nearly on the banks of the river Primero, and might set ourselves adrift on a raft."
"Pardieu!" joyously cried the young man, "That is a happy idea? It would be very unfortunate if, with so many chances of success, we do not escape."
"You know the people against whom we have to fight. Believe me, we are not saved yet."
"That is true; but, on the other hand, you see everything on the bright side."
"What a life would ours be if we could not brighten it up now and then!" pursued the young man.
The same day, and nearly at the same hour, when Emile Gagnepain quitted the Valle del Tambo, a little troop, composed of seven or eight horsemen, followed a path a little distant from the encampment of the Guaycurus.
These travellers, well mounted and well armed, appeared to be Indians. A woman, or rather a young girl, accompanied them.
This young girl appeared to be of the age of fifteen years at the most. Graceful and sprightly, she allowed to float in disorder the silken ringlets, of her long blue-black hair upon her fair shoulders, slightly browned by the sun, which had given her complexion, a golden tint. Her fine skin, under which could be seen the course of the veins, preserved still the velvet down of youth; her features were beautiful, her eyes sparkling with humour; and her laughing mouth was formed with rare perfection.
She wore the costume of the women of the Guaycurus, that is to say, a long robe of striped cotton cloth fastened at the hips by the ayulate, that symbolical girdle that these women wear before marriage. A large mantle of the same stuff as the robe, which could, in case of need, cover her whole body, rested at this moment on the croup of her horse; little silver rings, strung together, formed a kind of necklace which she wore on her neck; metal plates; bearing different figures covered her breast, and golden half-hoops were suspended from her ears.
Her delicate little feet, aristocratically arched, were, imprisoned in elegant buskins or half-boots, made with the fibres of the palm tree.
The cavalier, who travelled side by side with the young girl, bore a striking resemblance to her. His features were fine and intelligent, his forehead and his eyes black and well opened.—Although he wore the complete costume of the Guaycurus warrior, he was not tattooed, nor had paint in any way soiled the whiteness his skin.
Although his height was scarcely above the average, his limbs slight, and his manners rather effeminate, it was easy to perceive that this elegant exterior was united to an ardent soul and a brave heart.
The other warriors composing the little troop were hard-featured men, with bronzed complexions, and of ferocious aspect, forming a perfect contrast with the two persons whom we have tried to describe.
"Shall we arrive soon, brother?" asked the young girl, at the moment when we enter on the scene.
"Soon, I hope," distractedly replied the warrior. "The indications we have bad appear to me to be favourable."
"Do you know, brother for what reason the Cougar has sent for us?"
"I do not know," answered the young man, with some hesitation; "the Cougar is a prudent chief, who does nothing without having maturely reflected on it."
"And we shall see Gueyma again?" asked she with animation.
"Is it not he, with the Cougar, who commands the warriors of our tribe?"
"You are right. I am foolish to ask you this question, brother. Oh, how happy I am!" she added.
"Dove's Eye," answered the warrior with severity, "do you not remember my advice?"
"Oh yes, brother," said she, blushing slightly, lowering her eyes; "but what harm is there in saying that, since you alone hear me?"
"Sister, a young girl ought to keep her feelings to her own heart."
"But you know how much I love Gueyma; you have yourself seemed to encourage our mutual liking."
"You mistake, sister; I feel always the same towards you; it is you, on the contrary, who—"
"Oh, do not blame me, brother," interrupted Dove's Eye, quickly; "do not mar by your remonstrances the joy that I feel. I promise you I will constrain myself."
The young man shook his head with an air of doubt.
"You do not believe me," pursued she; "you are wrong, Arnal; I will keep my promise."
"For your own sake, I fear the time when we shall again see our friends."
"Do not disquiet yourself about that, brother. I will be as cold and as impenetrable as a rock."
"You must not go from one extreme to the other. Without manifesting too much joy, you must assume an expression of frank and cordial satisfaction, in again meeting with the friends and brethren of our tribe."
"Well, I understand you, brother; you will have no occasion to be dissatisfied with me."
At this moment a warrior approached.
"Has Arnal remarked that the track becomes more decided?" asked he.
"What thinks my brother, the Agonti?"
"I think that we are on the track of a numerous troop of horsemen."
"Are they whites or native warriors?"
"They are whites, and those who call themselves soldiers."
"Yes, this track is very distinct. These men, whoever they are, march boldly forward. They feel themselves sufficiently strong, no doubt, to have no need of concealing themselves, but fortunately for us these travellers are proceeding in a direction contrary to that which we follow. We have nothing, then, to fear from them."
"Look, moreover, at the path by which they have entered on their route."
"We can, then, continue to push on ahead; but we cannot be too much on our guard."
"My brother, Arnal, may be tranquil."
"Good; my brother is a wise warrior. I have confidence in him," answered Arnal.
The Agonti bowed, and resumed his position in the advanced guard of the little troop.
Dove's Eye proceeded pensively by the side of her companion; the young girl seemed to have lost all her gaiety, and her charming carelessness. Her head falling on her breast, without noticing anything, with her little hand she gently whipped the horse, without knowing what she was doing—so absorbed was she by her thoughts. Arnal sometimes darted a side glance at her, and a smile of singular expression was perceptible on his lips; but for some reason or other, the young warrior did not manifest any desire to renew the conversation, and appeared satisfied with the obstinate silence of his companion.
Meanwhile the sun began to set, the black shadows of the trees lengthened more and more; night approached.
The Agonti appeared for some minutes a prey to anxious concern. Suddenly he stopped, alighted, stretched himself flat on the ground, and appeared for two or three minutes to listen eagerly.
The travellers had reined up their horses, and stopped.
A curtain of foliage enveloped them as completely as if it had been a thick wall; but it was transparent, and they could see through it, without being perceived, the path which they had so abruptly quitted, and which was only about ten yards distant.
"What is the matter?" asked Arnal.
"A numerous troop of horsemen is advancing," said the Agonti; "we must be prudent."
"Very good; you have acted wisely. Listen; they approach."
"Yes, in a minute they will pass before us."
"We shall reconnoitre them at our ease, without fear of being discovered by them."
"Do you think so?" cried a harsh and guttural voice, from the midst, of the foliage.
"Ah!" cried Arnal, with a gesture of joy; "The Cougar."
"It is I," answered the chief; "you did not expect, I suppose, to meet, me so soon."
"Just so," answered Arnal, "but I am glad of the good fortune that, has brought you to us. Have you, then, abandoned your encampment?"
"Since sunrise my warriors have resumed their march. They are following me."
"Is Gueyma with them, brother?" asked the young girl.
"Dove's Eye forgets," severely answered the old chief, "that a woman has no right to interrogate a warrior."
"I am wrong, I confess," said she, dropping her head humbly; "but my father loves me; he will pardon me."
"I forgive you, my child; but a young girl has no right to speak but when she is spoken to."
This sharp reprimand was tempered with a look so gentle, and a smile so sweet, that the young girl, blushing all the while, could not maintain any anger towards the old chief.
"You guessed, then, that we were here," asked Arnal.
"Did I not expect you?" laconically said the Cougar. "And now give your warriors orders to retire for the night."
The Cougar then made the young warrior follow him, and both again reached the path, while the Agonti arranged the camp, and had the wood cut, and the fires lighted.
As soon as he was in the path, he cast an inquiring look around him, to as to assure himself that he was quite alone with his companion; then he turned towards him, and appeared to wait till the latter should speak.
Arnal hesitated a minute. His eyebrows lowered as under the influence of some oppressive thought. The old chief smiled gently, as if to encourage him.
At last the warrior decided to speak; but, instead of the language of the Guaycurus, it was in Spanish that he spoke.
"How is he, since I saw him?" asked he. "Has he seen him?"
"Reassure yourself: he is well. All has passed in that interview better than you and I could have dared to hope," quickly resumed the chief.
"You swear it, Diogo?"
"On my honour, señor—" But immediately bethinking himself, he added: "Caballero, they have sworn friendship; they have exchanged arms."
"Oh, I thank heaven," cried Arnal. "But he?"
"He is always the same."
"What have you said to him?"
"Simply what it is necessary he should know—nothing more."
"Oh! I tremble, Diogo! I fear that he will not pardon me."
The old chief knitted his eyebrows.
"Not pardon you! No, no; hold up your head proudly; you have nothing of that kind to fear."
"I dare not hope," murmured Arnal.
"Silence!" answered the Cougar; "compose your countenance; reassume your self-command. Let us continue, for a few days, to act our parts, and especially let us carefully keep our secret."
"Oh, you are strong, Diogo," feebly said the young warrior; "but I, alas!—"
"You—you are Arnal, the bravest, and, despite his youth, the most renowned warrior of the Guaycurus; do not forget that."
The young man smiled through his tears.
"Oh! you are good and devoted, my friend," answered he.
The sound of the precipitate gallop of a numerous troop of horsemen was heard rapidly approaching, although, on account of the numerous windings of the path, it was impossible to perceive them.
"Rejoin your companions," hastily said the old chief, "and leave it to me to prepare your meeting."
"That will be the best," answered the young man.
And, after making a gesture of the hand to the Cougar, he re-entered the wood.
The old chief remained alone; his head fell upon his breast, and, for a few minutes, he appeared absorbed in thought; but he soon collected himself, casting around him a look of singular boldness and energy.
"It is not now that I ought to give way to weakness," murmured he, in a low and almost inarticulate voice. "The nearer the moment approaches, the more my will should become firm and immovable."
He soon found himself surrounded by Guaycurus warriors.
"Well," said the Gueyma; "why have you halted?"
"Because in this place we stay for the night."
"To camp already, when there are yet nearly two hours more daylight!" said the young chief.
"It if true," pursued the chief; "your observation is very just but it does not depend upon me."
"How is that?"
"Because the fires are lighted in the wood, and the encampments are prepared."
"The encampment prepared! By whom?"
"By friends—probably," answered the Cougar, with a strange smile.
"Ah!" exclaimed Gueyma, with an inquiring look.
"Yes, friends!" resumed the old chief, significantly "Did we not expect some? Dove's Eye, eh?"
"Let us be off, then!" cried the impetuous young man, putting his horse in train to dart forward.
But the Cougar suddenly stopped him, and, coldly laying his hand on the bridle:
"Do you remember the word that you have given me, Gueyma?" said he.
"But she is there."
"Yes, she is there; but what matters a few minutes?"
"A minute is an age for me."
"Is it thus that you answer me, Gueyma? Is it in this way that you keep your oath? Shall a woman's love make you forget your honourable engagements? Go, allow yourself to be overcome by a foolish passion; I do not count on you any longer."
The young man grew very pale at these severe words. For a moment he fixed an angry look on the bold old man, who looked at him with an expression of sorrow and disdain.
"Pardon me," he said, at last; "I was wrong. I thank you for having recalled me to myself. You shall not have to complain of me, Cougar."
"Come then," answered the old chief, joyfully pressing the hand which was held out to him; "now I am certain that you will not trespass over the bounds."
The two chiefs entered the wood, followed by their warriors, and they soon reached the camp, where Arnal waited for them.
Gueyma's and the Cougar's horses walked side by side, the riders modulating the pace, and stealthily looking around them.
Behind them pressed a crowd of Indians. Arnal and Dove's Eye, standing up near the principal watch fire, motionless, and hand in each other's band, directed their eyes towards the advancing troop. Dove's Eye was pale and trembling, but cool and calm in appearance.
Arnal smiled pleasingly at Gueyma, whose look, at times, was fixed upon him with unspeakable tenderness.
The Cougar alone seemed anxious.
When the two chiefs had come at about three or four paces from the bright burning fire, they alighted, and throwing the bridles on the necks of their horses, they bowed courteously to the young warrior, the latter immediately returning their salute.
"I am happy to see you, chief," said he, in a gentle voice. "Having set out several suns ago to meet you, I thank the Great Spirit, who has thus suddenly brought me to you."
Gueyma again bowed, affecting not to see Dove's Eye.
"I thank you, brother," answered he, addressing Arnal; "no camp could suit me better than yours."
"Will you take your place before this fire, brother?" resumed Arnal; "The air is cold in these mountains; warm yourself, while Dove's Eye prepares the repast."
Gueyma sat silently before the fire, without appearing to have noticed that the name of Dove's Eye had been mentioned.
These forms of politeness, strictly demanded by Indian etiquette, having been satisfied, the ice between the chiefs was broken, and the conversation became friendly and intimate.
Separated for a long time, as they had been, they had many things to say.
Meanwhile Dove's Eye had not lost time; the repast was soon ready to be served.
Among the Indians, the women are exclusively charged with all the cares of the household, and all the hard and often repugnant labour which in other countries fall to the lot of men. The warriors consider them rather as slaves, made to obey their least caprice, than as companions.
Dove's Eye, after having served the warriors with the dishes she had prepared, and having offered them a cimarron maté, seated herself discreetly, a little in arrear of the group, near Arnal.
It was then only that Gueyma appeared to observe her presence. He fixed his eagle eye on the young girl, and, holding out his hand in a friendly way:
"Eaah!" said he, with a smile, "Dove's Eye has consented to leave the valleys of her tribe to follow Arnal?"
At these kind words, the young girl became red as a cherry, and answered in a slightly trembling voice:
"Arnal is the brother of Dove's Eye; he has served her for father; wherever Arnal goes, Dove's Eye ought to follow him: it is her duty."
"Good, I thank Dove's Eye," said the chief.
"The place of a woman is where there are friends to love and serve."
"Dove's Eye remembers that she was, when an infant, received by the Guaycurus," said the Cougar.
"She remembers also," answered the young girl, with animation in her voice, "that she has been brought up by Arnal, the brother of Gueyma."
We must here make a short digression.
Tarou Niom, the principal captain of the Guaycurus, after a rather long absence, had one day arrived at the village of the warriors of his tribe, accompanied by Arnal and the Cougar. Arnal, although he was a man, and although he wore the costume and the arms of a warrior, carried, strange to say, an infant in his arms. This infant was his brother Gueyma, or, at least, this was what Tarou Niom said to those who made inquiries.
Things went on as usual for some years, when one day, on a return from an excursion which had been prolonged more than usual, the Cougar returned to the village, leading with him, or rather carrying in his arms, a charming little girl, two or three years old, whom he said he had found abandoned and dying from hunger, in a village which had been set on fire.
The little girl, so miraculously saved by the Cougar, had been adopted by Arnal, who had given her, on account of the mildness of her look, the characteristic name of Dove's Eye.
The two children had thus lived together, growing up in each other's company, so that their friendship had changed into love.
Arnal and the Cougar equally shared their tenderness between the two children.
But after a time, the friendship of the two children, which formerly he encouraged all in his power, seemed to irritate Arnal; his eyebrows knitted, he scolded Dove's Eye, and blamed her brother under the most frivolous pretexts; but, with an effort over himself, his countenance soon became serene, the smile returned to his lips, and he caressed the two children, pressed them in his arms with a feverish energy, and begged them always to love each other. Gueyma had become, thanks to his courage, one of the most famed warriors of the tribe; and, notwithstanding his youth, Tarou Niom, who loved him so much, had caused him to be chosen its chief.
The separation which ensued between Gueyma and Dove's Eye had been painful. It was then that, for the first time, the young people understood the power of the ties which bound them to each other; but they had to part.
The Cougar had great influence over the mind of the young chief, who professed for him a profound respect. Gueyma obeyed, despite his feelings, and left behind him his first love.
The joy of Gueyma was great in at last seeing Dove's Eye again, whom he did not expect to see so soon; but the first moment of wild joy having passed, remembering the recommendations of the old chief, he repressed, though with great difficulty, his delight, and succeeded in wearing a complete mask of indifference on his noble and beautiful countenance.
The young girl, wounded by this coolness, felt her pride revolt. As she concealed from him the feelings which agitated her, and studied the counsels of Arnal more, perhaps, than he expected, she sustained the conversation commenced between her and Gueyma with that power of coquetry which, while it is the despair of men, renders women so powerful, and she soon so piqued the young man with her incessant shafts, that he was constrained to confess himself vanquished.
On a sign from Arnal, Dove's Eye went to anenramada, or cabin of boughs, constructed for her, where she remained free to give herself up to her thoughts. The two warriors remained alone by the fire.
After having assured themselves that no one was watching them, and that all the Indians, enveloped in their blankets, were sleeping round the fires, the Cougar and Arnal began to converse in a low voice in the Spanish language.
Their conversation was long; the stars began to pale when they at last sought repose, which they did not do, however, without having visited the sentinels to see if they were watching over the common safety.
At sunrise the camp was raised, and the Guaycurus resumed their march.
Arnal, with joy, found that the direction followed by the young chief was that of the plains of Tucumán. Each step thus brought the Guaycurus nearer their hunting grounds.
The warriors appeared also to know that they were retracing their steps, and that they were at last leaving that Spanish territory, in which, during their struggle, they had so much suffered. Notwithstanding the impassibility which the Indians believe it a duty never to abandon, their features, unknown to themselves, had an expression of ill-concealed joy.
However, the Indians were too prudent to forget that they were in an enemy's country, and to neglect the precautions necessary to avoid a surprise.
Gueyma proceeded at the head of his warriors, in company with the Cougar, with whom he conversed, while Arnal and Dove's Eye remained in the rearguard.
On the evening or the second day, at the moment when Gueyma and the Cougar prepared to give the order to camp for the night, a horseman, galloping at full speed, turned an angle of the path followed by the Indians, and came towards them, waving above his head, as a sign of peace, a poncho that he held in his hand.
Soon another horseman appeared in the rear of his companion; then another, and another—amounting to six.
The unknown travellers appeared to be in a pacific humour, their carbines being slung over their shoulders.
With a gesture, Gueyma ordered his people to stop; then, after having exchanged a few words in a low voice with the Cougar, he gave his arms to the Agonti, who was standing aside, and advanced at a trot towards the horseman.
When the two men met, they examined each other, and discovered at a glance that both were Indians.
The two warriors bowed, each bending his head till it nearly touched the neck of the horse; then, after a short pause, Gueyma, seeing that the stranger wished that he should commence the conversation, said—
"My brother travels amidst the mountains in a bad season; the further he proceeds, the worse will the roads be."
"I do not wish to penetrate further into the mountains," answered the stranger; "I wish to get away."
"Then," said Gueyma, "my brother has lost his way."
"I know it," said the stranger, laconically.
"I do not understand my brother," said Gueyma.
"My companions and I have since the morning taken cognisance of the troop of my brother that we precede on the same path. On perceiving that my brothers made preparations for encamping, we held counsel, and I have been charged to retrace my steps, in order to consult with the chief of the cavaliers by whom we have been followed."
"Epoï!" (good!), resumed Gueyma, smiling; "The eye of my brother is straightforward, his tongue is not double, his heart must be loyal. I am the chief of the Guaycurus warriors, who are behind me. Let my brother explain: the ears of Gueyma are open. My brother may speak freely and without restraint."
As the two Indians perceived they were of different tribes, they had begun the conversation in Spanish—a mixed language that both could understand.
"Those who follow me," said the stranger, "are not sons of our territory, they are palefaces whose hunting grounds are very far from here, in the country where the sun hides himself, down there, behind the great Salt Lake.
"I am their guide in these regions which they explore and which they do not know. They come openly to ask aid and protection of my brother, claiming the rights of Indian hospitality, till they consider all danger past."
"Whoever may be the men who accompany my brother, to whatever tribe they may belong—even if they should be the most implacable enemies of my tribe—they have a right to my protection and my kindness. The rights of hospitality are sacred. Let my brother tell his companions that I do not wish to know anything about them; they are travellers—that is all—follow on. Here is myhaak," said he, drawing a knife from his girdle, and handing it to the stranger; "if I betray my promise, my brother will bury it in my heart before all my assembled people. My brother and his companions will sleep this evening with the Guaycurus warriors."
The two warriors bowed, and then, reining back their horses, each returned at a gallop towards his people.
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.