They began to hunt, therefore, and, disdaining the feathered tribe, their first attempts were made upon the large game of the Pampas. Soon hares and guanacos, like those that had attacked them so violently on the Andes, started up before them by hundreds; but these very timid animals fled with such swiftness that it was impossible to come within gun-shot. The hunters, therefore, attacked other game that was less fleet. A dozen partridges and rails were brought down, and Glenarvan shot a peccary, which was very good eating.
In less than half an hour they had obtained without difficulty all the game they needed. Robert captured a curious animal called an armadillo, which was covered with a sort of helmet of movable bony pieces and measured a foot and a half in length. It was very fat, and would be an excellent dish, as the Patagonian said; while Robert was proud of his success.
As for Thalcave, he showed his companions a "nandou" hunt. This bird, peculiar to the Pampas, is a kind of ostrich, whose swiftness is marvelous.
The Indian did not try to decoy so nimble an animal, but urged his horse to a gallop, straight towards the bird, so as to overtake it at once, for, if the first attack should fail, the nandou would soon fatigue both horse and rider with its giddy backward and forward movements.
Thalcave, arriving at a proper distance, launched his "bolas" with a strong hand, and so skillfully that they twisted about the legs of the ostrich and paralyzed its efforts. In a few moments it lay on the ground. The Indian soon captured his prize and contributed it to the common repast. The string of partridges, Thalcave's ostrich, Glenarvan's peccary, and Robert's armadillo were brought back to camp. The ostrich and the peccary were immediately stripped of their skin and cut into small slices. As for the armadillo, it is a dainty animal which carries its roasting dish with it, and it was, accordingly, placed in its own bony covering on the glowing embers.
The three hunters were satisfied with the partridges for supper, and kept the rounds of beef for their friends. This repast was washed down with clear water, which was then considered superior to all the wines in the world.
The horses were not forgotten. A great quantity of dry fodder, piled in the ramada, served them for food and bedding.
When everything was ready, Glenarvan, Robert, and the Indian wrapped themselves in their ponchos, and stretched their limbs on a bundle of alfafares, the usual bed of the hunters of the Pampas.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE RED WOLVES.
Night came,—the night of the new moon, only the uncertain light of the stars illumined the plain. On the horizon the zodiacal light faded away in a dark mist. The waters of the Guamini flowed without a murmur, while birds, quadrupeds, and reptiles reposed after the fatigues of the day. The silence of the desert reigned on the vast expanse of the Pampas.
Glenarvan, Robert, and Thalcave had yielded to the common law, and, stretched on their thick beds of grass, they enjoyed a refreshing sleep. The horses, overcome with fatigue, had lain down on the ground: Thaouka alone, like a true blooded horse, slept standing, spirited in repose as in action, and ready to start at the least sign from his master. Perfect tranquillity reigned within the inclosure, and the embers of the night-fire, as they gradually died out, cast their last rays over the silent obscurity.
About ten o'clock, after a short sleep, the Indian awoke. His eyes became fixed beneath his lowered eyebrows, and his head was turned in a listening attitude towards the plain. He seemed endeavoring to detect some scarcely perceptible sound. A vague uneasiness was soon expressed on his face, usually so calm. Had he perceived the approach of prowling Indians, or the coming of jaguars, water-tigers, and other formidable beasts which are numerous in the neighborhood of rivers? This last possibility doubtless appeared plausible to him, for he cast a rapid glance over the combustible materials piled in the inclosure, and his anxiety increased. In fact, all this dry bedding would quickly be consumed, and could not long intimidate the audacious animals.
According to this conjecture, Thalcave had only to await the progress of events, which he did, half reclining, his head resting on his hands, his elbows on his knees, his eyes motionless, in the attitude of a man whom a sudden anxiety has awakened from sleep.
An hour passed. Any other person but Thalcave, reassured by the outward silence, would have lain down again. But where a stranger would have suspected nothing, the highly-trained senses and natural instinct of the Indian foresaw the coming danger.
While he was listening and watching, Thaouka gave a low neigh. His nose was stretched towards the entrance to the ramada. The Patagonian suddenly started.
"Thaouka has scented some enemy," said he.
He arose and scanned the plain attentively. Silence still reigned, but not tranquillity. Thalcave discerned shadows moving noiselessly among the tufts of grass. Here and there glittered luminous points, which spread on all sides, now fading away, and now gleaming forth again. You would have thought fantastic elves were dancing on the surface of an immense lagoon. A stranger would doubtless have taken these flitting sparks for glow-worms, which shine, when night comes, in many parts of the Pampas. But Thalcave was not deceived; he knew with what enemies he had to deal. He loaded his carbine, and took a position near the first stakes of the inclosure.
He did not wait long. A strange cry, a mingling of barks and howls, resounded over the plain. The report of the carbine answered it, and was followed by a hundred frightful yelps. Glenarvan and Robert suddenly awoke.
"What is the matter?" asked Robert.
"Indians?" said Glenarvan.
"No," replied Thalcave, "aguaras."
Robert looked at Glenarvan.
"Aguaras?" said he.
"Yes," replied Glenarvan, "the red wolves of the Pampas."
Both seized their weapons, and joined the Indian. The latter pointed to the plain, from which arose a series of formidable howls. Robert involuntarily took a step backward.
"You are not afraid of the wolves, my boy?" said Glenarvan.
"No, my lord," replied Robert, in a firm tone. "With you I fear nothing."
"So much the better. These aguaras are not very formidable beasts; and were it not for their numbers I should not even think of them."
"What does it matter?" replied Robert. "We are well armed. Let them come."
"And they shall be well received."
Speaking thus, Glenarvan endeavored to reassure the lad; but he did not think without a secret terror of that dense horde of exasperated beasts. Perhaps there were hundreds of them; and these three, however well armed, could not advantageously contend against so many and such antagonists.
By the howls that resounded over the Pampas, and by the multitude of shadows that flitted about the plain, Glenarvan could not be mistaken as to the number. These animals had scented a sure prey, horse-flesh or human flesh, and not one among them would return to his lair without having his portion. The situation was, therefore, very alarming.
Meanwhile the circle of wolves grew gradually narrower. The horses, awakened, gave signs of the liveliest terror. Thaouka alone pawed the ground, seeking to break his halter, and ready to rush out. His master succeeded in calming him only by whistling continually.
Glenarvan and Robert had stationed themselves so as to defend the entrance of the ramada, and with their loaded rifles were about to fire at the first ranks of wolves, when Thalcave turned aside their weapons already poised for a shot.
"What does Thalcave wish?" asked Robert.
"He prohibits us from firing," answered Glenarvan.
"Why?"
"Perhaps he does not consider it the proper time."
This was not, however, the motive which actuated the Indian, but a graver reason, which Glenarvan understood when Thalcave, raising his powder-flask and inverting it, showed that it was almost empty.
"Well?" said Robert.
"We must economize our ammunition. Our hunt to-day has cost us dear, and we are deficient in powder and shot. We have not twenty charges left."
The boy answered nothing.
"You are not afraid, Robert?"
"No, my lord."
"Very well, my boy."
At this moment another report resounded. Thalcave had brought down a too bold enemy. The wolves that were advancing in close ranks recoiled, and gathered together again a hundred paces from the inclosure.
Glenarvan, at a sign from the Indian, took his place at once, while the latter, collecting the bedding, grass, and all combustible materials, piled them at the entrance of the ramada and threw on a burning ember. Soon a curtain of flame was defined against the dark background of the sky, and through the openings the plain appeared illumined by great moving reflections. Glenarvan could therefore judge of the great number of animals against which they had to defend themselves. Never had so many wolves been seen together before, nor so excited by rapacity. The fiery barrier that Thalcave had just opposed to them had redoubled their fury. Some, however, advanced to the very fire, crowded by the rear ranks, and burned their paws. From time to time a shot was necessary to check the howling horde, and at the end of an hour fifteen bodies lay on the prairie.
The besieged were now in a situation relatively less dangerous. So long as their supplies lasted, so long as the barrier of fire stood at the entrance to the ramada, invasion was not to be feared. But what was to be done if all these methods of repelling the wolves should fail at the same time?
Glenarvan gazed at Robert, and felt his heart beat quick with excitement. He forgot himself, and thought only of this poor child, who displayed a courage beyond his years. Robert was pale, but his hand did not leave his weapon, and he awaited with firm bearing the assault of the enraged wolves.
Meantime, Glenarvan, after coolly considering the situation, resolved to do something decisive.
"In one hour," said he, "we shall have no more powder, shot, or fire. We must not wait till then to make a sally."
He turned towards Thalcave, and, recalling a few words of Spanish, began a conversation with the Indian, frequently interrupted by the cracks of the rifle.
It was not without difficulty that these two men succeeded in understanding each other. Glenarvan, fortunately, knew the habits of the red wolf. Without this knowledge he could not have interpreted the words and gestures of the Patagonian.
Nevertheless, a quarter of an hour passed before he could give to Robert the meaning of Thalcave's answer. He had questioned the Indian concerning their situation.
"And what did he answer?" inquired Robert.
"He said that, cost what it may, we must hold out till daybreak. The aguara goes out only at night, and when morning comes he returns to his lair. He is the wolf of darkness, a cowardly beast that fears the daylight."
"Well, let us defend ourselves till day."
"Yes, my boy, and with our knives if we can no longer use our guns."
Already Thalcave had set the example, and when a wolf approached the fire, the long knife of the Patagonian was thrust through the flames and drawn back again red with blood.
However, the means of defense were failing. About two o'clock in the morning, Thalcave threw into the fire the last armful of fuel, and the besieged had only five charges left.
Glenarvan cast about him a sorrowful glance. He thought of the child who was there, of his companions, of all whom he loved. Robert said nothing; perhaps the danger did not appear imminent to his hopeful spirit. But Glenarvan pictured to himself that terrible event, now apparently inevitable, the being devoured alive! He was not master of his emotion; he drew the child to his breast, he clasped him to his heart, he pressed his lips to his forehead, while tears flowed from his eyes.
Robert gazed at him with a smile. "I am not afraid," said he.
"No, my boy, no," replied Glenarvan; "and you are right. In two hours, day will appear, and we shall be saved! Well done, Thalcave, my brave Patagonian!" cried he, as the Indian killed with the butt of his gun two enormous beasts that were attempting to cross the glowing barrier.
But at this moment the dying light of the fire showed him the aguaras advancing in a dense body to assail the ramada. The dénouement of the bloody drama was approaching. The fire gradually subsided, for want of fuel; the flames sank; the plain, before illumined, now relapsed into shadow, and in the shadow reappeared the terrible eyes of the red wolves. A few moments more, and the whole drove would rush into the inclosure.
Thalcave discharged his carbine for the last time, stretched out one more of their enemies, and, as his ammunition was exhausted, folded his arms. His head sank upon his breast; he appeared to be questioning himself. Was he searching for some bold, novel, or rash scheme for repelling this furious herd? Glenarvan did not venture to ask him.
At this moment a change took place in the action of the wolves. They seemed to be retreating, and their howls, so deafening before, suddenly ceased. An ominous silence reigned over the plain.
"They are going," said Robert.
"Perhaps," replied Glenarvan, who was listening with intentness.
But Thalcave shook his head. He knew well that the animals would not abandon a certain prey until at daybreak they returned to their holes and dens.
However, the tactics of their enemies had evidently changed, they no longer endeavored to force the entrance of the ramada; but their new manœuvres were already causing a still more imminent danger.
The wolves, abandoning their design of penetrating the inclosure by this entrance, which was defended by weapon and fire, went to the back of the ramada and sought to assail it in the rear. Their claws were soon heard rattling against the half-decayed wood. Already their powerful paws and bloody mouths had forced their way between the shattered stakes. The horses, bewildered and panic-stricken, broke their halters and dashed into the inclosure. Glenarvan seized Robert in his arms, to defend him to the last extremity; and he would have attempted a rash flight, and rushed out of the ramada, had not his eyes fallen upon the Indian.
Thalcave, turning like a deer, had suddenly approached his horse, which was neighing with impatience, and was beginning to saddle him carefully, forgetting neither strap nor buckle. He seemed no longer to care for the howls, that were now redoubled. Glenarvan gazed at him with a dark foreboding.
"He is leaving us!" cried he, seeing Thalcave gather up his reins as though he were about to mount.
"He? never!" said Robert.
In truth the Indian was about to make a venture, not to leave his friends, but to save them by sacrificing himself. Thaouka was ready. He champed his bit; he pranced; his eyes, full of a fiery spirit, shot forth lightning flashes; he understood his master.
Just as the Indian was seizing the mane of his horse, Glenarvan caught him by the arm with a convulsive grasp.
"You are going?" said he, pointing to the plain, which was now deserted.
"Yes," replied the Indian, who comprehended the gesture of his companion; and, with vehement gesticulations which were however perfectly intelligible, he added a few words in Spanish, which signified: "Thaouka—good horse—swift—will draw the wolves after him."
Frightful howls resounded. The wolves, starting on the track of the horse, fled into the darkness with a terrible speed.
"Ha! Thalcave!" cried Glenarvan.
"Quick, quick!" continued the Indian; while Glenarvan said to Robert, in a voice broken by emotion,—
"Robert, my lad, you hear! He will sacrifice himself for us; he will rush out over the plain, and turn aside the fury of the wolves upon himself."
"Friend Thalcave," replied Robert, looking imploringly at the Patagonian, "friend Thalcave, do not leave us!"
"No," said Glenarvan, "he will not leave us."
And, turning to the Indian, he added, pointing to the terrified horses crowding against the stakes,—
"Let us go together."
"No," said the Indian, who was not mistaken as to the meaning of these words. "Bad beasts—frightened—Thaouka—good horse."
"Very well," said Glenarvan. "Thalcave shall not leave, Robert. He shows me what I have to do. It is my duty to go, and his to remain with you."
Then, seizing Thaouka's bridle, he added,—
"I will go."
"No," replied the Patagonian, calmly.
"I tell you," cried Glenarvan, taking the bridle from the hands of the Indian, "I will go. Save this boy! I trust him to you, Thalcave!"
Glenarvan, in his excitement, mingled English and Spanish together. But what matters the language? In such a terrible situation, signs tell all, and men quickly understand each other.
However, Thalcave resisted, and the discussion was prolonged. The danger was increasing every moment. Already the broken stakes were yielding to the teeth and claws of the wolves. But neither Glenarvan nor Thalcave appeared willing to yield. The Indian had drawn Glenarvan towards the entrance of the inclosure. He pointed to the plain, now free from wolves. In his animated language, he explained that not a moment was to be lost; that the danger, if this plan failed, would be greater for those who remained; in short, that he alone knew Thaouka well enough to employ his marvelous agility and speed for the common safety. Glenarvan blindly persisted in his resolve to sacrifice himself, when suddenly he was pushed violently back. Thaouka pranced, reared on his hind legs, and all at once, with a spring, cleared the barrier of fire and the rampart of bodies, while a boyish voice cried,—
"God save you, my lord!"
Glenarvan and Thalcave had scarcely time to perceive Robert, who, clinging to the horse's mane, disappeared in the darkness.
"Robert, unfortunate!" cried Glenarvan.
But these words the Indian himself could not hear. Frightful howls resounded. The wolves, starting on the track of the horse, fled into the darkness with a terrible speed.
Thalcave and Glenarvan rushed out of the ramada. Already the plain had resumed its tranquillity, and they could scarcely distinguish a moving line which undulated afar in the shadows of the night.
Glenarvan sank upon the ground, overcome, in despair, clasping his hands. He gazed at Thalcave, who smiled with his accustomed calmness.
"Thaouka—good horse—brave child—he will be saved!" he repeated, nodding his head.
"But if he falls?" said Glenarvan.
"He will not fall!"
In spite of Thalcave's confidence, his companion passed the night in terrible anguish. He was no longer even mindful of the danger still to be feared from the wolves. He would have gone in search of Robert, but the Indian restrained him, and explained that their horses could not overtake the boy, that Thaouka must have distanced his enemies, and could not be found in the darkness. They must wait for day to start in search of Robert.
At four o'clock in the morning day began to break. The mists of the horizon were soon tinged with pale rays. A sparkling dew covered the plain, and the tall grass began to wave under the first breezes of the dawn.
The moment of departure had arrived.
"Forward!" said the Indian.
Glenarvan did not reply, but sprang upon Robert's horse, and the two were soon galloping towards the west in the direction from which their companions were to come.
For an hour they traveled thus with great speed, gazing around for Robert, and dreading at each step to behold his mangled body. Glenarvan tortured the flanks of his horse with his spurs. Suddenly shots were heard, and reports at regular intervals, like signals for recognition.
"It is they!" cried Glenarvan.
Thalcave and he urged their horses to a more rapid pace, and a few moments afterwards they joined the party led by Paganel.
To Glenarvan's joy, Robert was there, alive, borne by the noble Thaouka, who neighed with pleasure at seeing his master.
"Ah, my boy! my boy!" cried Glenarvan, with unspeakable tenderness; and Robert and he, dismounting, rushed into each other's arms.
Then it was the Indian's turn to clasp to his breast the courageous son of Captain Grant.
"He lives! he lives!" exclaimed Glenarvan.
"Yes," replied Robert, "thanks to Thaouka."
The Indian had not waited for these words of gratitude to embrace his horse, but at that very moment he spoke to him and embraced him, as if human blood flowed in the veins of the noble animal. Then, turning towards Paganel, he pointed to young Robert.
"A brave boy!" said he.
Glenarvan, however, asked, even while he admired the lad,—
"Why, my son, did you not let Thalcave or me try this last chance of saving you?"
"My lord," replied he, in accents of the liveliest gratitude, "was it not my duty to sacrifice myself, when Thalcave has saved my life, and you are going to save my father?"
CHAPTER XX.
STRANGE SIGNS.
After their first outbursts of joy at meeting were over, Paganel, Austin, Wilson, and Mulready—all who had remained behind, except the major—were conscious of one thing, namely, that they were suffering from thirst. Fortunately, the Guamini flowed at no great distance. They accordingly continued their journey, and at seven o'clock in the morning the little party arrived at the ramada. On seeing its entrance strewn with the bodies of the wolves, it was easy to understand the violence of the attack and the vigor of the defense. The travelers, after fully quenching their thirst, devoted their attention to breakfast in the inclosure. The ostrich-steaks were declared excellent, and the armadillo, roasted in its own covering, was a delicious dish.
"To eat reasonably of this," said Paganel, "would be ingratitude towards Providence. We really must eat immoderately."
And he did so accordingly,—but was not sick, thanks to the clear water of the Guamini, which appeared to possess superior digestive properties.
At ten o'clock Glenarvan gave the signal for departure. The water-bottles were filled, and they set out. The horses, being greatly revived, evinced much spirit, and maintained an easy and almost continuous canter. The next morning they crossed the boundary which separates the Argentine Plains from the Pampas. Here Thalcave hoped to meet the chiefs in whose hands he doubted not that he should find Harry Grant and rescue him and his two companions from slavery.
Since they had left the Guamini, the travelers noticed, with great satisfaction, a considerable change in the temperature, thanks to the cold winds of Patagonia, which cause continual currents of air. Neither man nor beast had any reason to complain, after suffering so much from dryness and heat. They therefore pushed on with courage and confidence. But, whatever might have been said, the country seemed to be entirely uninhabited, or, to use a more exact word, "disinhabited."
Frequently they skirted the shores of fresh-water lagoons, on whose banks, in the shelter of the bushes, tiny wrens skipped and melodious larks warbled, in company with the brilliant-plumaged tanagers. These pretty birds gayly fluttered about, heedless of the haughty starlings that strutted on the banks like soldiers with their epaulettes and red breasts. In the thorny coppices the nests of the annubis swung like hammocks, and on the shores of the lagoons magnificent flamingoes, marching in regular file, spread their fiery-colored wings to the wind. Their nests were seen, by thousands together, like a small village, in the shape of truncated cones a foot high. The birds were not startled at the approach of the travelers, which was contrary to Paganel's calculations.
"I have been curious for a long time," said he to the major, "to see a flamingo fly."
"Well," said MacNabb.
"Now, since I have an opportunity, I shall profit by it."
"Do so, Paganel."
"Come with me, major, and you too, Robert; I need witnesses."
And Paganel, leaving his companions to go on, proceeded towards the flock of flamingoes, followed by Robert and the major. Arriving within range, Paganel fired a blank charge (for he would not needlessly destroy even a bird), and all the flamingoes flew away, while the geographer gazed at them attentively through his glasses.
"Well," said he to the major, when the flock had disappeared, "did you see them fly?"
"Certainly," replied MacNabb; "you could not do otherwise, unless you were blind. But let us hasten on, for we have fallen a mile behind."
When he had joined his companions, Paganel found Glenarvan in excited conversation with the Indian, whom he did not appear to understand. Thalcave had frequently stopped to examine the horizon, and each time his countenance expressed a lively astonishment. Glenarvan, not seeing his ordinary interpreter present, had attempted, but in vain, to question the Patagonian. So, as soon as he perceived the geographer at a distance, he cried,—
"Come, friend Paganel, Thalcave and I can scarcely succeed in understanding each other."
Paganel conversed a few moments with the Indian, and, turning to Glenarvan, said,—
"Thalcave is astonished at a circumstance that is really strange."
"What?"
"At meeting neither Indians, nor any traces of them, on these plains, which are usually furrowed with their trails, whether they are driving home the cattle stolen from the ranchos, or going to the Andes to sell their zorillo carpets and whips of braided leather."
"And to what does Thalcave attribute this abandonment?"
"He cannot tell; he is astonished. That is all."
"But what Indians did he expect to find in this part of the Pampas?"
"The very ones who have had foreign prisoners; those natives who are commanded by the caziques Calfoucoura, Catriel, and Yanchetruz."
"Who are these caziques?"
Arriving within range, Paganel fired a blank charge (for he would not needlessly destroy even a bird), and all the flamingoes flew away, while the geographer gazed at them attentively through his glasses.
"Chiefs of tribes that were very powerful thirty years ago, before they were driven beyond the sierras. Since that time they have been subdued as much as an Indian can be, and now scour the Pampas as well as the province of Buenos Ayres. I am therefore astonished, like Thalcave, at not encountering traces of them in a country where they generally pursue the calling of plunderers."
"Well, then," inquired Glenarvan, "what course ought we to take?"
"I will see," replied Paganel.
After a few moments' conversation with Thalcave, he said,—
"This is his advice, which seems to me very wise. We must continue our journey to the east as far as Fort Independence; and there, if we have no news of Captain Grant, we shall at least know what has become of the Indians of the plain."
"Is Fort Independence far?"
"No; it is situated at Tandil, sixty miles distant."
"And when shall we arrive there?"
"On the evening of the day after to-morrow."
Glenarvan was quite disconcerted at finding no Indians on the Pampas, a circumstance which was little expected. There are ordinarily too many of them. Some special cause must therefore have removed them. But a serious question was to be considered. If Captain Grant was a prisoner of one of these tribes, had he been carried to the north or to the south? This problem harassed Glenarvan. It was advisable at all hazards to keep track of the captain. In short, it was better to follow Thalcave's advice and reach the village of Tandil, where at least they could obtain information.
About four o'clock in the afternoon they approached a hill that might have passed for a mountain in so level a country. It was Tapalquem Sierra, and at its foot the travelers encamped for the night.
The passage of this mountain was accomplished the next day with the greatest ease. They followed the sandy undulations of a gradually sloping terrace, which certainly did not present difficulties to people who had scaled the Andes, and the horses scarcely relaxed their rapid pace. At noon they reached the abandoned Fort Tapalquem, the first of the chain of forts built on the southern frontier against the plundering natives. But not a shadow of an Indian did they encounter, to the increasing surprise of Thalcave; although, towards the middle of the day, three rovers of the plain, well armed and mounted, gazed for a moment at the little party, but prevented their approach, galloping away with incredible rapidity. Glenarvan was furious.
"Gauchos," said the Patagonian.
"Ah! Gauchos," replied MacNabb. "Well, Paganel, what do you think of these creatures?"
"I think they look like famous bandits," answered Paganel.
"And hence of course are, my dear geographer?"
"Of course, my dear major."
Paganel's avowal was followed by a general laugh, which did not disconcert him at all.
According to Thalcave's orders, they advanced in close ranks, and at evening encamped in a spacious abandoned rancho, where the chief Catriel generally assembled his bands of natives. From an examination of the ground and the absence of fresh tracks, the Patagonian knew that it had not been occupied for a long time.
The next morning Glenarvan and his companions found themselves again on the plain. The first estancias (vast establishments for raising cattle), which border upon the Tandil, were descried; but Thalcave resolved not to stop, but to keep straight on to Fort Independence, where he wished to obtain information, especially concerning the singular condition of this abandoned country.
The trees, so rare since leaving the Andes, now reappeared. The greater part of these have been planted since the arrival of the Europeans on the American continent. They generally surround "corrals," vast cattle-inclosures protected with stakes. Here thousands of cattle, sheep, cows, and horses, branded with the mark of the owner, graze and fatten, while large numbers of huge dogs keep watch. The soil is admirably adapted to raising cattle, and yields an excellent fodder.
The people lead the life of the shepherds of the Bible. Their flocks are perhaps even more numerous than those which fed on the plains of Mesopotamia; but the family element is wanting, and the owners of the great folds of the Pampas have little to recommend themselves or their manner of life.
Paganel explained all these particulars to his companions, and even succeeded in interesting the major.
Thalcave, meanwhile, hastened their progress, as he wished to arrive that evening at Fort Independence. The horses, urged on by their masters, and following the example of Thaouka, dashed through the tall grass. They passed several farms, fortified and defended by deep ditches. The principal house was provided with an elevated terrace, from which the inmates could fire upon the plunderers of the plain. Glenarvan might perhaps have obtained here the information that he sought; but it was wisest to go to the village of Tandil. They did not stop, therefore, and soon the feet of the horses struck the grassy sward of the first mountain slopes. An hour afterward the village appeared at the bottom of a narrow gorge crowned by the embattled walls of Fort Independence.
In fact, they were a dozen young children and boys who were drilling very nicely. Their uniform consisted of a striped shirt confined at the waist by a leathern girdle.
CHAPTER XXI.
A FALSE TRAIL.
Paganel, after giving his companions a brief account of the village of Tandil, added that they could not fail to obtain information there; moreover, the fort was always garrisoned by a detachment of national troops. Glenarvan, accordingly, put the horses into the stable of a "fonda;" and Paganel, the major, Robert, and he, under the guidance of Thalcave, proceeded towards Fort Independence.
After ascending the ridges of the mountains for a short time, they arrived at the postern, rather carelessly guarded by a native sentinel. They passed without difficulty, and inferred either great negligence or extreme security. A few soldiers were exercising on the parade-ground of the fort, the oldest of whom was not more than twenty and the youngest scarcely ten. In fact, they were a dozen young children and boys who were drilling very nicely. Their uniform consisted of a striped shirt confined at the waist by a leathern girdle. The mildness of the climate justified this light costume. Each of these young soldiers carried a gun and a sword, which were too long and heavy for the little fellows. All had a certain family resemblance, and the corporal who commanded resembled them too: they were twelve brothers, who were parading under the orders of the thirteenth.
Paganel was not astonished. He remembered his Argentine statistics, and knew that in this country the average number of children in a family exceeds nine. But what surprised him exceedingly was to see these little soldiers practicing the French tactics, and to hear the orders of the corporal given in his own native language.
"This is singular," said he.
But Glenarvan had not come to see boys drill, still less to occupy himself with their nationality or relationship. He did not, therefore, give Paganel time to express further astonishment, but besought him to ask for the commander of the fortress. Paganel did so, and one of the soldiers proceeded towards a small building which served as the barracks.
A few moments after, the commander appeared in person. He was a man of fifty, robust, with a military air, thick whiskers, prominent cheek-bones, gray hair, and commanding look, so far as one could judge through the clouds of smoke that issued from his short pipe.
Thalcave, addressing him, introduced Lord Glenarvan and his companions. While he spoke, the commander kept scrutinizing Paganel with quite embarrassing persistence. The geographer did not know what the trooper meant, and was about to ask him, when the latter unceremoniously seized his hand, and said, in a joyous tone, in his own language,—
"A Frenchman?"
"Yes, a Frenchman," replied Paganel.
"Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a Frenchman," cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with rather painful violence.
"One of your friends?" asked the major of Paganel.
"Yes," replied he, with national pride; "we have friends in all parts of the world!"
"Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a Frenchman," cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with rather painful violence.
He then entered into conversation with the commander. Glenarvan would gladly have put in a word in regard to his affairs, but the soldier was telling his story, and was not in the mood to be interrupted. This honest man had left France a long time before; and the native language was no longer perfectly familiar to him: he had forgotten, if not words, at least the manner of combining them. As his visitors soon learned, he had been a sergeant in the French army. Since the foundation of the fort he had not left it, and commanded it by appointment from the Argentine government. He was by parentage a Basque, and his name was Manuel Ipharaguerre. A year after his arrival in the country, Sergeant Manuel was naturalized, joined the Argentine army, and married an honest Indian woman, who had twins,—boys, to be sure, for the sergeant's worthy consort would never present him with daughters. Manuel did not think of any other calling than that of the soldier, and hoped, in time, with the help of God, to offer to the republic a whole battalion of young soldiers.
"You have seen them?" said he. "Charming fellows! Good soldiers! José! Juan! Miguel! Pepe! Pepe is only seven years old, and is already biting his cartridge!"
Pepe, hearing himself complimented, joined his two little feet, and presented arms with perfect precision.
"He will do!" added the sergeant. "He will be a major—or brigadier-general one day!"
This story lasted a quarter of an hour, to Thalcave's great astonishment. The Indian could not understand how so many words could come from a single throat. No one interrupted the commander; and even a French sergeant had to conclude at last, though not without forcing his guests to accompany him to his dwelling. Here they were introduced to Madame Ipharaguerre, who appeared to be "a good-looking person," if this expression may be employed in regard to an Indian.
When he had exhausted himself, the sergeant asked his guests to what he owed the honor of their visit. And now it was their turn to explain.
Paganel, opening the conversation in French, told him of their journey across the Pampas, and ended by asking why the Indians had abandoned the country.
"War!" replied the sergeant.
"War?"
"Yes, civil war."
"Civil war?" rejoined Paganel.
"Yes, war between Paraguay and Buenos Ayres," answered the sergeant.
"Well?"
"Why, all the Indians of the north are in the rear of General Flores, and those of the plains are plundering."
"But the caziques?"
"The caziques with them."
This answer was reported to Thalcave, who shook his head. Indeed, he either did not know, or had forgotten, that a civil war, which was afterwards to involve Brazil, was decimating two-thirds of the republic. The Indians had everything to gain in these internal struggles, and could not neglect such fine opportunities for plunder. The sergeant, therefore, was not mistaken in attributing this desertion of the Pampas to the civil war that was being waged in the northern part of the Argentine Provinces.
But this event disconcerted Glenarvan's hopes. If Captain Grant was a prisoner of the caziques, he must have been carried by them to the northern frontiers. Yet how and where to find him? Must they attempt a perilous and almost useless search to the northern limits of the Pampas? It was a serious matter, which was to be earnestly considered.
However, one important question was still to be asked of the sergeant, and the major thought of this, while his companions were looking at each other in silence.
"Have you heard of any Europeans being retained as prisoners by the caziques of the Pampas?"
Manuel reflected for a few moments, like a man who recalls events to recollection.
"Yes," said he, at length.
"Ah!" cried Glenarvan, conceiving a new hope.