All at once three shots were fired behind the Indians, and three horsemen dashed upon them, scattering terror and death around. The Indians, not knowing how many enemies they had to contend with, believed, owing to the darkness and the number of dead, that a considerable reinforcement had arrived, and began dispersing in all directions, with the exception of the more resolute, who held their ground and continued to resist the assailants. Among these were Nocobotha, Pincheira, and a few renowned chiefs.
The three bomberos, summoned by the hoarse croaking of Pedrito, had hastened up to their brother; they helped him to get onto the saddle of the horse they had brought up for him.
"Ah!" they shouted, "Down with the Indian dogs!"
Nocobotha dealt the Spaniard a blow with the machete, to which he responded by a cut that scarred his adversary's face. The Toqui uttered a cry, not of pain but of rage.
"Eh," the bombero said to him, "I shall recognize you, if ever we meet again, for you bear my marks."
"Villain!" the chief said, as he fired a pistol at him.
"Ah!" Pedrito muttered in his turn, as he sank in his saddle.
He would have fallen had not his sword prevented him.
"He has killed me," the wounded man said, in a faint voice. "Courage, brothers, do not leave my corpse to them."
The three bomberos, supporting their brother, redoubled their ardour to get him away from inevitable destruction; but how were they to fly? The Indians, when the first moment of panic had passed, being able to count their enemies, returned to the charge and threatened to overwhelm them by their numbers. The position was horrible, and Pedrito, who had retained his coolness, understood that his brothers were about to ruin themselves for him, so, sacrificing his life to save them, he shouted—
"Fly! Leave me alone here; in a few minutes I shall be dead."
"No!" they replied, making their horses prance to ward off the blows, "We will all get away or perish together."
Pedrito, who knew his brothers, was not ignorant that their resolution was unbending.
The fight was going on at this moment, two yards at the most from the tree of Gualichu, Pedrito, while his brothers were defending themselves on all sides at once, slipped down to the ground, and when the bomberos turned round, they found his horse without its rider. Pedrito had disappeared.
"He is dead, what is to be done?"
"Obey him, as we were unable to save him," Juan answered.
"Forward, then!"
And all three, tearing up their horses' sides with their spurs, bounded into the thick of the Indians. The collision was terrible; still, a few seconds later, the bomberos, saved from danger by their incredible audacity, were flying, like the wind, in three different directions, while uttering cries of triumph.
The Indians recognized the inutility of a pursuit across the sand; so they contented themselves with picking up their dead and counting the wounded, altogether some thirty victims.
"These Spaniards are perfect demons, when they are obstinate," Pincheira said, remembering his own origin.
"Yes," Nocobotha answered him, mad with fury, "if ever I place my foot on their chest, they will expiate the wrongs they have done my race for centuries."
"I am entirely devoted to you," Pincheira continued.
"Thanks, my friend. When the hour arrives, I shall remind you of your promise."
"I shall be ready; but at present what are your designs?"
"The scar that madman has made on my head compels me to fire the train as soon as possible."
"Do so, I pray; and let us finish with these accursed Spaniards so soon as we can."
"Then you really hate your countrymen?"
"I have an Indian heart, and that is saying enough."
"I will soon procure you the opportunity to slake your vengeance."
"May heaven hear you!"
"But the chiefs have again assembled round the council fire; come, brother."
Nocobotha and Pincheira approached the tree of Gualichu, where the Indians were grouped, motionless, silent, and calm, as if nothing had disturbed their gathering.
CHAPTER V.
THE COUNCIL OF THE ULMENS.
The Indians, while collecting their dead, sought in vain the corpse of the white man, and persuaded themselves that his comrades had carried it off. The latter, on the other hand, reproached themselves bitterly for having left their brother's body in the hands of the Pagans.
Now, what had become of Pedrito?
The bombero was one of those iron men, whom a powerful will leads to their object, and whom death alone can conquer. He wished, therefore, to be present at the council of the chiefs, the high import of which he suspected; and instead of throwing his life away in an unequal struggle, he found in Nocobotha's shot the pretext he was seeking. As time pressed, he pretended, to be mortally wounded, and both friends and enemies had been duped by his stratagem.
So soon as he had slipped down off his horse, by favour of the darkness and combat, he was able, either by crawling like a lizard, or leaping like a cougar, to hide himself in the hollow trunk of the tree of Gualichu. There he buried himself beneath a pile of objects offered by the devotion of the Indians, and was as safe as in the fortress of Carmen. However, like a bold hunter, who has always time to be killed, he had not thrown his weapons away. His first care was, without respect for Gualichu, to wrap up his arm in a piece of cloth, in order to prevent the flow of blood from his wound; then he arranged himself as well as he could, with his head thrust slightly forward, to see the scene that was about to take place.
All the chiefs were already assembled, and Lucaney, Ulmen of the Puelches, was the first to speak.
"The Spaniard who dared to introduce himself among us, in order to violate the secret of our deliberations, is dead; we are alone; let us begin the ceremony."
"It shall be done, according to the desire of my brother, the Ulmen of the Puelches," Nocobotha answered; "where is the wise matchi?"
"Here," said a tall, thin man, whose face was striped in different colours, and who was dressed like a woman.
"Let the wise matchi approach and accomplish the rites."
"A matchitun is necessary," the sorcerer said, in a solemn voice.
The usual preparations for this conjuration were immediately made. Two lances were planted, one on the right, one on the left of the sacred tree; on the left hand one were hung a drum, and a vessel filled with fermented liquor; twelve other vessels, containing the same liquor, were ranged in a circle from one lance to the other. A sheep and a colt were brought in, and deposited near the vessels, and two old squaws placed themselves by the side of the drum. The preparations terminated, the matchi turned to Nocobotha.
"Why does the Ulmen of the Aucas ask for the matchitun?" he asked.
Metipan stepped out of the circle.
"An hereditary hatred has for a long time separated the Aucas and the Pehuenches," he said; "the interest of all the great nations desires the end of this hatred. Kelzulepan, my ancestor, Ulmen of the Pehuenches, carried off a white slave belonging to Medzeliputzi, Toqui of the Aucas, and great grandfather of Nocobotha."
"Before the assembled chiefs, in the face of heaven, I have come to tell Nocobotha, the descendant of Yupanqui, the son of the sun, that my ancestor behaved badly to his, and I am ready, in order to extinguish all discord, past, present, and future, to give him here a white, young, lovely, and virgin slave."
"I give up, before Gualichu," Nocobotha answered, "the hatred which my nation and I had sworn against you and yours."
"Does Gualichu approve our conduct?" Metipan asked.
The matchi seemed to reflect profoundly.
"Yes," he replied, "you have gained the protection of Gualichu; let the white slave be brought up; perhaps he will demand that she should be surrendered to him, instead of belonging to a man."
"His will be done," both Ulmens said.
Two warriors led up a girl of about seventeen, and placed her between the lances, with her face turned to the tree of Gualichu. On seeing her, Pedrito felt a cold perspiration break out all over him, and a mist covered his eyes.
"Whence comes this strange emotion?" the bombero muttered to himself.
The girl's large black eyes had an expression of gentle melancholy. She was dressed after the fashion of the Pehuenche women; the woollen quedito was rolled round her body, fastened on the shoulders by two silver pins, and on her limbs by a kepike, or silken girdle, six inches in width, and secured by a buckle. The two ends of a square pilken, like a cloak, was fastened on her chest by a topu, adorned with a magnificent head in gold. She had on her neck two collars of beads, and on each of her arms four bracelets of glass, pearls, and silver balls. Her long black hair was parted down the centre into two tresses, tied up with blue ribbons, which floated on her shoulders, and terminated in bells; on her head was a conical cap of blue and red beads.
At this graceful apparition the Indians, who are very fond of white women, could not, despite their natural stoicism, restrain a murmur of admiration.
At a signal from the matchi the ceremony began. The two old squaws beat the drum, while the spectators, guided by the sorcerer, struck up a symbolical song while dancing round the captive.
The drum ceased with the song; then the matchi lit a cigar, inhaled the smoke, and thrice perfumed the tree, the animals, and the maiden, whose bosom he at the same time laid bare. He put his mouth to it and began sucking till he drew blood, and the poor child made superhuman efforts not to shriek. The dancing, accompanied by song, began again, and the old women beat the drum with all the strength of their arms. Pedrito, full of compassion for the innocent victim of Indian superstition, longed to fly to her help.
In the meanwhile, the matchi, with his swollen cheeks, gradually became more excited; his eyes grew bloodshot, he seemed possessed by the demon, and all at once became furious; he writhed and behaved like an epileptic. Then the dance ceased, and Metipan, with a stroke of his machete, cut open the flank of the colt, tore out its still palpitating heart, and gave it to the sorcerer, who sucked the blood, and employed it to make a cross on the maiden's brow. The latter, suffering from inexpressible terror, began to tremble violently.
The storm, which had been gathering in the clouds, at length broke out. A blue flash shot athwart the sky, the thunder rolled with a terrible din, and a blast of wind dashed over the plain, sweeping away the toldos, the fragments of which it dispersed far and wide.
The Indians stopped, terrified by the storm. All at once a formidable voice, that appeared to issue from the tree of Gualichu, uttered the ill-omened words.
"Retire, Indians! My wrath is let loose upon you. Leave here this miserable white slave as an expiation of your crimes! Fly, and woe to those who look back. Woe! Woe!"
A livid flash and a violent peal of thunder served as peroration to this harangue.
"Let us fly!" said the matchi, who in his terror was ready to believe in his god.
But, profiting by this unexpected intervention to enforce his own power, he continued—
"Fly, brothers! Gualichu has spoken to his servant. Woe to those who resist his orders."
The Indians had no need of this recommendation from their sorcerer; a superstitious terror lent them wings. They rushed tumultuously toward the horses, and soon the desert echoed again with their wild flight. The tree of Gualichu was deserted, and the maiden alone lay fainting on the ground, with her bosom still bare.
When all was quiet on the Pampa, and the sound of the horses' gallop was lost in the distance, Pedrito gently thrust his head out of the tree, examined the black depths of the night, and reassured by the silence, ran up to the girl. Pale as a beauteous lily laid low by the storm, the poor girl had her eyes closed, and did not breathe. The bombero raised her in his muscular arms, and transported her close to the tree, laying her on a pile of skins belonging to a destroyed toldo. He placed her cautiously on this softer couch, and her head hung insensibly on his chest.
It was a strange group, in the midst of this devastated plain, only illumined by the lightning flashes. This young and lovely girl, and this rude wood ranger, offered a touching picture.
Pain and sorrow were delineated on Pedrito's face. He, whose whole life had been but one long drama, who had no faith in his heart, who was ignorant of gentle feelings and sweet sympathies, he, the bombero, the slayer of Indians, was moved and felt something new stir within him. Two heavy tears ran down his bronzed cheeks.
"Can she be dead? Oh Heaven!"
This name, which he had hitherto only used in blasphemy, he uttered almost with respect. It was a sort of prayer and cry from his heart. This man believed.
"How to help her?" he asked himself.
The rain that fell in torrents eventually restored the maiden, who, half opening her eyes, murmured in a faint voice;
"Where am I? What has happened?"
"She speaks, she lives, she is saved," Pedrito exclaimed.
"Who is there?" she asked, raising herself with difficulty.
At the sight of the bombero's gloomy face, she had a fresh outburst of terror, closed her eyes again, and fell back exhausted.
"Reassure yourself, my girl. I am your friend."
"My friend! What means that word? Have slaves any friends? Ah, yes," she continued, speaking as if in a dream, "I have suffered terribly. Still I can remember long, long ago, being happy, but alas! The worst misfortune is the recollection of past happiness in misery."
She was silent. The bombero gazed at her, and listened to her as if suspended on her lips. That voice, those features! A vague suspicion entered Pedrito's head.
"Oh, speak, speak again," he said, softening down the harshness of his voice, "what do you remember of your youthful years?"
"Why think of past joys in misfortune? What does it avail?" she added, shaking her head with discouragement. "My history is that of all unfortunate persons. There was a time when, like other children, I had the song of birds to lull me to sleep, flowers that smiled on me when I awoke, and a mother who loved and embraced me—all that has fled forever."
Pedrito had raised two poles covered with skins to shelter her from the storm, which was gradually subsiding.
"You are kind, for you have saved me; still, your kindness was cruel, for why did you not let me die? People who are dead no longer suffer. The Pehuenches will return, and then—"
She did not conclude, and buried her face in her hands, with choking sobs.
"Fear nothing, señorita; I will defend you."
"Poor man; alone against all! But before my last hour arrives, listen to me, for I wish to relieve my heart. One day I was playing in my mother's arms, my father was near us, with my two sisters and my four brothers, resolute men who would not have feared twenty. Well! the Pehuenches came up, they burned our estancia, for my father was a farmer, they killed my mother, and—"
"Mercedes, Mercedes!" the bombero exclaimed, "Is it really you? Do I find you again?"
"That was the name my mother gave me."
"It is I, Pedro, Pedrito, your brother," the bombero said, almost shouting with joy, and clasping her to his bosom.
"Pedrito! My brother! Yes, yes, I remember. Pedrito, I am—"
She fell senseless into her brother's arms.
"Wretch that I am, I have killed her! Mercedes, my beloved sister, come to yourself again, or I shall die."
The maiden opened her eyes again, and threw herself on the bombero's neck, weeping with joy.
"Pedrito! My kind brother, do not leave me, defend me; they would kill me."
"Poor girl, they will pass over my body before reaching you."
"They will do so," a sarcastic voice exclaimed behind the tent.
Two men appeared, Nocobotha and Pincheira. Pedrito, holding his sister, who was half-dead with terror, with his left hand, leant against one of the posts, drew his machete, and prepared for a vigorous defence.
Nocobotha and Pincheira, too enlightened to be the dupes of the mysterious voice of Gualichu, and yield to the general panic, had, however, fled with their comrades; but they had turned back unnoticed. Curious to know the meaning of this enigma, and the author of the mystification, they had listened to the entire conversation between brother and sister.
"Well," Pincheira said, with a laugh, "you seem tolerably lively for a dead man. It seems, Canario, that you must be killed twice, in order to make sure that you will not recover. But, be easy, if my friend missed you, I shall not do so."
"What do you want with me?" Pedrito said. "Let us pass."
"Not at all," Pincheira replied, "that would be rather too dangerous an example. And stay," he added, after listening, "do you hear that galloping? your affair is as good as settled, there are our mosotones coming back."
In fact, the sound of a cavalcade momentarily drew nearer, and in the pale gleam of dawn the dim outlines of numerous horsemen could be distinguished in the distance. Pedrito saw that he was lost; he kissed for the last time the pale brow of his unconscious sister, laid her behind him, crossed himself, and prepared to die as a brave man should.
"Come," said Nocobotha, "let us have an end of this; it looks as if this scoundrel were afraid of death."
"Make haste," Pincheira answered, "I hear our men, and if we do not make haste, our prey will be torn from us."
"You did not fancy you were speaking so truly, Señor Pincheira," Pepe exclaimed, suddenly appearing with his two brothers; "now, let us see who is to be killed."
"Thanks, my brave brothers," Pedrito said joyously.
"Malediction!" Pincheira said with an oath, "Are these scoundrels everywhere?"
"I will not have him escape me," Nocobotha muttered, as he bit his lips till the blood came.
"Fie on you, caballeros," Pepe exclaimed ironically. "On guard, defend yourselves like men, or I shall kill you like dogs."
The blades crossed, and the fight began with equal fury on both sides.
CHAPTER VI.
NOCOBOTHA.
A struggle to the death was preparing between these irreconcilable enemies, the bomberos and the Indians; and on this occasion it seemed as if the advantage would be on the side of the brothers.
Mercedes, who had recovered from her fainting fit, felt so terrified that she regretted that she had awoken again.
After the first collision, Nocobotha fell back a step, lowered his weapon, made Pincheira a sign to imitate him, and with folded arms walked towards the brothers.
"Stay," he cried, "this fight will not take place; it is not proper for men to risk their lives in disputing for the possession of a woman."
An ironical smile contracted the bronzed faces Of Pedrito's brothers, while Pincheira stamped his foot impatiently. The Indian chief continued, without heeding these marks of disapproval—
"A man's blood is precious. Take away your sister, my good fellow. I give her to you; may she be happy with you."
"Our sister!" the three young men exclaimed with amazement.
"Yes," Pedrito said; "but what conditions do you exact?"
"None," the chief answered nobly.
Nocobotha's generosity was the more disinterested because the bomberos perceived by the first rays of the rising sun a band of nearly one thousand Indians, well equipped, and painted and armed for war, who had silently advanced and formed a a circle round them.
"Can we," Pedrito asked, "trust to your word, and have we no cause to fear a trap?"
"My word," the Ulmen answered haughtily, "is more sacred than that of a white man. We have, like you, noble feelings, more so, perhaps, than others," he added, pointing to a red line that traversed his face; "we know how to forgive. You are free, and no one will disturb your retreat."
Nocobotha followed the thoughts of the bomberos on their faces. The latter felt themselves conquered by the magnanimity of the chief, who smiled triumphantly on divining their astonishment and confusion.
"My friend," he said to Pincheira, "let fresh horses be given to these men."
Pincheira hesitated.
"At once," he said, with a gesture full of supreme grace.
The Chilian, who was a semi-savage, yielding involuntarily to Nocobotha's superiority, obeyed, and five horses of great value, and ready saddled and bridled, were led up by two Indians.
"Chief," Pedrito said, in a slightly shaking voice, "I am not grateful for my life, as I do not fear death; but, in my brothers' names and my own, I thank you for our sister. We never forget an insult or a kindness. Farewell! Perhaps I shall someday have the opportunity to prove to you that we are not ungrateful."
The chief bowed without answering. The bomberos grouped round Mercedes, returned his salute, and went off slowly.
"Well, it was your wish," Pincheira said, shrugging his shoulders in vexation.
"Patience!" Nocobotha answered, in a deep voice.
During this time an immense fire had been kindled at the foot of the tree of Gualichu, where the Indians, whose superstitious fears had been dissipated with the darkness, had again assembled in council. A few paces behind the chiefs, the Aucas and Puelche horsemen formed a formidable cordon round the council fire, while Patagonian scouts dashed about the desert to scare away intruders, and insure the secrecy of the deliberations.
In the east the sun was darting forth its flames, the dry and naked desert was blended with the illimitable horizon; in the distance the Cordilleras displayed the eternal snow of their peaks. Such was the landscape, if we may call it so, in which these barbarous warriors stood, dressed in strange costumes near the symbolic tree. This majestic scene involuntarily recalled other times and other climates, when, by the light of burning towns, the ferocious companions of Attila rushed to the conquest, and rejuvenescence of the Roman world.
Nocobotha took up his speech at the point where it had been interrupted by the unexpected interference of the bombero.
"I thank my brother Metipan," he said, "for the gift of the white slave. From this day our disagreement ceases; his nation and mine will form one and the same family, whose herds will peacefully graze on the same pasturage, and whose warriors will sleep side by side on the war track."
The matchi then lit a pipe, drew a few puffs, and handed it to the two chiefs, who smoked in turn, passing the pipe to each other till the tobacco was entirely consumed. Then the pipe was thrown on the fire by the matchi.
"Gualichu," he said, solemnly, "has heard your words. Swear that your alliance will not be broken until you can again smoke this pipe which is already reduced to ashes."
"We swear it."
The two Ulmens laid the left hand on the other's right shoulder, stretched out the right hand to the sacred tree, and kissed each other on the lips, saying—
"Brother, receive this kiss. May my lips wither and my tongue be torn out if I betray my oath."
All the Indians came, one after the other, to give the kiss of peace to the two Ulmens with marks of joy that were the more lively because they knew what great misfortunes this feud had already cost them, and how many times it had compromised the independence of the Indian tribes.
When the chiefs had returned to their places at the council fire, Lucaney bowed to Nocobotha.
"What communications did my brother wish to make to the Ulmens? We are ready to hear him."
Nocobotha seemed to reflect for a moment, and then looked confidently round the assembly.
"Ulmens of the Puelches, Araucanos, Pehuenches, Huileches, and Patagonians," he said, "for many moons past my mind has been sad. I see with grief our hunting grounds invaded by the white men, and daily growing more and more contracted. We whose countless tribes only a few centuries ago covered the vast tract of land contained between the two seas, are now reduced to a small band of warriors, who, timid as llamas, fly before our despoilers. Our sacred cities, the last refuges of the civilization of our fathers the Incas, are about to become the prey of these human-faced monsters who have no other God but gold. Our dispersed race will soon disappear from this world which it so long possessed and governed alone."
"Tracked like wild animals, brutalized by the firewater, and decimated by the sword and Spanish disease, our wandering hordes are but the shadow of a people. Our conquerors despise our religion, and they wish to bow us beneath the tree of the crucified man. They outrage our wives, kill our children, and burn our villages. Has the blood of your fathers become impoverished in the veins of all you Indians who are listening to me? Answer, will you die slaves, or live as free men?"
At these words, uttered in a masculine and penetrating voice, and whose effect was heightened by the most majestic gestures, a quiver ran along the assembly; they raised their heads haughtily and every eye flashed.
"Speak, speak again!" the electrified Ulmens shouted simultaneously.
The great Ulmen smiled proudly, and continued—
"The hour has at length arrived, after so much humiliation and wretchedness, to shake off the disgraceful yoke that presses on us. Within a few days, if you are willing, we will drive the whites far from our borders, and requite them all the evil they have done us. I have long been watching the Spaniards, and I know their tactics and resources; and in order to annihilate them we only need skill and courage."
The Indians interrupted him, with shouts of joy.
"You shall be free," Nocobotha continued. "I will restore you the rich valleys of your ancestors. This project has, ever since I have become a man, been fermenting in my head, and it has grown the life of my life. Far from you and me be the thought that I have any intention to force myself on you as chief and grand Toqui of the army! No; you must choose your leader freely, and after having elected him, obey him blindly, follow him everywhere, and pass through the most formidable perils. Do not deceive yourselves, warriors; our enemy is strong, numerous, and well disciplined, and, before all, is habituated to conquer us. Appoint a supreme chief—select the most worthy, and I will joyfully march under his orders. I have spoken: have I spoken well, powerful men?"
And, after bowing to the assembly, Nocobotha mingled with the crowd of chiefs, with a serene brow, but with his heart devoured by anxiety and hatred.
This eloquence, which was novel to the Indians, seduced, carried them away, and cast them into a species of frenzy. They almost regarded Nocobotha as a genius of a superior essence to their own, and bowed the knee to worship him, so straight had he gone to their hearts. For a long time the council was affected by a species of delirium, all speaking at once. When tranquillity was restored, the wisest among the Ulmens discussed the opportunity of taking up arms and the chances of success, and in the end the opinion was unanimous in favour of a general insurrection. The ranks, momentarily broken, were restored, and Lucaney, who was invited by the chiefs to make known the decision of the council, spoke as follows;—
"Ulmens, listen, listen, listen! This seventeenth day of the moon of Kekil-kiven it has been resolved by all the chiefs, each representing a nation or a tribe, assembled round the council fire in front of the sacred tree of Gualichu, and after the performance of the sacred rites to render the spirit favourable to us, that war is declared against the Spaniards, our despoilers. As the war is holy, and has liberty for its object, all will be expected to take part in it—men, women, and children; all to the extent of their strength. This very day the quipus will be sent to all the Indian nations."
A long cry of enthusiasm cheered Lucaney, but he continued after a while—
"The chiefs, after careful consideration, have chosen as supreme Toqui of all the nations, with uncontrolled and unlimited power, the wisest, the most prudent, and the man most worthy to command us. This warrior is the chief of the Aucas whose race is so ancient, Nocobotha is the descendant of the Incas, the son of the sun."
A thunder of applause greeted these last words Nocobotha walked into the centre of the circle, bowed to the Ulmens, and said, in a proud accent, "I accept. Ulmens, my brothers, in a year you shall be free, or myself dead."
"Long live the great Toqui!" the crowd shouted.
"War to the Spaniards!" Nocobotha continued; "A war without respite or mercy—a true wild beast hunt, such as they are accustomed to make on us. Remember the law of the Pampas: 'an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.' Each chief will send the quipus to his nation, for at the end of this moon we will arouse our enemies by a thunderclap. Go, and lose no time. This night at the fourth hour we will meet again at the pass of the Guanaco, to elect the secondary chiefs, count our warriors, and fix the day and hour of attack."
The Ulmens bowed without replying, rejoined the escort, and soon disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Nocobotha and Pincheira remained alone, a detachment guarding them a little distance away. Nocobotha, with his arms folded, drooping head, and frowning brow, seemed plunged in profound thoughts.
"Well," Pincheira said, "we have succeeded."
"Yes," he answered; "war is declared, and I am the supreme chief; but I tremble at such a heavy task. Do those primitive men thoroughly understand? Are they ripe for liberty? Perhaps they have not as yet suffered enough. Oh! if I succeed!"
"You startle me, friend. What, then, are your plans?"
"It is true, you know nothing, but you are worthy of such an enterprise. I wish, understand me thoroughly; I wish—"
At this moment an Indian, whose horse, reeking with perspiration, seemed to breathe fire through its nostrils, came up to the two Ulmens, before whom he shopped dead, by a prodigy of horsemanship, as if converted into a granite statue. He bent down to Nocobotha's ear.
"Already!" the latter exclaimed; "Oh, there is not a moment to lose. Quick, my horse."
"What is the matter?" Pincheira asked him.
"Nothing that can interest you. Tonight at the pass of the Guanaco you shall know all."
"Are you going alone?"
"I must. Tonight we meet again."
Nocobotha's horse snorted, and dashed off like an arrow from a bow.
Ten minutes later all the Indians had disappeared, and solitude and silence reigned round the tree of Gualichu.
CHAPTER VII.
THE COUGARS.
Don Valentine Cardoso's conversation with Don Blas Salazar was prolonged far into the night. Doña Concha had retired to her apartments.
"Thanks, Blas, my friend," Don Valentine said in conclusion; "that Don Torribio Carvajal never pleased either my daughter or myself. His mysterious ways and his look repulse affection and inspire distrust."
"What do you intend doing?" the capataz asked.
"I am greatly embarrassed; how can I close my doors against him; what pretext should I have?"
"Good gracious!" Blas said; "Perhaps we are alarming ourselves too soon. This gentleman is doubtless no more or less than a lover. Doña Concha is of the age to be beloved, and her beauty attracts Don Torribio. You do not like him as son-in-law, so all right; but love, they say, is a strange thing, and some day or other—"
"I have designs for my daughter."
"That is different. By the way, may not this mysterious caballero be a secret agent of General Oribe, who is watching Carmen?"
"That is the truth, I believe. His hints to the gauchos, his unexpected absences, whose purpose is unknown, are simply of a political nature, and Don Torribio is a conspirator."
"Nothing else. Be on your guard against him."
"In the expectation of General Oribe making an attack, let us make ourselves secure. The Estancia of San Julian is close to Port San José and the sea; we will await the issue of these machinations there in greater security, because a vessel, anchored opposite the estancia, will be at my disposal, and on the slightest alarm convey us to Buenos Aires."
"That arrangement removes all difficulties; in the country you will not be annoyed by Don Torribio's visits."
"¡Caramba! you are right; and I will proceed to give orders for departure. Do not go away, for I want your assistance, and you will accompany us."
Don Valentine hastened to wake the servants and peons who were fast asleep; and the valuables were at once packed up.
At the first gleam of dawn Doña Concha was greatly surprised, when her lady's maid, a young mulatto girl, informed her of her father's sudden resolution. Doña Concha, without making the slightest remark, dressed herself, and began packing.
At about eight in the morning, Blas Salazar, whom his foster brother had sent with a letter to the captain of his schooner moored off Carmen, and loaded with Brazilian merchandise, returned to the house, and stated that the captain would sail at once, and be anchored by nightfall before San Julian.
The courtyard of the house resembled a hostelry. Fifteen mules, bending beneath their bales, stamped in their impatience to be off, while the travelling litter was being prepared for Doña Concha. Forty saddle horses, intended for the servants, were fastened to iron rings in the wall; four or five mules were prepared to carry the young lady's female attendants, while two Negro slaves held two splendid chargers, which stamped and champed their silver bits, while awaiting their riders, Don Valentine and his capataz. There was a deafening confusion of shouts, laughter, and kicking. In the street, a crowd, among whom were Corrocho and Panchito, curiously watched their departure, while making their comments on the strange fact of Don Cardoso choosing so late a season for a residence in the country.
Panchito and Corrocho slipped away.
At last, at about half past eight o'clock, the arrieros placed themselves at the head of their mules; the servants, armed to the teeth, mounted, and Doña Concha, dressed in a charming travelling costume, walked down the steps, and with a merry laugh, bounded into the litter, where she nestled like a hummingbird among rose leaves.
At a sign from the capataz, the mules, already fastened to each other in a file, started. Don Valentine then turned to an old Negro, who was standing respectfully near him, hat in hand.
"Good-bye, tío Peralta," he said to him; "I give you charge of the house, and leave you Cyrillo and Nanez."
"Your Excellency can reckon on my vigilance," the old man answered; "may God bless your Excellency, and the Niña too. I will take great care of her birds."
"Thank you, tío Peralta," the young lady said, leaning out of the litter.
The courtyard was already empty, when the Negro bowed, delighted at the thanks.
The night storm had completely swept the sky, which was of a pale blue; the sun, already high on the horizon, spread profusely its warm beams, which were filtered through the fragrant vapours that rose from the ground. The atmosphere was wondrously transparent, a slight breeze refreshed the air, and swarms of birds, glistening with a thousand hues, dashed about. The mules, which followed the bell of the yegua madrina, trotted to the songs of the arrieros. The caravan marched gaily across the sandy desert, raising the dust around it, and undulating like a long serpent, in the endless windings of the road. Don Blas, with ten servants, who explored the country, and examined the bushes, formed the vanguard. Don Valentine, with a cigar in his mouth, was conversing with his daughter, while twenty resolute men closed the march, and protected the travellers.
In the plains of Patagonia, a journey of four hours, like that to the estancia of San Julian, requires as many precautions as one of two hundred among us; enemies are ambuscaded everywhere, and ready for pillage and murder; and travellers are compelled to be on their guard against gauchos, Indians, and wild beasts.
The white houses of Carmen had disappeared long ago, when the capataz, leaving the head of the party, galloped up to the side of the litter.
"What is the matter?" Don Valentine asked.
"Nothing," Blas replied; "still, Excellency, look," he added, stretching out his arm in a southwesterly direction.
"It is a fire."
"Now turn your eyes to the east-south-east."
"That is another fire. Who the deuce has lighted fires on those scarped points, and for what object?"
"I will tell you. That point is the cliff of Urubús."
"It is."
"That is the cliff of San Xavier."
"Well?"
"As a fire does not light itself, as we have some 120° of heat, and as—"
"You conclude—"
"I conclude that these fires Have been lit by Don Torribio's gauchos; and that they are signals."
"Stay, stay, that is logical, my friend, and you may be right perhaps; but what do we care?"
"Those signals tell that Don Valentine Cardoso and his daughter have left Carmen."
"You spoke to me about that, I think? Well, I do not care about Don Torribio knowing of my departure."
A sudden cry was heard, and the mules stopped with trembling limbs.
"What is going on down there?" Blas asked.
"A cougar, a cougar!" the arrieros shouted in horror.
"Canario, it is true," the capataz said, "but instead of one there are two."
About two hundred yards ahead of the caravan two cougars (the Felis discolor or Linnaeus, or American lion), were drawn up ready for a spring, with their eyes fixed on the mules. These animals, still young, were about the size of a calf; the head bore a great likeness to that of a cat, and their skins, smooth and soft, of a silvery tawny, were spotted with black.
"Come on," Don Valentine exclaimed, "uncouple the dogs, and let us have a hunt."
"A hunt!" the capataz repeated.
A dozen mastiffs were unloosed which, on approaching the lions, barked simultaneously. The mules were collected and formed into a large circle, in the centre of which the litter was placed. Ten servants were told off to guard Doña Concha, and Don Valentine remained by her side to keep up her courage.
Horses, riders, and dogs rushed in rivalry on the ferocious animals with yells, shouts, and barking sufficient to start lions that were novices. The noble beasts, lashed their flanks with their powerful tails, and after a deep inspiration they fled away with lengthened bounds. A part of the hunters rode off in a straight line to cut off their retreat, while, others bending over the saddle and guiding their horses with their knees, brandished their terrible bolas, and hunted them with all their strength, though without checking the cougars which turned furiously on the dogs, and hurled them a dozen yards off yelling with pain. The mastiffs, however, long accustomed to this style of hunting, watched for a favourable opportunity, threw themselves on the lions' backs and dug their teeth into their flesh, but the cougars, with one blow of their murderous paw, swept them off like flies, and resumed their hurried course.
One of them, hobbled by the bolas, and surrounded by dogs, rolled on the ground, digging up the sand with its contracted claws, and uttering a fearful yell. Don Valentine finished it by putting a bullet in its eye.
The second cougar remained, which was still unwounded, and by its bounds, foiled the attack and skill of the hunters. The dogs, worn out, did not dare approach it. Its flight had brought it within a few paces of the caravan; all at once it turned to the right, bounded over the mules, and crouched right in front of the litter. Doña Concha, pale as death, with closed eyes, instinctively clasped her hands, recommended her soul to Heaven, and fainted.
At the moment when the lion was about to dart on the girl, two shots struck it right in the middle of the chest. It turned round on its new adversary, no other than the worthy capataz, who, with extended legs, and eye fixed on the lion, awaited the monster. The cougar hesitated, took a parting glance at its prey still lying in the litter, and rushed with a roar on Blas, who pulled the trigger again. The animal writhed on the ground, and the capataz ran up to it, machete in hand. The man and the lion rolled together, but only one of them rose again—it was the man.
Doña Concha was saved. Her father pressed her joyously to his breast; she opened her eyes again at last, and aware to whose devotion she owed her life, held out her hand to Don Blas.
"I can no longer count the number of times you have saved the lives of my father and myself."
"Oh, señorita!" the worthy man said, as he kissed the tips of her fingers.
"You are my foster brother, and I can only discharge my debt to you by eternal gratitude," Don Valentine said. "Strip the lions of their skins, my men," he said, turning to the servants. "I suppose they will not frighten you, when they are converted into carpets, Conchita."
No one equals the Hispano-Americans in the art of flaying animals; in a minute, the two lions, above which the urubús and vultures of the Andes were already hovering, were stripped of their skins.
Order was restored in the caravan, which started again, and within an hour arrived at the Estancia of San Julian, where it was received by Patito and all the farm peons.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ESTANCIA OF SAN JULIAN.
The bomberos, accompanied by Mercedes, buried themselves in the desert. Their journey lasted four hours, and brought them to the banks of the Rio Negro, to one of the charming oases created by the river mud, and covered with clumps of willows, nopals, palms, chirimoyas, lemon trees, and flowering jessamines, in whose branches thousands of birds of the most varying colour and note gaily warbled.
Pedrito seized Mercedes in his robust arms, lifted her from the front of his saddle and laid her gently on the turf. The horses began quietly nibbling the young tree shoots.
"Tell us, how did you find our sister?" Juan said.
The elder brother, as if he had not heard, made no reply, and with his eyes fixed on the girl, he listened to a voice that spoke within him; he fancied he saw again the living portrait of his mother, and said to himself, "The same look, at once gentle and tender! The smile full of kindness! Poor mother, poor sister! Mercedes," he added in a louder voice, "do you remember your grown-up brothers, who loved you so dearly?"
"Come, come," Pepe exclaimed, stamping his foot angrily, "that is not fair, brother! You keep our bills in the water like a lot of ducks, and confiscate the girl's kind looks. If she is really our deeply-regretted Mercedes, speak; ¡caray! we have as much right to embrace her as you have, and are all longing to do so."
"You are right," Pedrito answered; "forgive me, brothers, but joy rendered me egotistic. Yes, it is our dear little sister, so embrace her."
The bomberos did not wait for the invitation to be repeated, and without asking the slightest explanation from Pedrito, disputed with each other as to who should devour her with caresses. The maiden, who was deeply affected, and whom the Indians had not accustomed to such happiness, yielded to the intoxication of joy. While they were indulging in these transports, Pedrito had lit a fire and prepared a substantial meal, composed of fruit and a leg of guanaco. They sat down and ate with good appetites. Pedrito recounted his adventures at the tree of Gualichu, without omitting a single detail. His story occupied a long time, for it was at times interrupted by the young men, who laughed most heartily at the tragi-comical incidents of the scene between the matchi and Gualichu.
"Do you know," Lopez said to him, "that you have been a god?"
"A god who ran a greater risk of becoming immortal than he cared for," Pedrito replied; "for I feel that I love life since I have found the child again. Well, here she is, and he will be a clever fellow who takes her from us again. Still, we cannot keep her with us and let her share our precarious existence."
"That is true," the other brothers said.
"What is to be done?" Pepe muttered sadly.
"Our poor sister would die," said Pedrito; "we cannot make a female bombero of her, drag her after us into danger, or leave her alone."
"I shall never be alone when with you, my kind brothers."
"Our life is at the mercy of an Indian bullet. The fear that you may fall again into the hands of the Aucas or the Puelches troubles me; and if you remained with us and shared our dangers, I should turn a coward, and not have the courage to perform my duties as bombero."
"During the ten years we have been prowling about the Pampas," Pepe remarked, "we have broken with all our old acquaintances."
"Suppose, though," Lopez observed, "we find her a safe shelter? I have an idea."
"Out with it."
"You remember the capataz of the Estancia de San Julian, what is his name?"
"Don Blas Salazar."
"The very man," Lopez continued; "I fancy we have saved his life and his master's ere now, and that both owe us a candle as thick as my arm in gratitude."
"Don Valentine and his capataz," Juan said, "would have yielded their skins to that demon of a Pincheira, who wished to flay them alive, had it not been for our rifles."
"That is our affair. Lopez is right."
"Don Valentino passes for a good-hearted man."
"He has, I think, a daughter whom he tenderly loves, and will understand the difficulty we are in."
"Yes," said Pepe, "but we cannot go to Carmen."
"Let us ride to the Estancia, then; it will only take us a couple of hours."
"We will be off," said Pedrito; "Juan and Lopez will remain here, while Pepe and I escort the chica. Kiss your brothers, Mercedes. Now then, Pepe; you two keep good watch and expect us at sunset."
Mercedes waved a parting farewell to her brothers, and, escorted by Pepe and Pedro, started at a gallop for San Julian.
At about three o'clock they perceived, fifty yards from them, the estancia, which Don Valentine and his daughter had reached hardly two hours before.
The Estancia of San Julian, undoubtedly the richest and strongest position on the entire Patagonian coast, stood on a peninsula six miles in circumference, covered with wood and pastures, on which upwards of two thousand head of cattle grazed at liberty. Surrounded by the sea, which forms a natural fortification, the strip of land, twenty feet in width at the most, was guarded by a battery of five heavy guns. The house, which was surrounded by lofty parapeted and bastioned walls, was a species of fortress, capable of sustaining a regular siege, thanks to eight guns, which, planted on the four bastions, defended the approaches. It was composed of a large main building with a terraced roof, having ten windows on the frontage, and with two wings. A large flight of steps, protected by a double curiously-worked balustrade, protected by a verandah, gave access to the rooms, which were furnished with the simple and picturesque luxury peculiar to the Spanish farms of America.
Between the house and the wall, in which there was, opposite the steps, a cedar gate five inches thick, and lined with strong iron plates, extended a large English garden, well wooded and beautifully laid out. The space left free behind the farm was occupied by the corrals in which the cattle were shut up at night, and an immense courtyard in which the annual slaughtering took place.
This white house was gay and pleasant, and could be seen for some distance off, half-hidden by the branches which crowned it with foliage. From the first floor windows there was a view on one side of the sea, on the other of the Rio Negro, which ran capriciously through the plain like a silver thread, and was lost in the azure distance of the horizon.
Ever since the last war with the Indians, ten years back, and during which the estancia was all but surprised by the Aucas, a mirador had been built on the roof of the main building, where a sentry stood day and night, ordered to watch and announce the approach of strangers upon a buffalo horn. In addition, the isthmus battery was guarded by six men, ready to discharge the guns at the slightest alarm. Hence, when the bomberos were still some distance from the Estancia, their coming had been signalled, and Don Blas Salazar, accompanied by Patito, was standing behind the battery in order to challenge them when they came within hail.
The bomberos were aware of the orders, which are common to all the Spanish establishments, especially on the borders, where people are exposed to the continual depredations of the Indians. On coming within twenty paces of the battery, the two men stopped and waited.
"Who goes there?" a voice shouted.
"Friends?" Pedrito answered.
"Who are you?"
"Bomberos."
"Good; what do you want?"
"To speak to the Señor Capataz, Don Blas Salazar."
"Why," Blas himself exclaimed, "it is Pedrito."
"Yes, yes, Don Blas," Pedrito said, "and I recognized you at once, but duty is duty. This is my brother Pepe, at your service."
"As he has been before, Don Blas, by your leave," Pepe said, insinuatingly.
"That is true, lower the drawbridge."
The bomberos entered, and the bridge was immediately pulled up after them.
"¡Caray! What a pleasant surprise, my friends," the capataz said, "we see you most remarkably seldom. Come to my house, and while we drain a cup, you will tell me what brings you here, and it must be a serious matter, if I know you."
"Very serious indeed," Pedrito answered.
"Patito," said Blas, "you stay here; I am going to the estancia."
The capataz mounted his horse, and drew up alongside Pedrito.
"May I ask, caballero, without indiscretion, who that girl dressed in the Indian fashion is? She is white, is she not?"
"She is our sister, capataz."
"Your sister, Don Pedro! Are you joking?"
"Heaven forbid?"
"I was not aware you had a sister, so forgive me, for I am not a sorcerer."
The horsemen had arrived at their destination. The capataz dismounted, the bomberos followed his example, and followed him into a spacious ground floor room, where an elderly, healthy-looking woman was busy peeling Indian corn. It was Don Blas's mother, and Don Valentine's nurse. She greeted the newcomers with a good-humoured smile, offered them seats, and went to fetch a jug of chicha, which she placed before them.
"To your health, señores," said the capataz, after filling the pewter cups to the brim. "The sun is confoundedly hot, and travellers will find this refreshing."
"Thanks," said Pedrito, who had emptied his glass.
"Come, what have you to tell me? Speak freely; unless," Blas added, "my mother is in your way. If so, the worthy woman would go into the next room."
"No," Pedro said, eagerly; "no! The señora, on the contrary, must remain, for what we have to say everybody may hear, and especially your mother; we have come here on the subject of our sister."
"I do not wish to offend you, Don Pedro," the capataz interrupted him, "but you did wrong in keeping the young lady with you, for she cannot share all the perils of your diabolical life, can she, mother?"
The old lady gave a nod of assent, and the brothers exchanged a hopeful glance.
"You can do what you please, of course," Don Blas continued; "everybody is at liberty to arrange his life as he pleases, provided that it be honestly. But now to business."
"Your remark, Don Blas," Pedrito said, "overwhelms us with joy. You are a man of good counsel and good heart."
And without farther delay, he told Mercedes' singular story. Toward its close Doña Salazar left the room, unnoticed by her son or the bomberos.
"You are a worthy man, Don Pedro," Don Blas exclaimed. "Yes, deuce take me if you are not, though the bomberos generally are considered sorry fellows. You have judged me rightly, and I thank you for thinking of me."
"Then you consent?" Pepe asked.
"One moment, sapristi! Let me conclude," the capataz said, as he filled the glasses again, "here's to your health, and that of the señorita. I am only a poor fellow, and a bachelor in the bargain, hence my protection would compromise a young lady's reputation, for tongues are wicked here as elsewhere, and though I live with my mother, an excellent woman, a wicked word is soon uttered. Señores, a girl's reputation is like an egg; once cracked it cannot be mended. You understand?"
"What is to be done?" Pedrito muttered with discouragement.
"Patience, compadre! I am nothing myself, but, canario, Don Valentine Cardoso, my master, is kind, he is fond of me, and has a charming daughter; I will plead your sister's cause to him."
"The cause is already gained, my friend," said Don Valentine, whom Doña Salazar had informed of the bomberos' wishes.
Doña Concha, who accompanied her father, had been greatly affected by the story of Mercedes' misfortunes; a good action had tempted her heart, and she begged her father to take charge of the bomberos' sister, who would be a companion for her. Pepe and Pedrito knew not how to express their gratitude to Señor Cardoso.
"My friends," the latter said, "I am only too happy to discharge my debt to you. We have an old account outstanding between us. Eh, Blas! And if my daughter still has a father, she owes it to you."
"Oh, señor!" the two young men protested.
"My daughter, Conchita, will have a sister, and I two daughters instead of one. Do you wish it so, Conchita?"
"I thank you, father," as she repeatedly kissed Mercedes. "My dear girl," she added, "kiss your brothers and follow me to my apartments; I will myself give you the articles of clothing you most require, and enable you to get rid of this heathen costume at once."
Mercedes threw herself into her brother's arms with tears.
"Come, come, little maid," Doña Concha said, as she drew her away, "do not cry thus, you will see them again, wipe your eyes, for I mean you to be happy, do you understand? Come, smile at once, my darling, and follow me."
The sentinel's horn at this moment announced that a stranger was asking admission to the estancia.
"Thanks, once again, Don Valentine," Pedrito said, "we go away with minds at rest."
"Good-bye, till we meet again, my friends."
Pedrito and Pepe, light both in body and mind, left the estancia, and crossed on their passage a horseman, who was coming up to the steps at a sharp trot.
"That is strange," said Pedrito, "where have I seen that man? I do not know, but I feel certain I have met him before."
"Do you know Don Torribio Carvajal?" the capataz asked.
"I am not aware if that is the Caballero's name, who he is, or where I have seen him; still, I am certain that we met a very little while ago."
"Ah!"
"Good-bye, Don Blas, and thank you," the bomberos said, as they shook his hand.
CHAPTER IX.
DON SYLVIO D'ARENAL.
An hour before the bomberos' arrival at the estancia, a visitor had presented himself, who was eagerly greeted by Don Valentine and his daughter. This visitor, about eight-and-twenty years of age, and elegantly built, possessed the manners of a man of distinction, and a clever, noble face. His name was Don Sylvio d'Arenal, and he belonged to one of the richest and most respected families in Buenos Aires. The death of a relative had endowed him with a fortune of 500,000 piastres a year; that is to say, about one hundred thousand a year—a fortune large even for this country, where gold is so common.
The family of Don Sylvio and of Don Valentine, both originally from Spain, and connected by ancient ties, had ever lived on a footing of the greatest intimacy. The young man and the young lady were educated together, and hence, when her handsome cousin came to say good-bye to her, and told her of his departure for Europe, where he was to travel for some years to complete his education, and assume elegant manners, Doña Concha, who was at that time twelve years of age, felt a great vexation. Since their childhood, unconsciously, they loved each other with the simple gentle affection of youth, which only thinks of happiness.
Don Sylvio went away, bearing his love with him, and Conchita retained him in her heart.
Only a few days previously the young man had returned to Buenos Aires, and after making a tour through the most renowned cities of the civilized world, hastened to arrange his affairs. Then he freighted a schooner, and set sail for Carmen, burning with desire to see again the woman he loved, and whom he had not seen for three years—his Conchita, the pretty child who, he thought, had, doubtless, become a lovely and accomplished maiden.
At Carmen he found Don Valentine's house empty, and from the information he received from Tío Peralta, the old Negro, he rode at a gallop to the estancia of San Julian. The surprise and joy of Don Valentine and his daughter were extreme. Conchita was especially happy, for she thought daily of Sylvio, and saw him through her recollections, but at the same time she felt in her heart an emotion of mingled pleasure and sorrow. Sylvio perceived it, understood that he was still loved, and his happiness equalled that of Doña Concha.
"Come, come, children," the father said with a smile, "kiss each other; I permit it."
Doña Concha offered Don Sylvia her blushing forehead, which he respectfully touched with his lips.
"What sort of kiss do you call that?" Don Valentine continued, "come, come, no hypocrisy! kiss one another openly; hang it all! Do not play the coquette, Conchita, because you are a pretty girl, and he is a handsome fellow; and you, Sylvio, who fall here like a bombshell without notice, do you suppose, if you please, that I had not guessed for what reason you made a sea voyage of several hundred leagues? Is it for my sake you have hastened here from Buenos Aires? You love each other, so kiss like lovers and betrothed people, and if you behave yourselves you will be married in a few days."
The young folks, affected by these kind words and this merry humour, fell into the arms of the worthy man, in order to conceal their emotion.
"Children," he said, "the Rubicon is past; indulge your joy at meeting after so lengthened a separation. It is the last, for you have met again forever."
"Oh, forever," the young people repeated.
"Let us kill the fatted calf, as the prodigal child has come back. Don Sylvio, you will remain here, and not return to Carmen, except to be married. Does that suit you?"
"Yes," said Sylvio, looking amorously at Conchita, "on condition that it is soon, father."
"That's the way with lovers; they are always eager and impatient. Everyone in his turn; I was like that and as happy, then our children take our places, and the happiness of old men is produced by their happiness."
One of those sweet and intimate conversations then began, in which the recollections of the past and the certainty of speedy happiness were blended. They were interrupted by Doña Salazar entering the room. Don Sylvio proceeded to his apartment, while Concha and her father followed the old lady to the bomberos.
Don Valentine, surprised and irritated by the unexpected arrival of Don Torribio Carvajal, resolved to get rid of him, and come to an end with this mysterious man.
"You did not expect me so soon?" Don Torribio said, as he leapt from his horse, and bowed to the master of the house.
"I did not expect you at all; the less so because you spoke only yesterday, if I have a good memory, of a journey."
"That is true," he said with a smile, "but who knows yesterday what will take place tomorrow? Then you, too," Don Torribio continued, as he followed Don Valentine to the drawing room, "did not even dream yesterday of leaving El Carmen."
"Well, as you know, we estancieros are often compelled to go to our estates suddenly, from one moment to another."
"The same thing happens to me. I am, like you, compelled to live as a country gentleman for some time."
"Then you are living at your estancia?"
"Yes, we are neighbours, and you will be condemned to my presence, unless—"
"You will always be welcome."
"You are most polite," said Don Torribio, seating himself in an easy chair.
"I am afraid, though, that I shall not long enjoy the pleasure of being your neighbour."
"Why so?"
"It is possible that I may return to Carmen within a week."
"Then you have only paid a passing visit here?"
"Not exactly. I had intended to remain here some months, but, as you said just now, who knows what the morrow will bring forth?"
The two speakers, like practised duellists, before crossing weapons and dealing a decisive blow, were feeling each other's strength by quickly parried feints.
"May I be allowed to pay my respects to Doña Concha?" Don Torribio asked.
"She will soon be here. Just imagine, my dear neighbour, that through a concourse of extraordinary circumstances we have just taken charge of a girl of rare beauty, who has been two years a slave of the Indians, and whom her brothers brought to me scarce an hour ago, after having miraculously saved her from the hands of the pagans."
"Ah!" Torribio said, in a choking voice.
"Yes," Don Valentine continued, without noticing the young man's emotion; "her name is Mercedes, I believe; she appears very gentle; you know my daughter, she is wild about her already, and at this moment she is taking off her Indian clothes, and clothing her in a decent fashion."
"Very good; but are you sure that this woman is what she seems to be? The Indians are villains, as you are aware, and this—"
"Mercedes."
"Mercedes is perhaps an Indian spy."
"For what object?"
"What do I know? Can we trust anybody?"
"You are mistaken, Don Torribio. I can trust the men who brought her to me."
"Watch her; take my advice."
"But she is a Spaniard."
"That proves nothing. Look at Pincheira; is he not an ex-officer of the Chilian army? He is now a chief of one of the principal Patagonian nations, and the most cruel adversary of the Spaniards."
"Pincheira, that is different."
"As you please," said Don Torribio, "I trust that you may be right."
As Don Torribio uttered these words, Doña Concha appeared, accompanied by Don Sylvio.
"Don Torribio," said the estanciero, "I have the honour to present to you Don Sylvio d'Arenal."
"I believe," said Torribio, "that I have already had the honour of meeting this gentleman."
"Nonsense! It cannot have been in America, most certainly, for Don Sylvio has been away for three years."
"No, Don Valentine; it was in Paris."
"Your memory is faithful, sir," Don Sylvio replied, "we met at the house of the Marchioness de Lucenay."
"I was not aware of your return to America."
"I only reached Buenos Aires a few days ago; this morning I was at Carmen, and now I am here."
"Already here!" Don Torribio could not refrain from saying.
"Oh!" Concha's father said, with a marked accent, "This rather hasty visit was so natural, that my daughter and I heartily pardoned Don Sylvio."
"Ah!" Don Torribio muttered, to say something, for he understood that he had a rival before him.
Doña Concha, carelessly reclining on a sofa, anxiously followed the conversation, while playing with a fan that trembled in her hand.
"I hope, sir," Don Torribio said courteously, "that we shall renew here the imperfect friendship commenced in Madame de Lucenay's salons."
"Unluckily," Don Valentine interrupted, in order to prevent Don Sylvio answering, "Señor d'Arenal will be unable to accept your kind invitation, for immediately after his marriage he intends to travel with his wife, since that is the fashion nowadays."
"His marriage!" Don Torribio said, with perfectly well-played astonishment.
"Were you ignorant of it?"
"Yes."
"What a careless fellow I am! My happiness makes me lose my head. I am like these two children, but pray excuse me."
"Sir!"
"Certainly; for are you not one of our best friends? we have no secrets from you. Don Sylvio d'Arenal is about to marry my daughter; the match has been arranged for a very long time."
Don Torribio turned pale; a mist passed before his eyes, he felt a deadly agony in his heart, and thought he was going to die. Doña Concha curiously followed his secret thoughts upon his face; but, feeling that all eyes were fixed upon him, the young man made a superhuman effort, and said to the young lady in a soft voice, and without any apparent emotion—