Gaspar the Gaucho Part 23

"We must go no nearer to it now," observes the gaucho, adding, in a tone of apprehension, "we may be too near already. _Caspita_! Just look at that!"

The last observation refers to the sun, which, suddenly shooting out from the clouds. .h.i.therto obscuring it, again shows itself in the sky.

Not now, however, as in the early morning hours, behind their backs, but right in front of them, and low down, threatening soon to set.

"_Vayate_!" he continues to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e in a tone of mock scorn, apostrophising the great luminary, "no thanks to you now, showing yourself when you're not needed. Instead, I'd thank you more if you'd kept your face hid a bit longer. Better for us if you had."

"Why better?" asks Cypriano, who, as well as Ludwig, has been listening with some surprise to the singular monologue. "What harm can the sun do us now more than ever?"

"Because now, more than ever, he's shining inopportunely, both as to time and place."

"In what way?"

"In a way to show us to eyes we don't want to see us just yet. Look at that hill yonder. Supposing now, just by chance, any of the Indians should be idling upon it, or they have a vidette up there. Bah! what am I babbling about? He couldn't see us if they had; not here, unless through a telescope, and I don't think the Tovas are so far civilised as to have that implement among their chattels. For all, we're not safe on this exposed spot, and the sooner we're off it the better. Some of them may be out scouting in this direction. Come, let us get under cover, and keep so till night's darkness gives us a still safer screen against prying eyes. Thanks to the Virgin! yonder's the very place for our purpose."

He points to a clump of trees, around the stems of which appears a dense underwood; and, soon as signalling this, he rides toward and into it, the others after him.

Once inside the copse, and for the time feeling secure against observation, they hold a hasty counsel as to which step they ought next to take. From the sight of that oddly-shaped hill, and what Caspar remembers Naraguana to have said, they have no doubt of its being the same referred to by the old chief, and that the sacred town of the Tovas is somewhere beside it. So much they feel sure of, their doubts being about the best way for them to approach the place and enter the town, as also the most proper time. And with these doubts are, of course, mingled many fears; though with these, strange to say, Ludwig, the youngest and least experienced of the three, is the least troubled.

Under the belief, as they all are, that Naraguana is still living, his confidence in the friendship of the aged _cacique_ has throughout remained unshaken. When the latter shall be told of all that has transpired; how his palefaced friend and protege met his death by the a.s.sa.s.sin's hand--how the daughter of that friend has been carried off-- surely he will not refuse rest.i.tution, even though it be his own people who have perpetrated the double crime?

Reasoning thus, Ludwig counsels their riding straight on to the Indian town, and trusting to the good heart of Naraguana--throwing themselves upon his generosity, Cypriano is equally eager to reach the place, where he supposes his dear cousin Francesca to be pining as a prisoner; but holds a very different opinion about the prudence of the step, and less believes in the goodness of Naraguana. To him all Indians seem treacherous--Tovas Indians more than any--for before his mental vision he has ever the image of Aguara, and can think of none other.

As for the gaucho, though formerly one of Naraguana's truest friends, from what has happened, his faith in the integrity of the old Tovas chief is greatly shaken. Besides, the caution, habitual to men of his calling and kind, admonishes him against acting rashly now, and he but restates his opinion: that they will do best to remain under cover of the trees, at least till night's darkness comes down. Of course this is conclusive, and it is determined that they stay.

Dismounting, they make fast their horses to some branches, and sit down beside them--_en bivouac_. But in this camp they kindle no fire, nor make any noise, conversing only in whispers. One pa.s.sing the copse could hear no sound inside it, save the chattering of a flock of macaws, who have their roosting-place amid the tops of its tallest trees.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

IN THE SACRED TOWN.

That same sun which became so suddenly obscured over the _salitral_, to shine again in the later hours of the afternoon, is once more about to withdraw its light from the Chaco--this time for setting. Already appears its disc almost down upon the horizon; and the strangely-shaped hill, which towers above the Tovas town, casts a dark shadow over the plain eastward, to the distance of many miles. The palms skirting the lake reflect their graceful forms far over the water, whose surface, undisturbed by the slightest breath of air, shows smooth and shining as a mirror; broken, however, here and there, where water-fowl disport themselves upon it. Among these may be observed the great musk duck, misnamed "Muscovy," and the black-necked swan; both indigenous to the Chaco; while in the shallower places along sh.o.r.e, and by the edges of the islets, appear various species of long-legged waders, standing still, or stalking about as if on stilts; the most conspicuous of all being the scarlet flamingo, side by side with the yet taller _garzon_, already known to us as "soldier-crane."

A scene of tranquil yet picturesque beauty--perhaps no fairer on earth-- is the landscape lying around the Sacred Town of the Tovas.

And on this same day and hour, a stranger entering within the precincts of the place itself might not observe anything to contrast with the tranquillity of the scene outside. Among the _toldos_ he would see children at play, and, here and there, seated by their doors young girls engaged in various occupations; some at basket work, others weaving mats from the fibres of split palm leaves, still others knitting _redes_, or hammocks. Women of more mature age are busied with culinary cares, preparing the evening repast over fires kindled in the open air; while several are straining out the honey of the wild bee, called _tosimi_, which a party of bee-hunters, just returned to the _tolderia_, has brought home.

A few of the men may also be observed moving about, or standing in groups on the open ground adjoining the _malocca_; but at this hour most of them are on horseback out upon the adjacent plain, there galloping to and fro, gathering their flocks and herds, and driving them towards the _corrals_; these flocks and herds composed of horned cattle, sheep, and goats--the Tovas Indians being somewhat of a pastoral people. No savages they, in the usual sense of the term, nor yet is hunting their chief occupation. This they follow now and then, diversifying the chase by a warlike raid into the territory of some hostile tribe, or as often some settlement of the palefaces. For all civilisation of a certain kind has made progress among them; having its origin in an early immigration from Peru, when the "Children of the Sun" were conquered by Pizarro and his _conquistadores_. At that time many Peruvians, fleeing from the barbarous cruelty of their Spanish invaders, sought asylum in the Chaco, there finding it; and from these the Tovas and other tribes have long ago learnt many of the arts of civilised life; can spin their own thread, and sew skilfully as any sempstress of the palefaces; weave their own cloth, dress and dye it in fast colours of becoming patterns; in short, can do many kinds of mechanical work, which no white artisan need feel ashamed to acknowledge as his own. Above all, are they famed for the "feather-work," or plume embroidery--an art peculiarly Indian-- which, on their first becoming acquainted with it, astonished the rough soldiers of Cortez and Pizarro, as much as it delighted them.

To this day is it practised among several of the South American tribes, notably those of the Gran Chaco, while the Tovas particularly excel in it. But perhaps the highest evidence of these Indians having some civilisation, is their form of government, which is in reality Republican. For their _cacique_, or chief, although sometimes allowed to rule by hereditary succession, is more often chosen by the sub-chiefs and warriors; in short, elected just as the President of a Republic.

This gives the key to Aguara's doubts and fears on returning to the Sacred Town with Francesca Halberger as his captive. Nor are the latter yet allayed, despite three days having elapsed since his return. Though he has done all in his power to conceal from his people the true facts in relation to her father's death, still certain details of the tragedy have leaked out; and it has become known to most, that the hunter-naturalist is not only dead, but died by the hand of an a.s.sa.s.sin.

This last, however, they suppose to have been the other white man late on a visit to them--Valdez the _vaqueano_. For the same tale which Aguara had told to his captive on the way, he has repeated, with some variations, to the elders of the tribe a.s.sembled in council within the _malocca_. So far not much of a fiction; only that part accounting for the death of the young brave who fell to Halberger's bullet--a stray shot, while the latter was defending himself against Valdez.

And the daughter of the murdered man has been brought back with them, not as a prisoner, but because it was inconvenient to take her direct to her own home. She can and will be sent thither at the first opportunity which offers. So promises the deceitful son of Naraguana to those of the tribe who would call him to account.

Meanwhile, the girl has been entrusted to the charge and safe keeping of Shebotha, a sort of "mystery woman," or sorceress, of much power in the community; though, as all know, under the influence of Aguara himself.

But he has not dared to take the youthful captive to his own _toldo_, or even hint at so doing; instead, he still keeps his wicked purpose to himself, trusting to time and Shebotha for its accomplishment.

According to his own way of thinking, he can well afford to wait. He has no thought that anyone will ever come after the captive girl; much less one with power to release her. It is not probable, and from a knowledge possessed only by himself, scarcely possible. Her father is dead, her mother doomed to worse than death, as also her brother and that other relative--his own rival. For before parting with him, Rufino Valdez had said what amounted to so much; and possibly by this time the Senora Halberger, with what remained of her family, would be on the way back to Paraguay; not returning voluntarily, but taken back by the _vaqueano_. With this belief--a false one, as we know--the young Tovas chief feels secure of his victim, and therefore refrains from any act of open violence, as likely to call down upon him the censure of his people. Though popular with the younger members of the tribe, he is not so much in favour with the elders as to fly in the face of public opinion; for were these aware of what has really taken place, it would go ill with him. But as yet they are not; silence having been enjoined on the youths who accompanied him in that ill-starred expedition, which they, for their own sakes, have hitherto been careful to keep.

For all, certain facts have come to light in disjointed, fragmentary form, with deductions drawn from them, which go hard against the character of the young _cacique_; and as the hours pa.s.s others are added, until discontent begins to show itself among the older and more prominent men of the tribe, chiefly those who were the friends of his father. For these were also friends of her father, now alike fatherless, though made so by a more cruel fate. Low murmurings are here and there heard, which speak of an intent to prosecute inquiry on the subject of Halberger's a.s.sa.s.sination--even to the carrying it into Paraguay. Now that they have re-entered into amity with Paraguay's Dictator, they may go thither, though the purpose be a strange one; to arraign the commissioner who acted in restoring the treaty!

With much whispering and murmurs around, it is not strange that the young _cacique_, while dreaming of future pleasures, should also have fears for that future. His own pa.s.sion, wild as wicked, has brought him into danger, and a storm seems brewing that, sooner or later, may deprive him of his chieftainship.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

AN INDIAN BELLE.

If the Tovas chief be in danger of receiving punishment from his people for carrying into captivity the daughter of his father's friend, there is also danger to the captive herself from another and very different source. Just as the pa.s.sion of love has been the cause of her being brought to the Sacred Town of the Tovas, that of jealousy is like to be the means of her there finding an early grave.

The jealous one is an Indian girl, named Nacena, the daughter of a sub-chief, who, like Naraguana himself, was an aged man held in high regard; and, as the deceased _cacique_, now also sleeping his last sleep in one of their scaffold tombs.

Despite her bronzed skin, Nacena is a beautiful creature; for the brown is not so deep as to hinder the crimson blush showing its tint upon her cheeks; and many a South American maiden, boasting the blue blood of Andalusia, has a complexion less fair than she. As on this same evening she sits by the sh.o.r.e of the lake, on the trunk of a fallen palm-tree, her fine form clad in the picturesque Indian garb, with her lovely face mirrored in the tranquil water, a picture is presented on which no eye could look, nor thought dwell, without a feeling of delight; and, regarding her thus, no one would believe her to be other than what she is--the belle of the Tovas tribe.

Her beauty had not failed to make impression upon the heart of Aguara, long before his having become _cacique_. He has loved her too, in days gone by, ere he looked upon the golden-haired paleface. Both children then, and little more yet; for the Indian girl is only a year or two older than the other. But in this southern clime, the precocity already spoken of is not confined to those whose skins are called white, but equally shared by the red.

Nacena has been beloved by the son of Naraguana, and knew, or at least believed it. But she better knows, that she has been deceived by him, and is now slighted, about to be cast aside for another. That other will, ere long, be chieftainess of the Tovas tribe, while she--

She has reflected thus far, when the bitter thought overpowering causes her to start to her feet, a cry escaping her lips as if it came from a heart cleft in twain.

Nothing of this, however, shows in her face. The expression upon it is rather that of anger, as a _jaguarete_ of her native plains, whose rage has been aroused by the arrow of the Indian hunter suddenly piercing its side. Hitherto silent, she is now heard to speak; but, though alone, the words to which she gives utterance are not in soliloquy: instead, as if spoken to some one who is near, though unseen. It is an apostrophe meant for no mortal ears, but addressed to the Divinity of the lake!

"Spirit of the Waters!" she cries, with arms outstretched and head aloft, "hear my prayer! Tell me if it be true! Will he make her his wife?"

She is silent for a second or two, as though expecting a reply, and listening for it. It comes, but not from the deity addressed. Out of her own heart she has the answer.

"He will; yes, surely will! Else, why has he brought her hither? A false tale he has told in the council of the elders; false as himself!

Where are his words, his vows, made to me with lips that gave kisses?

Perjured--broken--gone as his love, given to another! And I am soon to see her his queen, salute her as mine, and attend upon her as one of her waiting maids! Never! No, Spirit of the Waters! Rather than do that, I shall go to you; be one of your attendants, not hers. Rather than that, thou shalt take me to thy bosom!"

High-sounding speeches from an Indian girl, scarce fifteen years of age?

But love's eloquence is not confined to age, race, or rank, no more than that of jealousy. Both pa.s.sions may burn in the breast of the savage maiden, as in the heart of the high-born lady--perhaps tearing it more. Not strange they should find like expression on the lips.

"Why not now?" continues Nacena in a tone that tells of despair, while the cloud upon her brow is seen to grow darker. "Ah! why not? No need waiting longer; I know all. A leap from yonder rock, and all would be over, my suspense, as my sufferings."

For a moment she stands with eyes fixed upon a rocky promontory, which juts out into the lake near by. Its head overhangs the water, three fathoms deep, as she knows. Many the time has she sprung from that projecting point to swim, naiad-like, underneath it. But the plunge she now meditates is not for swimming, but to sink!

"No!" she exclaims, after a pause, as she withdraws her gaze from the rock, the expression upon her face changing back to that of the _jaguarete_! "No, Spirit of the Waters! not yet. Nacena fears not to die, but that is not the death for the daughter of a Tovas chief. If wronged, she must resent it, and will. Revenge first, and the deceiver shall first die. After that, O Spirit, thou canst take me; Nacena will no longer care to live."

As she says this, the sad look returns to her countenance, replacing that of anger; and for a time she stands with head drooped down to her bosom, and arms hanging listlessly by her side--a very picture of despair.

At length, she is about to leave the spot, when a footstep warns her of one making approach; and, turning, she sees who it is. A youth, but to manhood grown, and wearing the insignia of a sub-chief. Though many years older than herself, he is her brother.

"Sister!" he says, coming up to her, and closely scanning her face, "you have thoughts that trouble you. I would know what they are."

"Oh, nothing," she rejoins, with an effort to appear calm. "I've only been looking over the lake, at the birds out yonder. How they enjoy themselves this fine evening!"