Gaspar the Gaucho Part 25

Whether his young companions be sleeping or awake, the gaucho does not stay by their side; but, almost as soon as seeing them disposed along the earth, slips out from under the fig-tree, and facing towards the central part of the cemetery, walks off in that direction. His object is to revisit the scaffold lately left by them, and make a more detailed examination of it. Not that he cares aught about the structure itself.

It is not the first time for him to have seen similar burying-places of the Chaco Indians, and he knows as much about them as he cares to know.

Nor is his object, in returning to this particular one, of a very definite character; but rather because a vague idea or instinct has come into his mind which prompts him to the act--a sort of presentiment that he may there see something to throw light on much of what has been all along mystifying him. To go thither will in no way interfere with his duties as a sentinel, since he can perform these equally well or better by moving about. Besides, it will help to beguile the time, as also make him familiar with the ground they have got upon--a familiarity that may hereafter prove of service to them. As already stated, he had observed that the scaffold is of recent erection, telling that the man or woman laid upon it cannot have been very long dead. He had, moreover, noticed, while attaching his bridle to one of the uprights, that a series of notches was cut in the post, evidently to facilitate ascent. In all likelihood, the surviving relatives of the deceased are in the habit of coming thither at periodical intervals, to adorn the tomb with flowers or other tokens of affectionate memory; perhaps bring votive offerings to the spirit which presides over that consecrated spot. But whatever the purpose of the notches, the gaucho knows they will enable him to climb up with ease, and see what rests upon the platform.

Approaching the catafalque with silent tread, he stands for a time gazing at it without making any movement to mount up. Not from curiosity does he so regard it; but something akin to awe has stolen over his spirit, and he almost fears further to intrude on the sacredness of the place. Besides, the act requires caution. What if some of the Indians given to nocturnal straying should chance to come that way, and see him up those stairs, desecrating the abode of the dead? Even were there no other reason for his fearing to be found in that place, the act itself would make him liable to punishment--possibly no less than death! For among the Tovas, as many other tribes of South American Indians--infidels though they are called--the tombs of their dead are held as sacred as those of the Spanish Christians who so designate them.

Notwithstanding all this, Gaspar the gaucho is not to be baulked in his design. He has not come to the bottom of that curious catafalque, to go away again without seeing what is above. And though he stands hesitating, it is only for a short while, finally making up his mind to ascend.

Ascend he does; laying hold of one of the notched corner posts, and climbing the primitive ladder, as it were, set ready and awaiting him.

As the moon is by this far down in the sky, its beams are not obstructed by the roof thatch, but fall obliquely upon the floor of the platform beneath. There, lying at full length, the gaucho perceives a form, easily recognisable as that of a human being, though swathed in various kinds of cloths, which cover it from head to foot. The body of a man, moreover, as can be told by its size and shape; while beside, and arranged around it, are certain insignia proclaiming it to be that of some distinguished chieftain of the Tovas. There are spears, shields, _macanas_, lazoes, bolas--among them the _bola perdida_, some of these weapons placed upon the platform alongside the corpse, others suspended from the beams and poles supporting the thatch of the roof. There is horse-gear as well--the multifarious trappings which appertain to the caparison of a gaucho's steed--recado, carona, caronilla, jerga, with Mameluke bitts and spurs of immensely large rowels; for all these are possessed by the higher order of pampas Indians, and notably their chiefs--property they have picked up in some plundering expedition, where gauchos themselves have been their victims.

Just such a thought pa.s.ses through the mind of gaucho Gaspar, as his eyes rest on the grand array displayed on the _cacique's_ tomb. For that it is the tomb of a _cacique_, and one of grand note, he has not a doubt, seeing such a selection of trophies. In addition to the war weapons and implements of the chase, there are articles of dress and adornment; bracelets of gold, bead necklets and belts, with coronets of bright-coloured plumes; while most conspicuous of all is a large feather-embroidered _manta_, covering the corpse from head to foot, even concealing the face.

Still there is nothing in all this to astonish Gaspar Mendez, or in any way give him a surprise. He has seen the like before, and often among the Auracanian Indians, who are kindred with the tribes of the Chaco.

He but makes the reflection, how silly it is in these savages thus to expose such fine commodities to the weather, and let them go to loss and decay--all to satisfy a heathen instinct of superst.i.tion! And thus reflecting, he would in all probability have lowered himself back to the ground, but for that presentiment still upon him. It influences him to remain a moment longer balancing himself upon the notched upright, and gazing over the platform. Just then the moon getting clear of some cirrhus clouds, and shining brighter than ever, lights up an object hitherto unnoticed by him, but one he recognises as an old acquaintance.

He starts on beholding a felt hat of the Tyrolese pattern, which he well remembers to have seen worn by his master, the hunter-naturalist, and by him given to the aged _cacique_ of the Tovas as a token of friendship. And now he feels the presentiment which has been upon him all explained and fulfilled. Springing up on the platform, and uncovering the face of the corpse, he beholds--Naraguana!

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

GASPAR DESPONDENT.

"Naraguana dead!" exclaims the gaucho, as standing upon the scaffold he gazes upon the form at his feet. "_Santissima_! this is strange!"

"But is it certainly the old _cacique_?" he adds, again stooping down and raising the selvedge of feather cloth, which had fallen back over the face. Once more exposed to view, the features deeply-furrowed with age--for Naraguana was a very old man--and now further shrivelled by the dry winds of the Chaco, with the skin drawn tight over high-cheek bones, and hollow, sightless sockets, where once shone pair of eyes coal-black and keen--all this under the pale moonlight, presents a spectacle at once weird-like and ghastly, as if of a death's head itself!

Still it is the face of Naraguana, as at a glance the gaucho perceives, muttering, "Yes; it's the old chief, sure enough. Dead, and dried up like a mummy! Died of old age, no doubt. Well," he continues, in graver tone, "by whatever way he may have come to his end, no greater misfortune could have befallen us. _Carrai_! it's Satan's own luck!"

Having thus delivered himself, he stands for a while on the platform, but no longer looking at the corpse, nor any of the relics around it.

Instead, his eyes are turned towards the tree, under whose shadow his youthful comrades are reclining, and as he supposes asleep. On that side is the moon, and as her light falls over his face, there can be seen upon it an expression of great anxiety and pain--greater than any that has marked it since that moment, when in the _sumac_ grove he bent over the dead body of his murdered master.

But the troubled look now overspreading his features springs not from grief, nor has anger aught to do with it. Instead, it is all apprehension. For now, as though a curtain had been suddenly lifted before his eyes, he sees beyond it, there perceiving for himself and his companions danger such as they had not yet been called upon to encounter. All along the route their thoughts were turned to Naraguana, and on him rested their hopes. Naraguana can do nothing for them now.

"No!" reflects the gaucho, despairingly; "we can expect no help from him. And who else is there to give it? Who, besides, would have the power to serve us, even if the will be not wanting? No one, I fear.

_Mil Diablos_! it's a black look-out, now--the very blackest!"

Again facing round to the corpse, and fixing his eyes upon the still uncovered face, he seems to examine it as though it were a trail upon the pampas, in order to discover what tale it may tell. And just for a like purpose does he now scrutinise the features of the dead _cacique_, as appears by his soliloquy succeeding.

"Yes; I understand it all now--everything. He's been dead some time--at least two or three weeks. That explains their leaving the other town in such haste, and coming on here. Dead, or deadly sick, before he left it, the old chief would have himself to think of, and so sent no word to us at the _estancia_. No blame to him for not doing so. And now that the young one's in power, with a fool's head and a wolf's heart, what may we expect from him? Ah, what? In a matter like this, neither grace nor mercy. I know he loves the _muchachita_, with such love as a savage may--pa.s.sionately, madly. All the worse for her, poor thing! And all the poorer chance for us to get her away from him. _Por Dios_! it does look dark."

After a pause, he continues:

"His making her a captive and bringing her on here, I can quite understand; that's all natural enough, since his father being dead, there's no longer any one to hinder him doing as he likes. It's only odd his chancing to meet master out that day, so far from home. One would suppose he'd been watching the _estancia_, and saw them as they went away from it. But then, there were no strange tracks about the place, nor anywhere near it. And I could discover none by the old _tolderia_ that seemed at all fresh, excepting those of the shod horse.

But whoever rode him didn't seem to have come anywhere near the house; certainly not on this side. For all that, he might have approached it from the other, and then ridden round, to meet the Indians afterwards at the crossing of the stream. Well, I shall give the whole ground a better examination once we get back."

"Get back!" he exclaims, repeating his words after a pause, and in changed tone. "Shall we ever get back? That's the question now, and a very doubtful one it is. But," he adds, turning to descend from the scaffold, "it won't help us any on the road my remaining up here. If the old _cacique's_ body still had the breath in it, may be it might.

But as it hasn't the sooner I bid good-bye to it the better. _Adios_, Naraguana! _Pasa V. buena noche_!"

Were death itself staring him in the face, instead of seeing it as he does in the face of another man, Gaspar the gaucho, could not forego a jest, so much delights he to indulge in his ludicrous humour.

After unburdening himself as above, he once more closes his arms around the notched post, and lowers himself from the platform.

But again upon the ground, and standing with face toward the fig-tree, the gravity of its expression is resumed, and he seems to hesitate about returning to the place of bivouac, where his youthful companions are now no doubt enjoying the sweets of a profound slumber.

"A pity to disturb them!" he mutters to himself; "and with such a tale as I have now to tell. But it must be told, and at once. Now that everything's changed, new plans must be thought of, and new steps taken.

If we're to enter the Indian town at all, it will have to be in a different way from what we intended. _Caspita_! how the luck's turned against us!"

And with this desponding reflection, he moves off from the scaffold; and, making his way among the mausoleums, once more approaches the spot where the South American banyan casts its sombre shadow over them.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

BREAKING BAD NEWS.

Caspar has been mistaken in supposing the other two asleep. One of them is--Ludwig, who sleeps soundly, and to all appearance peacefully. Not that he is indifferent to the seriousness of the situation, or less anxious about the upshot, than Cypriano. He but slumbers, because he is naturally of a more somnolent habit than his cousin, as also, being the weaker of the two, from the effects of a journey so long sustained, and travelling at such a pace. Moreover, he is not even yet quite recovered from the damage done him by the gymnoti; their electricity still acting on his nervous system, and producing a certain la.s.situde.

There is yet another reason why Ludwig has let himself go to sleep--one of a moral nature. As is known, he still adheres to his belief in the fidelity of Naraguana, and, so believing, is least of them all apprehensive about the result. At this moment he may be dreaming of the old _cacique_, though little dreams he that his dead body is so near!

Altogether different is it with Cypriano. This night there is no sleep for him, nor does he think of taking any. Though he lay down alongside his cousin, wrapping himself in his poncho, he did not long remain rec.u.mbent. Instead, soon starting to his feet again, he has been pacing to and fro under the fig-tree, wondering where Gaspar has gone. For, as known, the gaucho had slipped off without making noise, or saying word.

Missing him, the young Paraguayan would call out his name. But he fears to raise his voice, lest it reach other ears than those for which it was intended. Reflecting, moreover, that Gaspar is pretty sure to have some good reason for absenting himself, and that his absence will not likely be for long, he awaits his return in silence. Therefore, when the gaucho in coming back draws nigh to the fig-tree, he sees a form within the periphery of its shadow, that of Cypriano, standing ready to receive him. The latter first speaks, asking: "Where have you been, Gaspar?"

"Oh! only taking a turn among the tombs."

"And you've seen something among them to make you uneasy?"

"Why do you say that, Senorito?"

"Because I can see it in your countenance." The gaucho, as he approaches, has the moon full upon his face, and by her light the other has observed the troubled look.

"What is it?" the youth goes on to ask, in a tone of eager anxiety, all the more from seeing that the other hesitates to give the explanation.

"You've discovered something--a new danger threatens us? Come, Gaspar, you may as well tell me of it at once."

"I intend telling you, _hijo mio_. I was only waiting till we were all three together. For now, I think, we'll have to rouse Master Ludwig.

You've conjectured aright, as I'm sorry to say. I _have_ seen something that's not as we would wish it. Still, it may not be so bad as I've been making it."

Notwithstanding this hopeful proviso, Cypriano is himself now really alarmed; and, impatient to learn what the new danger is, he stoops down over his cousin, takes hold of his arm, and shakes him out of his slumbers.

Ludwig, starting to his feet, confusedly inquires why he has been disturbed. Then Gaspar, coming close to them, so that he need not speak in a loud voice, gives an account of what he has discovered, with his own views relating to it.

As he himself did, both the boys at once comprehend the changed situation, with a like keen sense of the heightened danger to result from it. Naraguana's death has extinguished all hope of help from him.

It may be both the cause and forecast of their own!

Their prospects are now gloomy indeed; but they do not idly dwell on them, or give way to utter despondency. That would be unavailing; besides, there is no time for it. Something must be done to meet the altered circ.u.mstances. But what? A question to which none of them makes an immediate answer, since none can.

For awhile all three stand silent, considering. Only a short while, when Gaspar is again stirred to activity, by reflecting that even now they are not safe. One of their horses, frightened by an owl that has flapped its wings close to its face, has snorted, striking the hard ground with his hoof, and making a noise that reverberates throughout the cemetery, echoing among the scaffolds. What if he should set to neighing, in answer to that which now and then comes up from the town below? The thing is too probable, and the result manifest. A single neigh might betray them; for what would horses be doing up there upon the sacred hill? So would any Indian ask who should chance to hear it.