Gaspar the Gaucho Part 31

Soon as Nacena had started on return to the town, the gaucho and his companions commence making preparations to descend from the hill. Not by the road leading down to the _tolderia_, but the path by which they came up. For before her parting with them the Indian girl and Gaspar had held further speech; she imparting to him additional information of how things stood in the tribe; he, in turn, giving her more detailed instructions how to act, in the event of her being able to obtain an interview with the paleface captive, and to get her off from the place where confined. In the programme arranged between them, the final part to be played by Nacena would be her conducting her charge round to the other side of the hill, where the rescuers would be in waiting to receive her. Delivered to them, the action of the Indian girl would be at end, so far as that affair was concerned, while theirs had yet to be considered.

The place where they were to await her was, of course, mutually understood--by the entrance to the uphill path, under the great _ceiba_ tree. Nacena knew it well, having oft traversed that path, reclined in the shadow of the tree, and played under it from the earliest days of childhood. For it was a pretty spot, much-frequented by the younger members of the community when out for promenade on the plain, or nutting among the palm-groves that studded it. A sort of rendezvous, or stopping place, from the two routes to the town here diverging; the shorter, though by far the more difficult, being that over the Cemetery Hill. Of the roundabout one, Gaspar, of course, had no knowledge. But he knew the _ceiba_, and the way back to it, all that they needed. The girl had trodden both, hundreds of times, and was acquainted with their every reach and turning. She would come anyhow, and no fear of her not finding the way; their only fear was of her coming unaccompanied.

Least of all has Ludwig this apprehension; instead, full confidence that the Indian will will bring Francesca back with her. Strange this; but stranger still, that, while overjoyed with the thought of his sister being delivered from captivity, his joy should have a tinge of sadness in it, like a mingling of shadow and sun. This due to his suspicion of the motives actuating her who has promised to be his sister's deliverer.

Nacena is not their friend for mere friendship's sake; nor his, because of the former fellowship between him and her own brother. Instead, jealousy is her incentive, and what she is doing, though it be to their benefit, is but done for the thwarting of Aguara.

Though Ludwig has expressed his opinion that they will soon see Francesca, he is silent about these suspicions. There is no time to speak of them if he would. For in a few seconds after Nacena's separating from them, Gaspar gives the signal for action, and all three become engaged in getting ready their horses for a return to the plain.

"_Por Dios_!" mutters the gaucho, while slipping on his bridle. "I don't much fancy remaining longer in this melancholy place. Though high and airy, it mayn't be wholesome. If, after all, that brown beauty should change her mind, and play us false, we'd be in a bad predicament up here--a regular trap, with no chance of retreating from it. So the sooner we're back to the bottom of the hill, the safer 'twill be. There we'll at least have some help from the speed of our horses, if in the end we have to run for it. Let us get below at once!"

Having by this finished adjusting his bridle, he hands the rein to Cypriano, adding--

"You hold this, senorito, while I go after Shebotha. Botheration take that old hag! She'll be a bother to us, to say nothing of the extra weight for our poor horses. After all, she's not very heavy--only a bag of bones."

"But, Gaspar; are you in earnest about our taking her along with us?"

asks Cypriano.

"How are we to help it, _hijo mio_! If we leave her here, she'd be back in the town before we could get started; that is, if we have the good luck to get started at all. I needn't point out what would be the upshot of that. Pursuit, as a matter of course, pell mell, and immediate. True, we might leave her tied to the post, and m.u.f.fled as she is. But then she'd be missed by to-morrow morning, if not sooner, and they'd be sure to look for her up here. No likelier place for such as she, among these scaffolds; except tied to a scaffold of another sort, and in a somewhat different style."

The gaucho pauses, partly to enjoy his own jest, at which he is grinning, and partly to consider whether Shebotha can be disposed of in any other way.

Cypriano suggests another, asking--

"Why couldn't we take her in among these trees, and tie her to one of them? There's underwood thick enough to conceal her from the eyes of anyone pa.s.sing by, and with the m.u.f.fle over her head, as now, she couldn't cry out that they'd hear her."

"'Twould never do," rejoins Gaspar, after an instant of reflection.

"Hide her as we might, they'd find her all the same. These redskins, half-naked though they are, can glide about among bushes, even th.o.r.n.y ones, like slippery snakes. So many of them, they'd beat every bit of thicket within leagues, in less than no time. Besides, you forget their dogs. Scores they have--ay, hundreds, some of them keen-scented as beagles. _Carrai_! they'd smell the nasty witch half-a-mile off, and so discover her whereabouts to their masters."

"True," returns Cypriano, seeing the plan he has proposed would not do.

"In that way they would find her, no doubt."

"And if they didn't," interposed Ludwig, speaking from a sentiment of humanity, "it would be dreadful."

"Dreadful! what do you mean?" asks Cypriano, looking puzzled. "For them _not_ to find her is just what we want."

"Ah, cousin! how would it be for _her_? Tied to a tree, with no hope-- no chance of getting loosed from it--she'd die of hunger or thirst-- miserably perish. Wicked as Shebotha is, we'd be worse than she if we left her to such a fate as that, to say nothing of our bringing it upon her. Ay, and for doing so we'd deserve the same ourselves, or something as bad."

"Well, Senor Ludwig," rejoins the gaucho, with an air of submission rather than conviction, "you may be right in what you say, and I'm not the man to deny it. But there need be no difference of opinion on that point. Leaving Shebotha tied to a tree wouldn't do on any account, for the reasons I've stated. It might--most likely would, and, as you say, it ought--end in ourselves getting tied to trees or stakes, with a bundle of f.a.ggots between our legs set to the tune of a slow fire.

But," he adds, after a second or two spent considering, "there's only one other way I can think of to deal with the witch, if we're not to take her with us."

"What's the other?" asks Cypriano, seeing that the gaucho hesitates to declare it.

"Why, knock her on the head, or draw the blade of a _cuchilla_ across her throat, and so stop her grunting at once and for ever. The old wretch deserves no better fate and hanging's too good for her. But they'd find her dead body all the same; though not with a tongue in it to tell who stopped her wind, or, what's of more consequence, how and which way we went off. Besides, I dare say, the Senor Ludwig wouldn't agree to our getting disembarra.s.sed of her in that fashion."

"Oh! no, no!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es the humane youth, horrified at the thought of such cruelty, "anything but that, Caspar."

"Well, there isn't anything but what I propose doing--that is, taking her along. I'm willing to accommodate her on the croup of my _recado_, and will show her all the gallantry she deserves. If you're jealous, Senor Ludwig, you may have her behind you; and as your horse is the lightest laden, that might be best. When we're crossing back over that _riacho_ where you left your saddle-bags, if you're tired of riding double, you can drop her down among the lightning-eels, and let them play their batteries upon her old bones till every joint of them cracks asunder."

Were it not for the gravity of the situation, Gaspar's young companions would be greatly amused at his quaint rhodomontade. But as both are too anxious about the future, and in no humour for a jest, Ludwig only answers with a faint smile; while Cypriano, alone thinking of Francesca, has somewhat impatiently listened to it. Having hold of the bridle-rein which the gaucho has handed to him, on the latter ceasing to speak, he says in urgent tone--

"Bring her along, then, good Gaspar; and be quick about it! As you've said, we should get down to the plain as soon as possible."

The admonition is not needed, for Gaspar does not waste time over his jokes, nor allow them to interfere with his action. And while delivering the last sally, he has been looking to his horse-gear, to see that his _recade_ is in a proper condition to receive her who is to be his double.

Satisfied it will do, he strides off to where Shebotha is tied; and in a few seconds returns bearing the sorceress in his arms, as though she were but a bundle of rags.

Hoisting her up to his horse's withers, and with a stern threat and a shake, telling her to stay there, he springs upon the saddle behind her.

It would not be their relative positions, then riding double, were they starting out on a long journey. But it will do for the half-mile or so, to the bottom of the hill, and for that short distance it seems idle either to bind her to his own body or to the saddle. So thinks Gaspar; but in this the gaucho, with all his prudent sagacity, is for once incautious to a fault. As they are groping their way down the steep slope, zig-zagging among the tree trunks that stand thickly on both sides of the path, a troop of ring-tailed monkeys asleep in their tops, having their slumbers disturbed by the clink-clink of the hoofs against stones, set up a lugubrious howling. All the three horses are affrighted by the unearthly noise, but Gaspar's more than any; so much, that rearing erect upon its hind legs, with the ground so uneven, the animal loses balance, and stumbles over on its side.

As the gaucho gathers himself, stunned and somewhat dazed by the fall, 'tis to learn that for that night his riding double is at an end, with Shebotha sharing the saddle; for the sorceress is no longer to be seen!

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

AN INFURIATED FEMALE.

There is no mystery about Shebotha's disappearance nor aught out of the way save in the adroitness with which the aged crone contrived to effect her escape. Soon as touching the ground, and feeling herself free from the arms. .h.i.therto holding her on horseback, she has darted into the underwood, and off; not even rising erect to her feet, but on all fours, and silently as a snake. For although the hillside is so thickly overgrown with th.o.r.n.y scrub that a pointer would with difficulty quarter it, the supple old savage worms her way through, without making any more noise than would a badger just got out of the barrel, and away from the dogs that have been baiting it.

In her retreat, she does not proceed for any great distance in a direct line, nor long continue crawling through the tangle of bushes. She is acquainted with every inch of that wooded slope, and all the paths traversing it, even to the tiniest trace of bird or quadruped; and soon coming into one of these, she at length stands upright. But not to stay there for any time, only long enough to give a glance to the right and left, in order that she may a.s.sure herself as to which of the two she had best take. Deciding in an instant, she is off again in crouched att.i.tude, but with the agility of youth itself. Up the hill she goes, back towards the Cemetery. And one who saw her ascending before seeing her now, would with difficulty believe it to be the same person. Then, however, she was taking it leisurely, with no particular call for haste nor the taxing of her strength; now there is a motive for her making speed, with every exertion in her power. Indeed, more than one; for she is urged by two of the strongest pa.s.sions that can agitate the human breast--cupidity and vengeance. While depriving her of her ghastly necklace, Gaspar had taken the occasion to possess himself of the more elegant and valuable ornaments stripped from the person of Nacena; not with any thought to appropriate them to himself, but the intention of restoring them to their rightful owner, when the latter should re-appear to claim them. Coming back, and bringing with her the captive, the Indian girl would well deserve rest.i.tution of her trinkets.

Thwarted in her infernal schemes, stung to fury by their failure, Shebotha goes panting up the hill; but, despite her hard breathing, without stopping to take breath. Nor rests she on reaching the summit, but glides on across the Cemetery, finding her way through the wooden structures as one who knows every scaffold there, and whose bones are mouldering upon it.

It is not from fear of being followed that she is now so hastening her steps. She knows that they from whom she has escaped will not return thither. For although hindered from hearing their conversation with Nacena, and so becoming acquainted with their plans, if not fully comprehending, she at least surmises them. For, having recognised the gaucho and his companions--all three of them--what purpose could they have there other than to release the paleface girl she has in her charge? And from the fact of their having themselves released Nacena-- let her go without further detention than would be required to come to an understanding--she concludes that this has been come to, and the Indian girl consented to aid them in their intended rescue. But it will not be successful if she, Shebotha, can prevent it; and desperately bent on doing so, she rushes on through the scaffolds, and down the road to the _tolderia_, as if some danger threatened her from behind.

Arriving by the door of her own hut, she utters an exclamation of surprise at not there seeing her slave. Still another, after having called out his name, and received no answer. Her astonishment is complete and her rage at full height, when, having stepped up to the threshold of the _toldo_, she sees there is no one inside. The beeswax dip, burnt low and flickering in the socket, faintly lights up the hideous objects of her craft and calling; but shows no form of human being!

It is only a mechanical act her entering within the hut, and proceeding on to its inner apartment; for she is quite as sure it, too, will be found empty--as she finds it.

Almost instantly returning to the door, she stands gazing out into the darkness. Were there a light in front, her eyes would be seen to glare in their sunken sockets with the brightness of fire-b.a.l.l.s; while in her breast is burning the fury of a concentrated vengeance. Once again she calls out the name of her slave, but as before getting no answer; and now sure that he, too, has either betrayed her, or been himself betrayed, she glides silently out of the _toldo_, and off towards that in which sleeps Aguara.

Soon she reaches its door, which she finds wide open; for it is within the tropics, and the night is a warm one. Craning her head inside, and listening for a second or two, she can tell by his breathing that the _cacique_ is asleep. A slumber abruptly broken by her calling out--

"Son of Naraguana, awake!"

"Shebotha!" he exclaims, recognising her shrill treble. "What is it?"

he adds, raising his head over the edge of his _hamaca_.

"Arise, Aguara! and make all haste. Know that there are enemies near, and treason in your tribe. You've been betrayed, and so has Shebotha!"

"Betrayed! How?" he asks in wonderment, but without leaving the hammock. "Who are these enemies you speak of? Who the traitors?"

"You'll learn that in time, chief. It may be enough for you now to know, that your paleface captive has escaped."

"Escaped!" he cries out, bounding down upon the floor, and coming forward to the entrance. "The paleface escaped, you say? Are you speaking truth, Mam Shebotha?"

"Come to my _toldo_, and see for yourself."

"No, that's not needed, if you say she's gone. Tell me how, when, and whither. Be quick!"