The Flying Horseman

After their departure, Arnal made sure of the calm sleep of Dove's Eye, spread several furs over her, and then, wrapping himself in his furs, the chief lay down not far from the young girl, and was soon asleep.

The Indians keep but a poor lookout when they do not suspect enemies near them.

In the desert where the Guaycurus were now camped, a surprise was not to be feared; moreover, their two most experienced chiefs were on the lookout, and would warn them of the least danger.

Half an hour after the departure of the chiefs, Emile Gagnepain, comfortably lying near a fire, removed the furs which covered his face.

There was the most profound silence in the camp.

After a careful examination, the young man, convinced that all the warriors were asleep, and that consequently no one would notice him, rose, passed his pistols through his girdle, and seized his gun.

Light as were the steps of the painter, a man heard him, and abruptly raised his head. Emile inclined his ear, said a few words, and the other lay down again without taking any further notice of him.

The young man entered the enramada, which served for a refuge to the marchioness and her daughter. The marchioness did not sleep; with her back supported against the trunk of a tree, she held on her knees the charming head of her daughter, plunged in a calm and refreshing sleep.

The marchioness raised her head on the arrival of the young man; she seemed to be anxious to question him. But the latter quickly put a finger to his lips to recommend prudence, and took his place by her side, not, however, without having cast on the sweet countenance of Doña Eva a look full of love and admiration.

The marchioness, rendered anxious by the visit of the young man at such an hour, impatiently waited for him to speak.

"Reassure yourself, Madame," said he, in a low voice; "up to the present time, God be praised, we have not, I think, anything to fear."

"But," she answered in the same tone, "you have not interrupted your sleep without important reasons."

"I have, indeed, a motive in coming here, Madame, but this motive only arises from fears and suspicions."

"Explain yourself, I beg, Don Emile."

"The fact is this, Madame. For several days I have heard frequently the name of your implacable enemy, Don Zeno Cabral."

"Ah!" said she, with sudden emotion. "These people are his friends. We are lost!"

"Do not go so fast or so far, Madame; although we should certainly redouble our precautions, and keep ourselves on our guard."

"Dear Don Emile, do not leave me in this situation. Something has happened, has there not?"

"Of what is passing I am ignorant, Madame; only, in case there should be anything important, I am resolved to know it. That is why I have ventured to disturb your repose."

"But what is it that has happened?" pursued she.

"Less than nothing, Madame."

"Ah, you at last avow – I knew well that – "

"Pardon, Madame," interrupted he, quickly; "you misunderstand me, here is the fact in a few words."

"Tell me quickly, I beg you."

"This evening," the young man resumed, "the three Guaycurus chiefs had a long conversation round the council fire; then, after this conversation, the Cougar and Gueyma, after having gone the round of the camp, set out, to go, as they said, and reconnoitre on foot."

The marchioness remained a short time in a reverie, and then, raising her head —

"I do not think that is anything extraordinary, or that it should disquiet us," said she.

"There would be nothing, indeed, disquieting in this sortie," answered he, "if it had not been induced by a motive."

"It has a motive?"

"Yes, Madame. Without doubt the desire of visiting the people camped near us, whose fire can be seen shining in the darkness."

"Oh!" she said, with a thrill of fear, "You are right; that is serious. What do you intend doing?"

"I intend to set out from the camp to follow the two chiefs to this encampment, where, perhaps, I shall meet faces that I know."

"You run great danger in this excursion," said the marchioness.

"I thank you sincerely for this good opinion, Madame, and to justify it I shall set out as soon as possible."

"Mon Dieu! If you are discovered!"

"I will take precautions not to be so, Madame."

"These Indians are so crafty."

"Bah! If they discover me I shall get out of it by inventing some pretext or other. But I wish to assure myself whether my conjectures are true. I leave you, Madame."

"Go then, since you insist on it," answered she, with sadness, "and heaven bless you."

The young man bowed respectfully to the marchioness, and quitted the enramada. At his exit from the camp, a sentinel half opened his eyes.

"Where are you going, brother?" asked the Indian.

"I have been wakened by the wild beasts. I cannot sleep, and am going to kill one of them."

"Success to you," answered the sentinel.

Lying on the ground, again he closed his eyes.

"Good," said Emile, as soon as he was alone. "I have no further need of secrecy now. This sleepy sentinel has done well to question me abruptly. Thanks to him, I have found what I was seeking."

Things had turned out better for the Frenchman than he had dared to hope; for he had no occasion to offer his pretext, and his explanation with Zeno Cabral was quite friendly.

CHAPTER XIV

EVENTS

Great was the surprise of the marchioness when, at about eight o'clock in the morning, she saw the young painter enter the camp, in company with the two Guaycurus chiefs, and bearing boldly on his shoulders the spoils of a lion, that terrible king of the desert.

The long absence of the young man, which was, as we have said, prolonged during the whole night, began seriously to disquiet the marchioness, who, like many persons tried by long misfortunes, was ready to think that even the most common events would have lamentable results. Already, giving freedom to her thoughts, she pictured to herself the young man surprised by the Indians in the act of spying, being killed by them; and she reproached herself with this supposed death, as if she had really been the cause of it. The remarks of her daughter and those of Tyro, to whom she had related her interview with the painter, did not tend to reassure her, although Tyro, who was the man to whom the young man had spoken before entering the enramada, told him he was certain that it was not probable that his master had been the victim of his curiosity, as, if it had been so, the chiefs would have immediately returned to the camp, and he (Tyro) as well as all the persons in the suite of the young man, would have been interrogated by them, to learn what reason Don Emile had for acting the spy upon them.

The marchioness, acutely sensitive from long suffering, would not hear anything, and as the time passed her anxiety became more poignant.

But when she perceived the young man, whose bearing was so calm, and whose countenance was so radiant, a sudden reaction took place in her, and she immediately passed from the most profound sadness to the most lively joy.

The warriors, excited by the arrival of their chiefs, and especially by the kind of triumphal entry which they made with the skins of the lions carried on their shoulders, had met at the entry of the camp, where they shouted with joy, and loudly clapped their hands, forgetting in their enthusiasm the mask of impassibility that they usually bore on their countenances.

The Cougar and Gueyma – men habituated to similar ovations for such prowess – did not hesitate to give to the young Frenchman the honour that was due to him in the death of the lions, and related in all its details the event as it had happened; and then Gueyma gave to Emile the skin which up to that moment he had kept on his shoulder.

At this action, done so generously before all the assembled warriors, the shouts redoubled, and the enthusiasm was carried to its height.

The Guaycurus who till then had held the Frenchman in somewhat poor esteem, by reason of the instinctive dislike which they have for the whites generally, exhibited towards him marks of general consideration, for the young man had manifested great courage – a virtue which the Indians honour above all others.

Emile, delighted at his unexpected ovation – not that his pride was flattered by the praises which the Guaycurus addressed to him, but because he hoped that, thanks to the turn of opinion in his favour, he would enjoy more liberty among the Indians, and thus could better protect the ladies – did not notice, any further than he was obliged, the infatuation of which he was the object, and, accompanied by Tyro, who had loaded himself with the skins which he much admired, proceeded hastily towards the enramada, to give the marchioness an account of his expedition during the night.

The two ladies, seated side by side before the enramada, protected by the gauchos, who were a few paces off, understood nothing of what had passed in the camp, and of the joyous cries that the Indians incessantly uttered. Their complete ignorance of the Guaycurus language caused them to suffer secret disquiet, not knowing to what cause to attribute the general commotion. They were too far from the theatre of action to form a correct judgment of what was passing, but near enough to see that the young painter was the centre of a group of warriors, who gesticulated with animation, and, as they supposed, with anger. It was therefore with pleasure that the marchioness and her daughter saw the young man, at last rid of those who had surrounded him, running towards them.

The marchioness was very anxious to hear the news. She scarcely allowed the Frenchman to salute her, so great was her excitement.

Emile related to her, point by point, all that had passed between him and the hunters since his departure from the camp, especially laying stress on the manner in which the two chiefs had proceeded to the spot where the solitary fire was burning.

After this recital, that the marchioness had listened to with sustained interest, there was a pause.

"So," said the marchioness, at last, "you think it is certain that this man really expected the two Guaycurus chiefs."

"I would swear it, señora," answered the young man. "Concealed in the woods for some time, not only all their words reached my ear distinctly, but even the very play of their faces could not escape me. The manner in which they accosted each other, the first words that they exchanged, convinced me that the chiefs knew very well that they would meet the partisan in that place, and that moreover they were intimately connected with him."

"That man is strange, his conduct is incomprehensible," murmured the marchioness, sorrowfully; "everywhere I find himself on my steps, devoted to my ruin, and, moreover, apparently with power almost without limits. What is to be done?" she added, allowing her head to sink in sadness on her breast.

The marchioness, speaking thus, had rather answered her, secret thoughts than the words of the young man; but feebly as this remark had been made, the painter had heard it.

"Madame," he answered, with an accent of tenderness, veiled by profound grief, "I am but a stranger, thrown by chance on this strange land, without friend or support. But I do not despair – I who have devoted my existence to serve you – I fight continually against your numerous enemies. Why should you not do for yourself what I have tried with all the ardour of sincere devotion? Why should you be disheartened when nothing yet proves that we shall fail in the struggle that we have so long sustained, without having up to the present, time met with a real check? Is not our situation really better than it was when we found ourselves at Tucumán, in the hands of your enemies, or prisoners of the Pincheyras at Casa-Frama? Reflect, Madame, and believe me; do not doubt the power and justice of God. He has taken your cause in hand, and He will save you."

"Will He do so?" sorrowfully murmured the marchioness, as she lowered her head to conceal the tears which, in spite of her, filled her eyes.

"Oh, mother," said Doña Eva with tenderness, furtively grasping her hand, fearing, on account of the costume which she wore, to make any manifestations which might have divulged the fact of her being disguised.

"Alas!" pursued the marchioness with that feverish impatience which wounds those who are misunderstood by those whom they address, "Neither of you understand the real situation in which fate has placed us. Our prison is not the less real because it has no visible bounds it is larger, that is all. In place of being shut up in stone walls, we are held prisoners by the walls that our forests, mountains, and rivers form around us. Our persecutor, certain that it is impossible for us to escape, disdains to show himself to us, or to make us feel the weight of the chain fastened to our bodies; he contents himself with watching us from afar, allowing us an appearance of liberty that he will take from us when he thinks necessary. For a long time his plan has been known to me. I have reckoned up this man; hatred is clairvoyant – nothing can hide it. In a week – tomorrow, or today perhaps – you will see him suddenly rise, like an evil genius, before us; all will then be finished and we shall be ruined."

Emile and the young girl did not try to answer these words, the justice of which, however, struck them. Emile, who never concealed from himself the desperate position of the marchioness, and whom devotion, and another sentiment, perhaps, that he did not dare to avow, alone kept near her, felt the uselessness of common consolations. It was evident to him that no human power could succeed in snatching the two ladies from the pursuit of their enemy, and that, unless by a miracle they would positively be lost.

Meanwhile the enthusiasm of the Guaycurus had become somewhat calm. On the order of the chiefs they were occupying themselves, with their ordinary activity, in the preparations for their departure, and were about to mount their horses to descend to the plains, where they hoped to encamp the same evening.

Soon each one was in the saddle; the word "advance" was given, and the troop left the camp.

Emile and Tyro were, side by side, talking in a low voice, followed at a short distance by the two ladies, and as they supposed by the gauchos, who conducted the baggage mules.

The descent, although rapid, was easy, as generally happens in those countries where the roads are unknown, and the path traced, for the most part, by wild beasts. The Indians followed the bed of a dry torrent and everything appeared to indicate that long before the setting of the sun they would reach a spot suitable for encamping, on the borders of a little river, the waters of which, sparkling in the rays of the sun, appeared at some distance in the plain, through the high grass.

This river, named the Rio Bermejo, was an affluent of the Rio Paraguay, and served as a natural frontier to the immense plain known under the name of the llano de Manso, and which, nearly unknown at that epoch, was only traversed by untamed hordes of Indian bravos, for whom it formed a hunting territory abounding in game.

The Guaycurus had just forded the Rio Quachifras, a considerable affluent of the Rio Parana, but nearly dry at that season of the year. The Cougar gave the order to camp on the border of a wood of cotton trees, that the horses might repose during the great heat of the day.

The ladies, fatigued with this long journey (for they had been travelling for nearly five hours), withdrew on one side to take a little repose, which they absolutely needed. Emile prepared to do the same, leaving to Tyro the care of the mules and the horses, and already he had comfortably installed himself in some shrubbery perfectly sheltered from the sun, when he perceived the two gauchos stopping before him, each with his carbine in one hand, and his hat in the other.

The young man looked for a moment at these two honest acolytes – for whom, we may say, he had a profound aversion, though he took good care to hide this feeling from them – and to his great discomfort he thought he saw on the faces of the two rascals an expression which gave him cause for reflection.

The gauchos remained before him silent and motionless. The young man, wishing to put an end to this embarrassing situation, decided to speak to them.

"What do you wish, señores?" he asked.

The two brothers exchanged a stealthy look of intelligence, appearing to invite each other to speak first; but it appeared that neither knew how to commence, for they contented themselves by bowing without answering.

"Upon my word, gentlemen," said Emile, impatient at this dumb show, which he did not understand, "since you will not speak, permit me to have my siesta. I have a great desire to sleep, and I shall be obliged if you will leave me to repose."

"We also, caballero," answered Sacatripas, at last deciding to speak, "we also want sleep, for the sun is very hot, and we have no intention to keep you long; only we desire to have a few words with you."

"Is the affair important, Señor Sacatripas?"

"Very important! – at least for us, caballero," answered Mataseis, becoming bolder.

"Very well," said Emile, "then go on quickly, I beg you; I am listening."

"Señor," pursued Sacatripas, recovering from the passing emotion which he had experienced, and assuming an agreeable air, "you can recall, I suppose, the conditions which we have had the honour of making with you."

"That is to say, with Señor Tyro?"

"With Señor Tyro, caballero; pardon me if I insist on that point – you remember it?"

"I confess, in all humility, señor, that I do but vaguely recall these conditions, and that I should be much obliged to you to refresh my memory on this subject."

"Very well, caballero," said Mataseis, intervening with a gracious smile; "we stipulated that eight days before the end of each month we should tell you if we consented to remain in your service."

"Ah! Very good – I believe that clause exists. Well."

"Señor," interrupted Sacatripas, with a courteous bow, "it is three weeks since the month commenced."

"What has that to do with your conditions?"

"It seems to me, caballero, that it has much to do with them," resumed Mataseis.

"So," sharply answered Emile, "it is your congé that you ask of me, is it, señores?"

The two bandits made a gracious salute, no doubt flattered at having been so well understood.

"I have neither the right, the power, nor the desire to retain you in my service against your will. Since the service is no longer agreeable to you, there is only one thing for me to do – to give you your congé."

"Very well put," observed Mataseis, twirling his moustache, with a courteous smile.

"You are free, then. Tyro will pay you the sum I owe you. Are you satisfied?"

"We could not be more so," they both answered at once.

"I am glad that we leave one another good friends. But permit me to ask you one question. Have you ever had anything to complain of since you have been in my service?"

"Never!" they cried, tragically placing their hands on the place where there ought to have been a heart.

"Then perhaps, it is the smallness of the sum that I allow you which induces you to leave me. If I were to double the money?"

"We should be very sorry to do so, caballero, but we should refuse."

"If I were to triple it?" he pursued, looking them full in the face.

The bandits felt compelled to lower their eyes before the flashing look of the young man.

"We should refuse still, caballero," said they, turning away their heads.

"If I were to quadruple it?" resumed he, in the evident intention of pushing them to their last intrenchments.

They hesitated a moment; their eyes darted a momentary flash of covetousness, and Mataseis, after having exchanged a look with his companion, at last answered, in a voice strangled by the emotion which he vainly strove to suppress:

"It would be detestably annoying, caballero, but we should still refuse."

"Then you have decidedly made up your mind?"

"Perfectly, caballero."

"But you have grave motives, no doubt, for acting thus?"

"Certainly, caballero," answered Mataseis; "your service is very agreeable – you see that we render you full justice – too agreeable indeed, for we have nothing to do!"

"What! Nothing to do?" cried the young man.

"Yes, in our line," replied Sacatripas, making a significant gesture, and placing his hand on the knife placed in his polena.

"And that displeases you?"

"Considerably, señor."

"But if it pleases me that it should be so – since you are paid, notwithstanding, what does it matter to you?"

"Very much, caballero; we are men of action – we are, señor, known caballeros, and we have a reputation to sustain. It is not for nothing that we are called Sacatripas and Mataseis; we are getting rusty in your service, señor; and, moreover," added he with dignity, "we rob you of your money; that will not do."

"What do you mean – rob me of my money?"

"Certainly, caballero, since you do not employ us."

The young man fixed on the bandits – who this time supported it with erect heads – a look of singular expression, and resumed:

"Very well, I admit the first reason; now for the second."

"Pardon, caballero, this is the second: we have now stopped near the Rio Guachipas, have we not?"

"As to that, you ought to know better than I."

"Yes, it is the Rio Guachipas," said Tyro, who had arrived, and who seated himself near his master.

"Very well," resumed Mataseis, bowing courteously to the Guarani, "we have this morning traversed the Rio Dulce."

"What does that signify?" interrupted Emile.

"Pardon, señor; the Rio Dulce is in the province of Tucumán."

"The Rio Guachipas also," added the Guarani.

"Yes," answered the gaucho, without disconcerting himself, "but you will traverse this evening the Rio Bermejo; the Rio Bermejo is in the llano de Manso, and forms a part of the province of Yapizlaga."

"That is true; but what does that matter?"

"Very much, señor; we do not know where your journey will end, and it may last much longer yet; on the other hand, the Rio Dulce runs to Santiago del Estero, where we were born. We want much to see our native country. Now, as we are only a short distance from it, we intend to retrace our steps, follow the banks of the river, and return to Santiago as soon as possible, in order to comfort our families," he added, assuming a piteous countenance, "whom so long an absence has considerably disquieted."

Emile and Tyro had much difficulty in not bursting out into a fit of laughter in the face of the gauchos, at this singular remark.

"Very well," at last said the painter; "you can leave when you like; you are free."

The gauchos were profuse in thanks, made their most gracious bows, and prepared to withdraw. They had already gone some paces when Tyro recalled them.

"Eh! Señores," he cried.

And they came back.

"Come, you have an account to render before you go."

"Just so, señor."

"And you were going like that, without taking what is due to you!" pursued the Guarani, in a sarcastic tone, which had considerable effect on the gauchos, who, in their desire to go away as quickly as possible, had completely forgotten the money; "That is very gracious on your part."

"I beg you to excuse me, señor," answered Mataseis, with self-possession; "we intended to claim the miserable money before leaving you."

"Eight ounces (£17) – you call that a miserable sum; it is, however, not to be disdained."

"We by no means disdain it, believe me."

Tyro took out eight ounces of gold from a leather purse which he always carried, and presented them to Sacatripas.

The gaucho's eye brightened suddenly at the sight of the gold, and he quickly held out his hand to take it; but Tyro withdrew his hand, and appearing to remember something:

"By the way," said he, "you doubtless remember all the conditions of your agreement?"

"All," answered the gaucho, with his eye fixed on the pieces of gold that Tyro amused himself by chinking in his hand.

"Good; you know that you cannot undertake anything against Señor Don Emile or his friends during the month which follows the termination of your agreement with him?"