The Insurgent Chief

Tyro twice imitated the sound of an owl. A profound silence immediately reigned in the cavern; then a man appeared, holding in one hand a lantern, with which he showed a light, and in the other a loaded pistol.

This man was Don Santiago Pincheyra.

"Who goes there?" asked he, in a threatening tone.

"A friend," answered the painter.

"Ah! Ah! Your expedition has succeeded, it appears?" answered the Montonero, replacing the pistol in his girdle. "So much the better; I began to be uneasy at your long absence. Come, come, all our friends are here."

They entered.

There were, indeed, a dozen Montoneros in the cavern.

With a delicacy which, in such a man, would not have been suspected, the Montonero approached the two ladies, whom, notwithstanding their costume, he had discovered, and, bowing to them as he presented them with silk neckerchiefs —

"Cover your faces, ladies," said he, respectfully. "It will be better for no one to know who you are. At a later time you would not, perhaps, be much pleased to be recognised by one of the companions whom fate gives you today."

"Thank you, Señor; you are really a caballero," graciously answered the marchioness; and, without any further remark, she concealed her features with the neckerchief, and in this she was immediately imitated by her daughter.

This happy thought of the Montonero preserved the incognito of the fugitives.

"As to us," continued he, addressing the painter, "we are men capable of answering for our acts, are we not?"

"It is of little consequence for us to be recognised," answered the latter; "but what hinders us from setting out? Is everything ready?"

"Everything is ready; I have a numerous troop of bold companions concealed like guanacos in the thicket. We will leave when you like."

"Well, I think the sooner the better."

"Let us go, then."

"One moment, Señor! I have dispatched one of the retainers of my master to keep watch; perhaps it would be well to wait his return."

"Just so; however," said Emile, "in order not to lose time, it would be well to leave here, and mount horse, that would allow the gaucho to overtake us. As soon as he comes we will proceed on our journey."

"Well said; only I am somewhat embarrassed at this moment."

"Why?"

"Why, to mount a horse, it is necessary to have one, and I fear some of us have none."

"I have thought of that; do not bother yourself about that little circumstance. There are, in the rancho, six horses that I have had brought here today," said Tyro.

"Oh! then nothing prevents us; let me just give a look out, and I will tell you when it is time to rejoin me."

And after having with a gesture ordered his companions to follow him, the Montonero disappeared in the gallery.

There only remained in the cavern the two ladies, the painter, and the Guaraní.

"My good Tyro," then said Emile, "I do not know how to acknowledge your devotion; you are not one of those men whom one pays, but, before separating, I should wish to give you a proof of – "

"Pardon, master," quickly interrupted Tyro, "if I interrupt you. Did you speak of separating?"

"Yes, my friend, and believe me, that this causes me real sorrow; but I have no right to condemn you any longer to share my bad fortune."

"You are then discontented with my services, master? If it is so, excuse me, I shall try for the future better to understand your intentions, in order to execute them to your entire satisfaction."

"What!" cried the young man, with a joyful surprise, "You intend to follow me, notwithstanding the bad position in which I am, and the dangers of all kinds which surround me?"

"These dangers would themselves be an additional reason for me not to leave you, master," he answered, with emotion, "if I had already not decided on not abandoning you. Although I may not be of much account – although I may be but a poor Indian – nevertheless, there are certain occasions when one is happy to know that there is a devoted heart available."

"Tyro," said the Frenchman, profoundly touched with the simple and sincere affection of this man, "you are no longer my servant, you are my friend, take my hand. Whatever may happen, I shall never forget what has passed this moment between us."

"Thank you, oh! Thank you," answered he, kissing his hand; "then you agree that I shall accompany you."

"Pardieu!" cried he, "It is now between us for life and death; we will never leave each other more."

"And you will speak to me as before."

"I will speak to you as you wish; are you content?" pursued he with a smile.

"Thank you once more, master. Oh! Make your mind easy; you shall never repent the kindness that you have shown me."

"I know it well; therefore, I am easy. Go, and you have but to try and reassure me."

"Come," said the Montonero, reappearing; "all is ready; we only wait for you; as to the horses – "

"I will take care of that," answered Tyro.

They then went to the gallery; the horses of the young man were not in the stable which had been assigned to them, but he did not disquiet himself on that account.

They soon came out into the midst of the underwood, where, the night before, the Spaniards and the patriots had waged so furious a battle. A numerous troop of horsemen was stationed motionless and silent before the entrance of the cavern.

The Guaraní had taken precautions; when the Montonero came out into the open air, he immediately found the gaucho, holding several horses by the bridle.

"Here are your horses, ladies," said he, addressing them; "here are two coursers of very sure and swift pace."

The marchioness thanked him. The Indian fastened behind the horses the valises that she had given him, and then assisted the mother and the daughter to place themselves in the saddles.

Emile, the Montonero, and the gaucho were already mounted.

Two horses still remained – one for Tyro, the other for Sacatripas.

At the moment when the Guaraní put his feet in the stirrups, a sharp whistle was heard in the woods.

"There is our scout," said he; and he answered the signal.

Sacatripas, indeed, almost immediately appeared.

The gaucho appeared to have been running rapidly; his chest heaved, his face was covered with perspiration.

"Let us go, let us go!" said he, in a sad voice; "If, we do not want to be smoked out like wolves. In less than half an hour they will be here."

"The devil!" cried the Montonero; "That is bad news, companion."

"It is certain."

"What direction must we take?"

"That of the mountains."

"So much the better – that is what I prefer;" and then raising his voice, "Advance!" he cried; "And do not let us spare the horses!"

The horsemen applied the spurs as they loosed their bridles, and all the troop darted forward in the darkness with the rapidity of a hurricane, taking the plain in a right line, clearing ravines and thickets without taking count of obstacles.

The two ladies were placed between Emile and the Guaraní, who were themselves each flanked by a gaucho. There was something strange and fantastic in the mad flight of this black legion, flying in the darkness, silent and sad, with the irresistible rapidity of a whirlwind.

The flight continued thus for several hours; the horses gasped; some even began to stumble.

"Whatever happens, we must stop an hour," murmured the Pincheyra; "if not, we shall soon be dismounted."

Tyro heard him.

"Let us only reach the rancho of the Quemado," said he.

"What good will that be?" sharply replied the Montonero; "We are still two leagues from it at least; our horses will be completely knocked up."

"What matter? I have prepared a relay."

"A relay! We are too numerous."

"Two hundred horses await us."

"Two hundred horses! Mercy! Your master is very rich, then?"

"He?" said the Indian, laughing; "He is as poor as Job. But," added he, significantly, "his companions are rich, and I have been preparing this flight for twelve days, foreseeing what would happen today."

"Then," cried the Montonero, with feverish emotion, "ahead! Ahead! companions, though the horses be killed!"

The journey was continued with feverish rapidity.

A little before sunrise they reached the rancho. It was time they did so; the horses were only kept up by the bridle; they stumbled at each step, and several had already fallen never to rise again.

Their masters, with that careless philosophy which characterises the gauchos, after having relieved them of their saddles, and having charged themselves with them, had abandoned the horses and followed the cavalcade as well as they could by running.

The rancho of the Quemado was in some respects but a vast shed, to which was attached an immense inclosure filled with horses.

At three or four leagues behind, were extended, as a sombre barrier, the first chain of the Cordilleras, whose snowy tops masked the horizon.

On the order of Santiago, the fatigued horses were; abandoned after their saddles had been removed, and, each Montonero entered the enclosure, whirling his lago round him.

Each man had soon caught the horse which he wanted, and proceeded to harness it.

There remained eighty or one hundred horses in the inclosure.

"We must not leave these horses here," said the Montonero; "our enemies would make use of them to pursue us."

"It is easy to avoid that," observed Tyro; "there is a yegua madrina, we will put a bell on her; the horses will follow her; ten of our companions will set out in advance with them."

"Pardieu! You are a valuable comrade," replied the Montonero, joyously; "nothing is more easy."

The order was immediately given by him, and the spare horses were soon out of sight, in the direction of the mountains, under the escort of some horsemen.

The horses, thus at liberty, could make long tracks without fatiguing themselves. This mode of relay is generally adopted in America, where it is almost impossible otherwise to procure fresh horses.

"Now," resumed the Montonero, "I think we shall do well to mount horse again."

"Yes, and to set out again," added Emile, extending his arm towards the plain.

In the first rays of the sun, which glittered on their arms, a numerous troop of horsemen was perceived coming towards them at full speed.

"Rayo de Dios!" cried Don Santiago; "The scout was right; we were closely followed; the demons have made haste, but now it is too late for them. We do not fear them any longer. To your saddles, and ahead! Ahead!"

They set out again.

This time the journey was not so rapid. The fugitives believed themselves safe, not to be overtaken. The lead they had gained was too great, and, according to all probability, they would arrive at the mountains before the patriots could reach them.

Once in the passes of the Cordilleras, they were saved.

The flight, however, could not but be fatiguing to the two ladies, who, accustomed to all the refinements of luxury, could only keep themselves on horseback by dint of energy and of will, and stimulated especially by the fear of again falling into the hands of their persecutors. Tyro and his master were obliged to keep constantly by their side, and watch over them attentively. Without this precaution they would have fallen from their horses – not so much by reason of the fatigue they suffered, though that fatigue was great, but because sleep overcame them, and prevented them, notwithstanding all their efforts, from keeping their eyes open and guiding their horses.

"But who has betrayed us?" suddenly exclaimed Don Santiago.

"I know him," answered Sacatripas.

"You know him, Señor? Well, then, you will do me the pleasure of telling me, will you not?"

"It is useless, Señor. The man who has betrayed you is dead; only he has been killed two hours too late."

"That is unfortunate, indeed; and why too late?"

"Because he had had time to speak."

"A good many things can be said in two hours, especially when there is no interruption. And you are sure of that?"

"Perfectly sure."

"At least," philosophically replied the Montonero, "we have the consolation of being certain that he will speak no more – there is something in that. As to the men who follow us," added he, turning round, "we – "

But he suddenly checked himself, uttering a horrible oath, and bounding from his saddle.

"What is the matter?" asked Emile, with uneasiness.

"¡Mil demonios!– that these pícaros are gaining on us every moment, and that in an hour they will have reached us."

"Oh! Oh!" quickly cried the young man; "Do you think so?"

"Why, look yourself."

The painter looked; the Montonero had spoken truly. The enemy's troop was sensibly approaching.

"¡Caray! I do not know what I would give to know who are these demons."

"They are part of the squadron of Don Zeno Cabral I even believe that he is among them."

"So much the better!" said the Montonero, with rage; "I shall perhaps have my revenge."

"Do you intend to fight these people?"

"Pardieu! Do you think that I will allow myself to be shot from behind, like a cowardly dog?"

"I do not say that; but it appears to me that we can redouble our pace."

"What good will that be? Do you not see that these fellows have with them a fresh recua, and that they will still overtake us? We had better anticipate them."

"As affairs stand, I believe, with you, that that will be best," said Emile, who feared that the Montonero might suppose he was afraid.

"Good!" answered Don Santiago, "You are a man! Let me act."

Then, without anyone foreseeing what was his intention, he made his horse suddenly dart off, and dashed at full speed to the front of the patriots.

"Tyro," then said Emile, addressing the Guaraní, "take with you the two brothers that you have engaged in my service, and put the marchioness and her daughter in safety."

"Señor, why separate us?" asked the marchioness, with a sorrowful air; "Would it not be better for us to remain near you?"

"Pardon me for insisting on this temporary separation, Madame. I have sworn to do all I can to save you, and I will keep my word."

The marchioness, overcome, either by the lassitude she suffered, or by the sleep which, spite of her efforts, weighed down her eyelids, only answered by a sigh.

"You will not abandon these ladies under any pretext," continued the young man, addressing the Indian; "and if misfortune happen to me during the combat, you will continue to serve them, as far as they require your protection. May I reckon on you?"

"As on yourself, master."

"Advance, then! And God protect you."

On a sign from the Indian the gauchos took by the bridle the horses of the two ladies, and setting off at a gallop, they took these horses with them, without the fugitives, who perhaps had not a thorough knowledge of what was passing, trying to oppose them.

The painter, who, as they galloped, followed them with his eyes, saw them disappear in the midst of a thick cluster of trees, where the first chain of the Cordilleras commenced.

"Thank God! Conquerors or conquered, they will not fall into the hands of their persecutors," said he; "I have kept my promise."

Suddenly, several shots afar off were heard. Emile looked round and perceived Don Santiago, who was returning at full speed towards his troop, brandishing his carbine above his head, with an air of defiance.

Three or four horsemen were in hot pursuit of him.

Arrived at a certain distance the Spaniard stopped, shouldered his carbine and fired, and then started off again at a gallop.

A horseman fell; the others retreated.

The Spaniard soon found himself again in the midst of his own people.

"Halt!" cried he, with a voice of thunder.

The troop immediately stopped.

"Companions, loyal subjects of the king," continued he; "I have reconnoitered these ladrones; they are scarcely forty. Shall we fly any longer before them? Advance! And long live the king!"

"Forward!" repeated the troop, rushing forward with him.

Emile charged with the others – with rather a sullen air, it is true; he cared as little for the king as for the country, and it appeared to him wiser to have made their escape as rapidly as possible; but as, in reality, it was his own cause that these men were defending – as it was to protect him that they fought – he was obliged to take heart against fortune, and not to remain in arrear.

Notwithstanding their small number, the patriots did not appear at all intimidated by the aggressive return of the Spaniards, and continued bravely to advance.

The shock was terrible; the two troops resolutely attacked each other with their swords, and soon found themselves mingled together.

In the mêlée Emile recognised Don Zeno Cabral. He darted towards him, and, striking with the chest of his horse that of his adversary, fatigued with a long journey, the latter was overthrown.

Leaping immediately to the ground, the young man immediately put his knee to the chest of Don Zeno, and putting the point of his sabre to his throat —

"Surrender!" said he.

"No!" answered the latter.

"Death! Death!" cried Don Santiago, who now came up.

"Let the fight cease," answered Emile, turning towards him; "this gentleman has surrendered, on condition that he shall be free to return to San Miguel with his companions."

"Who has authorised you to make conditions?" said the Montonero.

"The service I have rendered you, and the promise you have made me."

The Spaniard suppressed a gesture of rage.

"Well," answered he, after a pause; "you wish it; let it be so, but you will repent of it. Retreat!"

And he left.

"You are free," said the young man, holding out his hand to Don Zeno, to aid him in rising.

The latter darted a fierce look at him.

"I am obliged to accept your offer," said he, "but all is not finished between us. We shall see one another again."

"I hope so," simply answered the young man; and, remounting his horse, he rejoined his companions, already a good way off.

Two hours later, the Spaniards penetrated the first defiles of the Cordilleras, while the patriots returned leisurely and sufficiently discontented at the result of their expedition to San Miguel de Tucuman, where they arrived at nightfall of the same day.

END OF BOOK I

BOOK II. – THE MONTONERO

CHAPTER I

EL RINCÓN DEL BOSQUECILLO

It was about the middle of a southern summer; the heat during the whole day had been suffocating; the dust had covered the leaves of the trees with a thick layer of a greyish tint, which gave to the landscape – picturesque and varied as it was in the Llano de Manso, where our narrative recommences – a sad and desolate appearance, which, happily, was soon to disappear, thanks to the abundant shower of the night, which, in washing the trees, would bring back to them their primitive colour.

The llano presented, as far as the eye could reach, in all directions, only an uninterrupted chain of low hills, covered with a yellowish grass, dried up by the burning rays of the sun, and under which myriads of red grasshoppers uttered in emulation of each other their sharp twitterings.

At some distance on the right was a little stream, half dried up, which meandered like a silver ribbon, bordered with a narrow fringe of mastic trees, of guanas, and of thistles. Only on an elevated shore of this stream, called the Rio Bermejo, and which is an affluent of the Parana, there was a thick wood, a kind of oasis, planted by the all-powerful hand of God in this desert, and the fresh and green foliage of which strongly contrasted with the yellow tint which formed the chief feature of the landscape.

Black swans allowed themselves carelessly to drift on the stream; hideous iguanas wallowed in the mire; flights of partridges and turtledoves rapidly flew to the shelter of the trees; here and there vicuñas and viscachas were bounding and playing in the air; and high in the air large bald vultures were wheeling their flight in broad circles.

From the profound calm which reigned in this desert, and from its wild appearance, it would seem to have remained as it had come from the hands of the Creator, and never to have been trodden by a human foot.

But it was not so; the Llano de Manso – the furthermost plains of which reached the banks of the Grand Chaco, the almost impregnable refuge of the Indian bravos, or of those whom the cruelty of the Spaniards had, after the dispersion of the missions founded by the Jesuits, thrown back into barbarism – is in some respects a neutral territory, where all the tribes, by a tacit understanding, had their rendezvous for hunting. It is incessantly traversed in all directions by warriors belonging to tribes the most hostile to each other, but who, when they meet on this privileged territory, forget for the time their rivalry or their hereditary hatred, to remember only the hospitality of the llano – that is to say, the freedom that each one ought to have to hunt or travel as he pleased.

The whites have but rarely, and at long intervals, penetrated into this country, and always with some apprehension; so much the more, as the Indians, continually beaten back by civilisation – feeling the importance of preserving this territory for themselves – defended its approaches with unspeakable fury, torturing and massacring without pity the whites whose curiosity or ill fortune brought into this region.

However, notwithstanding these apparently insurmountable difficulties, bold explorers have not been afraid to visit the llano, and to traverse it at their risk and peril, with the design of enriching the domain of science by interesting discoveries.

It is to them that the wood of which we have spoken, and which appears an oasis in this sea of sand, owes its charming name of Rincón del Bosquecillo, out of gratitude, no doubt, for the freshness they have found there, and the shelter that has been offered them after their long and fatiguing journey in the desert.

The sun was rapidly setting on the horizon, considerably lengthening the shadow of the rocks, bushes, and a few trees here and there scattered in the llano. The panthers already commenced to utter their hoarse and mournful growlings as they sought their drinking places; the jaguars bounded out of their dens with dull cries of anger, lashing with their powerful tails their panting sides; troops of wild oxen and horses fled frightened before these dreadful kings of the night, whom the first hours of evening rendered masters of the desert.

At the moment when the sun, having reached the level of the horizon, was drowned, so to say, in waves of purple and gold, a troop of horsemen appeared on the right bank of the Rio Bermejo, proceeding apparently towards the bank of which we have spoken, on the summit of which was the thick wood called the Rincón del Bosquecillo.

These horsemen were Indian Guaycurus, recognisable by their elegant costumes, by the band which circled their heads, and especially by the matchless grace with which they managed their horses – noble sons of the desert – as fiery and as untameable as their masters.

They formed a troop of about fifty men, all armed as warriors, and not having any tuft of ostrich feathers or streamers at the point of their lances – which showed that they were on some important expedition, and not united for the chase.

A little in advance of the troop were two men, chiefs, as was shown by the vulture's feather placed in their red bands, and whose external appearance contrasted strongly with that of their companions.

They wore variegated ponchos, trousers of brown holland, and boots made of leather from horse's legs. Their arms —laco bolas, lance and knives – were the same as those of their companions; but here the resemblance stopped.

The first was a young man of twenty-two at the most. His figure was tall, elegant, supple, and well formed; his manners noble, his least gesture graceful. No painting, no tattooing, disfigured his expressive features, of almost feminine beauty, but to which – an extraordinary thing in an Indian – a black beard, short and frizzled, gave a masculine and decided expression. This beard, added to the dull white of the skin of the young man, would have made him pass easily for a white man, if he had worn a European costume. However, let us hasten to state that among the Indians men are often met with whose skin is completely white, and who appear to belong to the Caucasian race. This singularity, therefore, did not attract any attention among their companions, who attached no other importance to it than to cause them to manifest for them a greater respect, believing them to be descended from the privileged race of men who first united them into tribes, and taught them the first elements of civilisation.