The Insurgent Chief

"You make a mistake, Don Pablo," answered the young man, with firmness, who was getting rather warm; "I do not avoid you any more than I have reason to abstain from seeking you, and the proof – "

"The proof?" interrupted Don Pablo, with a searching look.

"It is that today, at this very moment, I was proceeding towards the intrenchments in the hope of meeting you."

"Ah! Ah!" said he; "Then, as it is so, I am happy, caballero, that chance has so well served you in bringing us face to face."

"Chance has nothing to do in the affair, I beg you to believe, Don Pablo."

"It would have been better, however, to have come simply to my toldo."

"That is not my opinion, since I meet you here."

"That is true," said the partisan, laughing; "you have an answer for everything, my dear Sir. Let us admit, then, that you really had the intention of visiting me; and will you acquaint me with the reasons to which I owe the honour of this tardy visit?"

"Believe me, dear Don Pablo, this place is not well suited for such a serious conversation as that which I wish to have with you."

"Ah!" said Don Pablo; "Is it then important business on which you have to speak?"

"It could not be more important."

"If that is the case, I am, to my great regret, compelled to beg you to defer this conference for some hours."

"May I be permitted, without appearing impertinent, to ask you the motive of this delay, which, I admit, annoys me much?"

"Oh! Mon Dieu! I have no secrets from you, my dear sir, you know. The fact is, that I expect every moment the arrival of certain persons with whom I must, as soon as they come, have a conversation of the highest importance."

"Pardon, Seigneur Don Pablo, but these persons to whom you allude – I think I know them, by reputation at least; moreover, if I am well informed, I know on what subject their conversation with you will turn."

The black eye of Don Pablo Pincheyra darted a flashing look, which he immediately controlled, and he answered in a gentle and honeyed tone —

"And you infer from that, my dear Sir? – "

"I infer, Seigneur Don Pablo, that perhaps it would be best, in the general interest, that you consented to hear me first."

The painter, whose mind was made up, and who felt anger working within him, had become severe and sharp, and was resolved to push affairs to an extremity, whatever might be the consequences.

On his side, Don Pablo, under his feigned friendliness, concealed a resolution previously made, and from which nothing would make him depart. Between these two men who spoke thus – with a smile on their lips, but hatred, or at least anger, in their hearts – a strange scene was thus being enacted.

It was the partisan who renewed the conversation, which had been for a moment interrupted.

"So, Señor Frenchman," said he, "you had left your toldo with the intention of paying me a visit."

"Yes, Seigneur."

"To me specially."

"Yes, to you."

"Eh!" said he, with an expressive sneer, pointing to the young man's girdle, which was furnished with arms; "You will admit that you take singular precautions when you come to see your friends."

"We are in a country, Seigneur," coldly answered the painter, "where it is well to be always on one's guard."

"Even with one's friends?"

"Especially with one's friends," said he, sharply.

"Well," coldly resumed the partisan, "follow me secretly, that we may be able to talk without fear of interruption."

"I will do so."

"You will remark, Señor, that I have more confidence in you than you deign to show towards me."

"Because, Seigneur? – "

"Because I am without arms."

The young man shrugged his shoulders.

"You act as you think fit," said he, coldly; "perhaps you are wrong, perhaps you are right – who can say?"

"I do not fear being assassinated."

"If that insult is addressed to me, it fails. If I am taking precautions against you, it does not follow that I am capable of assassinating you, as you insinuate."

The partisan shook his head with an air of doubt.

"People furnish themselves with arms," continued the young man, with a cutting accent, "to defend themselves against the attacks of wild beasts, without having on that account the desire of fighting them."

"Well, well, Señor Frenchman," said Don Pablo, in a melancholy tone, "come without any more words; I have but a few minutes to give you – take advantage of them."

While exchanging these bitter complaints, the two men had proceeded side by side, and had left the camp, saluted on their passage by the sentinels at the entrenchments.

They continued thus to advance into the country till they had reached a rather retired spot – a kind of elbow formed by a turn in the canyon in which they were, and where they could be neither seen nor heard; while they, on the other hand, could see a considerable distance to right and left up and down the road which led to the camp, and on which no one could have appeared without being discovered.

"I think, Señor Frenchman," said Don Pablo, stopping, "that this place will suit you; be so good, then, as to speak without further delay."

"So I will," answered the Frenchman, placing on the ground the butt end of his gun, and leaning his two hands on the end of the barrel, as he cast a suspicious look around him.

"Oh! We are quite alone; come," pursued Don Pablo, with an ironical smile, "you can speak without fear."

"It is not fear which restrains me just now, but I have so many things to say to you that I do not really know how to commence."

"As you like; only, make haste if you wish me to hear you to the end. In a few minutes, perhaps, I shall be obliged to leave you."

"The Spanish officer whom you expect will not be here for an hour at least; we have time, then."

"How do you know that I expect a Spanish officer?"

"What does that matter, if it is so?"

"Señor Frenchman," pursued he, knitting his eyebrows, and with a somewhat threatening tone, "take care how you penetrate my secrets before I should wish you to know them. For two months that we have lived together you have been, I suppose, in a position to know me. It will not be well, believe me, to try and mix yourself up, against my will, in my affairs."

"You would do well to speak thus if these affairs concerned you alone; but as, unhappily, I find myself concerned in them, they are as much mine as yours."

"I do not understand you."

"Are you quite sure of that?" asked the young man, with an ironical smile.

"Come, explain yourself frankly and honourably, as a man, instead of prating like an old woman," pursued the partisan, beginning to be angry.

"It is two months," resumed the young man, "that we have lived together, as you yourself have said. What have you done during these two months? How have you kept the promise you made me?"

"Have I not saved the two ladies, as I promised, from the peril that threatened them?"

"Yes, but to make them fall into one still worse."

"I do not understand you, Señor."

"There are none so deaf as those who do not wish to hear. You understand me very well Unhappily for you, you have not yet reached the point where you think you are. I have sworn to defend these poor ladies, and I will defend them, if it is at the peril of my life."

"You are mad, Señor; no one that I know – I less than anyone – has any intention to injure these ladies in any way. Since their arrival here at Casa-Frama, you cannot deny that they have been treated with the greatest attention and respect. Of what do they complain?"

"They complain of being exposed to misplaced and almost dishonouring attentions on your part; moreover, they say with reason that, far from giving them that liberty that you had engaged to give them, you sequester them, and treat them as if they were your captives."

Don Pablo shrugged his shoulders with disdain.

"The women are all alike," said he, with irony; "nothing will satisfy them. I am in a better position than these ladies are to judge what is fitting for them.

"Besides, if they will keep quiet, they will not have long to remain here, and if the sight of my companions shocks them, they will soon be delivered from it."

"It is not the sight of your companions which shocks them, but yours and your brothers – the ridiculous homage with which you fatigue them every hour of the day, and the pretentions that you do not fear to make everyone acquainted with."

The features of the partisan contracted, a terrified pallor covered his face, and his eyebrows were knitted till they met.

"Take care, Señor," cried he in a sullen and forced tone, repressing with great difficulty the anger which he felt; "take care; you are in my power – do not forget that; and I am the man whom his enemies have called the bear of Casa-Frama."

"What matters it to me the names they give you?" cried Emile, forgetting all bounds: "One only will suit you, if you persist in the fatal course you have entered on – that of bandit."

"Vive Dieu!" cried he, with violence, "This insult deserves blood! A coward only dares thus to outrage a man without arms."

"Nonsense," resumed the young man, with contempt; "without arms!" and with a gesture of nobility, he threw a pistol at the feet of the partisan, at the same time abandoning his gun, and taking his second pistol from his girdle.

"Pardieu! That is a good evasion! If you are as brave as you pretend, here is a weapon – do me justice. You imagine, then, that I am afraid to fight with you?"

"¡Rayo de Dios!" cried the partisan, with rage, "You shall have the pleasure of it!"

And darting at the pistol, he cocked it, and discharged it almost close to the breast of the young man.

The fate of the latter seemed doomed. Considering the little distance which separated him from his adversary, nothing apparently could save him. Happily the partisan, blinded by rage, had not calculated his fire; the ball, badly directed, instead of striking the Frenchman full in the body, only made a slight graze on the arm, and fell harmless.

"Your life belongs to me," coolly said the young man, cocking his pistol in his turn.

"Blow my brains out then, ¡caray!" cried Don Pablo; "Fire, and let all be over!"

"No," replied the young painter, without emotion, "it is well for you to see the difference which exists between a man of your sort and of mine."

"Which means – ?" murmured the partisan, when rage stifled.

"That I pardon you!" said Emile.

"Pardon, you say – pardon?" cried he, with the roar of a tiger, "To me!"

"To you, pardieu! To whom else?"

And coolly pushing away with his wounded arm the partisan, who had darted towards him, he raised his pistol, and discharged it over his head. Don Pablo remained an instant astounded, his eyes bloodshot, his features livid, his hands clinched, incapable of understanding the grandeur of this action, but conquered spite of himself, by the ascendancy that the young man had in an instant acquired over his rude and savage nature.

"Your life, then," quietly resumed the young man "belongs to me; I have given it you back. I only demand in return one thing."

"You demand something of me?" said he, with a mocking sneer.

"Yes."

"Oh! Oh! And if I should not choose to accord you anything?"

"Oh, then," pursued he, with the greatest coolness, "as everything must have an end, and as it is always allowable to rid one's self of a wild beast, I shall blow your brains out, as though you were a mad dog."

While speaking thus, Emile had taken his gun in his hand.

The partisan found himself again at the mercy of his adversary.

The former cast at him a look of hatred, but he could see by the countenance of his enemy that he would not hesitate to put his threat into execution. Then – thanks to that control which he had over himself – he brought back calmness to his features, which had been distorted by rage, and, bowing with a gracious smile —

"Be it so, I will do what you wish, Señor. Your noble generosity has conquered my obstinacy. Speak."

"Swear on your salvation, by Our Lady of Solitude, to be faithful to what you engage to do."

"I swear it, on my salvation, by Our Lady of Solitude."

This virgin, much venerated by the gauchos, the trappers, and other people of that kind, was – at least he thought so – the protectress of Don Pablo Pincheyra; he was very devoted towards her, and no consideration whatever would have induced him to violate an oath made in her name. Emile was aware of this circumstance.

"During three days from this time you will not take any steps against the two ladies confided to my care."

"I swear it."

At this moment a distant gallop was heard, and a troop of horsemen soon appeared at a considerable distance.

"Here are the persons whom you expect," pursued Emile; "I should like to be present at your interview with them."

"Very well, you shall be present at it Do you wish anything else?"

"Nothing."

"What, is that all?"

"Yes."

"You do not stipulate anything for your personal safety?"

"Nonsense," answered the young man, with disdain. "You are jesting, Seigneur; what have I to fear from you? You would not dare to attempt the life of his who, master of yours, has refused to take it."

The partisan stamped his foot with rage, but he did not answer.

The horsemen rapidly approached; a few minutes more, and they would have overtaken the two men who looked at them as they came on, without making any movement towards them.

CHAPTER VI

AT CASA-FRAMA

The horsemen who advanced in the canyon, in the direction of Casa-Frama – as the headquarters of the Pincheyras was called – formed a troop of about thirty men. All were well armed and well mounted. Their costume had a military appearance, and, although riding at a hand gallop, they preserved their order, and rather resembled soldiers or partisans than peaceable travellers who had come to the Cordilleras on business.

Two horsemen, mounted on magnificent black animals, richly harnessed, preceded by a few paces the body of the troop, and were talking together with some animation. They had not yet perceived Don Pablo or the French painter, who, half hidden by the fragments of rock, observed them attentively.

"These are indeed the persons whom I expected," said he; "come let us go into the camp again."

"Why not receive them here where we are, since they must absolutely pass before us?"

"Better that they should not find us here; I ought to receive these persons with a certain decorum that their rank exacts."

"As you like; but it will be rather difficult to reenter the camp without being overtaken by them, especially at the pace they are coming."

"Do not be uneasy about that," pursued Don Pablo, smiling; "still follow me."

"Let us go," said the painter, repressing a movement of curiosity.

Indeed, it seemed impossible, from the place where they were, for the two men to regain the camp without being not only perceived, but overtaken in a few minutes by the travellers.

However, against all probability, it was nothing of the kind.

The partisan, after having scaled, followed by the painter, some blocks of rock, massed without apparent order one upon the other, found himself at the entrance of a natural cavern, of which so many exist in the mountains, and into which, after having removed the brambles and brushwood which masked the mouth of it, he boldly entered. The painter did not hesitate to follow him, curious to see this passage so skilfully concealed, and the existence of which, without any trouble, the partisan revealed to him – a passage which at some time or other might be of the greatest importance to the young man. The cavern was large, spacious, and airy; daylight penetrated it by imperceptible fissures, and produced a dim light sufficient to walk without fear and to wander in this labyrinth of galleries, which opened right and left, and were lost under the mountain at probably considerable distances, or perhaps had exits in several directions.

After a rapid walk of a few minutes, a dull and continuous sound, resembling a considerable fall of water, was heard, and became louder and louder. At last the two men emerged from the cavern and found themselves on a narrow platform, two or three yards broad at the most, masked completely by a sheet of water which fell from a great height two or three yards before the platform, and broke with a great sound upon a chaos of rocks twenty yards lower down, where it divided into two branches, forming a little farther off two distinct rivers.

"We have arrived," said the Pincheyra, turning towards his companion, to whom, till then, he had not addressed a word; "do you recognise this place?"

"Perfectly. It is just at the foot of this cascade that the camp is established; your toldo is not more than a gunshot from it."

"You are quite right. You see that I have not deceived you."

"It is true; but how shall we descend into the valley? It appears to me that the road is scarcely practicable."

"You are mistaken; it is, on the contrary, most easy, as you shall see; only give me your word as a caballero not to reveal to anyone the secret that I confide to you. You understand, do you not, the importance to me, in case of attack, of having a way by which I could escape with my companions without striking a blow, and glide, so to say, like a serpent between the fingers of my enemies, when they would think me at their mercy?"

"I understand that perfectly, and I heartily take the oath you exact, especially as the confidence with which you have conducted me here is an unquestionable proof of the esteem you have for me."

Don Pablo bowed politely.

"Come," said he, "we will descend."

He then made a turn on the right, and gained the western extremity of the platform.

"See," said he.

The painter looked.

A ladder cut in the solid rock descended at a gentle declivity to a certain depth on the flanks of the mountain, and was lost in a thick cluster of forest trees.

"Chance, a long time ago," pursued Don Pablo, "revealed to me this passage at a time when I thought I should never have to make use of it. Now, it is very useful to me to enter and leave the camp without being seen; but we shall not remain long here. Come."

Don Pablo, with a confidence which would have been decided folly with any other man than the painter, then passed first, and began to descend without even turning his head to see if his companion followed him.

Nothing would have been more easy than to make this partisan lose his equilibrium by gently pushing him as if by chance, and so making him break his neck against the rocks. The thought did not even occur to the painter, notwithstanding the hatred which rankled in his heart against this man – a hatred revived by their recent quarrel. He followed his enemy in this hazardous descent, as unconcerned as if he had made a promenade of pleasure with an intimate friend.

It did not take them more than a few minutes to reach the base of the mountain, and place their foot in the valley.

"Here we are," said Don Pablo; "we ought to separate here; go to your affairs, and I will go to mine."

They were, in fact, in the middle of the camp, at few paces only from the toldo of the chief.

"Are you not going to receive the strangers who are coming?" asked Emile.

"Yes, I am going to receive them, for they will be here in ten minutes or so; and, as I have told you, I wish to pay them a certain respect to which they have a right."

"It was arranged between us, I thought, that I should assist at this interview?"

"Certainly, and I will keep my promise, you may depend; but this interview will not take place till later – in two or three hours at least. I am only now about to fulfil towards the strangers the duties of hospitality. When they have rested, we will occupy ourselves with business. So, make your mind easy; when the time comes, I will take care to tell you that you may assist at the conference."

"I have your word, I will therefore make no further objection. God keep you, Seigneur Don Pablo."

"God keep you, Señor Don Emile," answered the partisan.

The two men bowed, and without further discussion they turned their backs, and each went his way: Don Pablo proceeding to the entrance of the camp, where, no doubt, his presence would soon be required; and the painter returning to his toldo, where he soon arrived A man, sitting on the threshold, appeared to be waiting his arrival.

This man was Tyro the Guaraní. At a few paces from him, crouched on the soil, two ragged individuals, but armed to the teeth, were playing at monte. These persons were Mataseis is and Sacatripas, the two bullies engaged by the painter on his flight from San Miguel de Tucuman. Without disturbing themselves, they saluted their master as he passed, and continued the eager game they had commenced at sunrise, and which probably would last, unless important affairs called them off, until the end of the day.

At the sight of the Frenchman, Tyro quickly rose, raised the curtain of the toldo, and, after his master had entered, followed him.

"What news?" asked Emile.

"Nothing important apparently," answered the Guaraní, "but much in reality."

"Ah!" said the young man, with a thoughtful air, "What has happened then?"

"Nothing, I repeat, my friend; however, I think you will do well to be on your guard."

"Eh! Am I not always so?"

"True, but an increase of precaution could do no harm."

"Then you have learned something?"

"I have learned nothing positive as yet; however, I have my suspicions; soon, I hope, I shall be able to inform you."

"Have you seen the ladies today?"

"Yes, my friend; this morning I had the honour to pay them a visit; they are sorrowful and resigned, as usual, and it is easy to see that their position becomes more painful to them every moment, and that their feigned resignation conceals a profound despondency."

"Alas!" murmured the young man, with sadness, "I am unhappily unable to be of service to them."

"Perhaps, my friend."

Emile quickly brightened up.

"You know something, do you not, my good Tyro?" cried he, with anxiety.

"I must say nothing yet, my friend; be patient You shall soon know all."

The young man sighed.

"I have seen Don Pablo," said he.

"Ah!" said the Guaraní, with curiosity.

"I shall assist at the interview."

"Good!" cried the Indian, joyfully rubbing his hands together; "So much the better, Don Pablo has not made any difficulties?"

"Hum! He only consented when the pistol was at his breast."

"No matter; the principal thing is that you will be present."

"You see that I have followed your counsel."

"Soon, my friend, you will yourself acknowledge the importance of it."

"God grant it! I confess that since I have been in this frightful den of Casa-Frama, I feel that I am losing all energy."

"Courage, my friend; perhaps you are nearer escaping from it than you suppose."

"You never speak except by enigmas."

"Excuse me; it is at present impossible for me to explain myself."

"Do as you like; I will not interfere in anything."

"Till the moment for action has arrived."

"But when this moment has come – ?"

Tyro did not answer, occupied in preparing for his master's breakfast. Apparently absorbed by this grave occupation, he feigned not to hear these too significant words.

"Now it is ready, my friend," said he; "eat and drink, you must require refreshment. We never know what the future reserves for us, and it is well to be prepared for anything that may happen."

The painter looked at him a moment attentively.

"Come," said he, sitting on a stool before the table, "you are plotting something?"

The Guaraní burst out a laugh maliciously.

"Ah!" said he, after a pause, "You know, my friend, that the engagement of our two companions terminated yesterday."

"What companions, and what engagements?" answered the young man, with his mouth full.

"Why, that of Mataseis and his worthy acolyte Sacatripas."

"Good, but what have I to do with that? These fellows have been paid in advance; I do not owe them anything."