The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America

In that period the Indian hunter quite recovered from his wounds, and his little girl, Manca by name, began to show decided signs of amendment under Manuela’s careful nursing. During that period, also, Spotted Tiger conducted his visitors to many scenes of beauty, where the young doctor not only shot a variety of game, large and small, feathered and furred, but made acquaintance with many quite new species of plants. He collected and preserved a few of the rarest of these, but owing to the style of travelling, both past and prospective, he had to deny himself much in that respect.

Likewise, during those three days, he made acquaintance with the numerous pets of Tiger’s household—not the human pets, (although he became a great favourite with these also), but the lower-animal pets—the turtle, and the noisy parrot already mentioned, a fat little guinea-pig, a most melancholy red monkey, a young jaguar, a very juvenile tapir, a flamingo, and other creatures.

The tapir was about the size of a six months’ old pig. Instead of the blackish brown hair peculiar to the adult tapir, its coat was striped longitudinally with black, grey, and yellow, and was so brilliant in colour that the animal was quite a dazzling pet! besides which, it was an affectionate little thing, and particularly susceptible to the pleasure of being tickled.

The tame jaguar, however, was a very different style of animal. It did indeed like to be caressed, but it had gradually grown too large to be a safe plaything, and there was an occasional gleam in its eye which rendered Lawrence uneasy when he saw the Indian children playing with it. It was about the size of a small Newfoundland dog, but had grown up so gradually with the family that they appeared not to realise the danger attending its great strength. Spotted Tiger himself had indeed perceived something of it, for at the time we write of he had tied the animal to a stake with a stout rope, which was long enough to permit of his ranging in a wide circle.

Little did Lawrence dream of the part that peculiar pet was to play before the period of three days closed.

It was on the evening of the third day. They were all seated round a fire at supper, in front of the hut. Lawrence sat beside Manuela, as usual, and was taking much pains to teach her the correct pronunciation of an English word, of which she made a wonderful bungle, and seemed to derive much amusement from the fact, to judge from her occasional peals of silvery laughter. We use the word advisedly, in deference to the feelings of our hero, who thought and called the laughter silvery!

Tiger sat on the girl’s other side, and Quashy was seated opposite, with Little Cub and several of the lesser cubs beside him. The pet jaguar crouched close to its stake, glaring at them. There was nothing unusual either in the attitude or the glare to cause anxiety, yet Lawrence did not like it, and while engaged in imparting the difficult lesson referred to, kept his eye on the brute.

Suddenly, without warning or roar, the dangerous pet sprang at Manuela! Why it selected her we cannot imagine, unless it was that, being a brute of good taste, it chose her as the tenderest of the party. The strong cord by which it was fastened snapped like a piece of thread, but Lawrence threw himself in front of the girl, caught the animal by the throat, and held him with both hands, as if in a vice. Instantly every claw of the four paws was buried in the flesh of his legs and arms, and he would certainly have been fearfully rent by his powerful antagonist if Tiger had not, with lightning stroke, buried his long keen knife in the animal’s heart.

So swiftly and effectually was the deed done, that the jaguar next moment hung limp and dead in our hero’s grasp. Dropping it on the ground, he turned up his sleeves to examine the wounds.

“Deep enough, but not lacerated, thank God,” he said. “They won’t give me much trouble. Come, Quash, into the bush, and help me to look at the other scratches and dress them. I must appoint you assistant-surgeon for the occasion!”

Manuela murmured her thanks in a deep, tremulous voice that said much for her power of gratitude, and, timidly taking the youth’s hand as he passed, humbly touched it with her lips.

The wounds were soon dressed, and, thanks to Tiger’s promptitude, they did not afterwards give much trouble.

That night, as they were about to retire to their several hammocks, Lawrence went up to the Indian girl, and, for the first time, held out his hand for a shake in the white man’s fashion.

“I’m glad, Manuela,” he said, as she frankly grasped it, “that it has pleased God to make me the instrument of—of—protecting you.”

“Twice,” replied the girl quickly, and then paused, with a confused look,—“how you say, twice—or two times?”

“Say which you like,” replied Lawrence, with a hearty laugh; “the words will sound equally well from your lips, but ‘twice’ is the right way.”

“Well, twice you have save me. I am gratitude. My father will be gratitude.”

“Tell me, Manuela,” returned Lawrence, earnestly, “is your father a chief?”

“Yes,—a great chief.”

There was a peculiar smile on the girl’s lips as she said this that disconcerted him. We have said that he was naturally shy. He had intended to follow up his first question by asking if her father was descended from the Incas, but the peculiar smile checked him. He bade her good-night, and turned abruptly away.

While he was sitting by the fire meditating on this matter, he heard a step in the bushes. Tiger, who had already retired to his hammock, also heard it, and bounded to his feet. Next instant Pedro glided into the circle of light and saluted them.

He appeared to be worn out with exhaustion, for, flinging himself on the ground beside the fire, he rested his head in silence for a few minutes on a poncho. Then, observing a piece of manioca cake that had been dropped by some one at supper, he took it up and ate it almost ravenously.

“Why, you seem to be starving, Pedro,” said Lawrence, earnestly

“Not so bad as that,” returned Pedro with a faint smile. “A man can scarcely be said to starve with so many of the fruits of the earth around him. But I’ve been hard pressed since early morning, and—”

“Stay,” interrupted Lawrence, “before you say another word, I will go and fetch you some food.”

“No need, senhor. My old friend Spotted Tiger has forestalled you.”

This was true. The Indian, having seen at a glance how matters stood, had gone up to the hut without speaking. He now returned with a bowl of boiled maize, a bunch of bananas, and a jar of water.

While his friend was busy with these, he asked a few questions, which Pedro answered briefly.

From the expression of the Indian’s face, Lawrence gathered that these replies caused him some anxiety. As the guide’s appetite became gradually appeased his loquacity increased, but he made few remarks to Lawrence until the meal was finished. Then, turning to him with a sigh of contentment, he said—

“I’ve been slightly wounded, senhor, but I doubt not that you can soon put me all right.”

Taking off his poncho as he spoke, and pushing aside his light cotton shirt, he revealed the fact that his left breast was bound with a piece of blood-stained calico.

Lawrence at once examined the wound.

“A slight wound, indeed,” he said, “but vigorously dealt. I can see that,—and you’ve had a narrow escape, too. Half an inch higher up would have been fatal.”

“Yes, it was meant to kill,” was Pedro’s quiet rejoinder; “but, thank God, I had a friend near who meant to save, and he turned the knife aside in time. Sit down now, I’ll tell you how it happened.

“My business required me to visit a certain tribe of Indians at a considerable distance from here, where the country is somewhat disturbed, and the white inhabitants are threatening to cut each other’s throats by way of mending political affairs. They took me for a spy. It is not the first time that I have been taken for a spy, and I suppose it won’t be the last,” continued Pedro, with a grave smile. “Of course I protested my innocence, explained my object, and showed that my visit was one of peace. They would have let me go if an enemy had not been in the camp. You see, Senhor Armstrong, I have many enemies as well as friends everywhere.”

“That is always the case with men who hold decided principles, and try to act up to them with vigour,” returned Lawrence.

“So I have found it,” rejoined Pedro, looking earnestly at his young friend. “You have had a more varied experience of life than I. Has that been your experience too?”

“It has. But I suspect that my experience of life has not been so much varied as yours, Pedro, for it has been chiefly among civilised communities until now. Still, I have observed that it is only those who swim with the current of public opinion, and jostle nobody, who manage to keep friends with everybody. When a man ventures to think for himself,—as he ought to do,—and take action, he is sure to have enemies as well as friends,—supposing, of course, that he is a man of any power or influence.”

“Well, I suppose it is because I try to have influence,” rejoined Pedro, “that I manage to have plenty of friends and foes,—the last being sometimes unreasonably bitter.”

“That proves your influence to be powerful,” said Lawrence.

“H’m! it may be so. I know not. Time will show. At all events, this enemy of mine stirred up a number of men like himself in the camp to such an extent that they seized me, and carried me to the banks of their river, with the purpose of throwing me to the alligators. Some of those who were in my favour ran along with them, and among them I observed one man who I knew would be willing to risk his life for me. This gave me hope; but my enemy did not approve of the mode of my execution; he thought—rightly—that a chance of escape was involved in it; so, to make sure, I suppose, he came close up, and when they were on the point of throwing me into the river, he drew his knife and made a plunge at my heart. My friend must have suspected something of the sort, for he had also pushed close to me, and I saw him give the would-be murderer the jostle that turned his knife aside.

“Next moment I was in the river. I knew that it swarmed with alligators, and felt an uncomfortable thrill as I went in head foremost; but I knew also that I was a strong and swift swimmer, so I struck out for my life to the opposite bank, which was not more than forty yards off. I splashed as much as I could, for you know, senhor, that splashing tends to keep alligators off, though it is not always successful. Before I had made half a dozen strokes, however, I felt my flesh creep. Do you know what it feels like to have your flesh creep?”

“No, not exactly,” replied Lawrence; “but I have a pretty good guess as to what you mean.”

“Well,” resumed the guide, “I felt my flesh creep, for I heard a most awful puffing and splashing close behind me. At the same time I heard a wild cheer on the bank, as if my foes were rejoicing at the prospect of my being eaten up! I looked back quickly, expecting to see the terrible jaws and the long rows of teeth; but, to my great surprise, I saw only my friend pursuing me with his knife in his teeth, as if he wanted to finish me. I understood the thing at once. The good fellow knew that two could make a better splashing than one, and he also hoped, no doubt, that his comrades would give him credit for extreme bravery in thus jumping into such danger for the sake—as they would suppose—of killing an enemy! The cheer they gave him showed what they thought on that point.

“We both gained the opposite bank—I a few yards in advance. You may be sure I was not slow in bounding up the bank. I could hear the howl of rage with which the villains saw the failure of their plan. What is more, I could both hear and see the arrows that were sent after me, but, through God’s blessing, none of them touched me, and I was soon in the shelter of the woods. I could also hear my friend panting at my heels.

“I’m a pretty fair runner,” continued Pedro, “but my friend is a better. He passed me like a deer. ‘Come on,’ he cried, ‘you’ve no time to lose.’ From which I knew he meant that the blackguards would cross the river in canoes and pursue me. He led me across a spit of jungle-land where the river took a sudden bend, and came out on the bank at the head of a long rapid. On reaching the bank he pulled out a small canoe which had been concealed there, and told me to jump in. ‘You’ll have to run the rapid. It’s not much of a chance, but it’s your only one.’ I squeezed his hand, thanked him hastily, and was soon paddling quickly with the current. In a few moments I heard my friend shouting with rage and brandishing his knife. He was acting, I knew. Looking back I saw that a number of men had joined him, and again the arrows began to drop around me, but I was soon beyond their reach and battling with the rapid.

“Well was it for me that I have been much used to canoeing, for the words of my friend, ‘It’s not much of a chance,’ were literally true. For some minutes I was whirled about by eddies and shoots in such a way that it seems to me now a miracle that I escaped being dashed to pieces several times. I forgot all about my pursuers, so great was the danger; but when at last I ran out of the lowest shoot into the water below the rapids, I saw, on looking back, that they were still following me along the banks. I was going faster, however, than they were, so I felt easier in my mind, till I saw them jump into several canoes and push off in chase. By that time I had more than a mile of start, and the sun was setting. ‘Now, Pedro,’ said I to myself, ‘it’s a fair race for your life; so bend your back to it, my boy.’ I went on till it grew so dark that I could hardly see twenty yards ahead of me. Then I put ashore, hauled the canoe up among the reeds, climbed into a tree and went to sleep, for well I knew that it would be death both to them and me if we continued descending a stream like that in the dark.

“Well, I slept like a top, for I was dead beat; but two or three times I awoke with a tremendous start under the impression that I was falling. I’ve always found it so when obliged to spend the night in the branches of a tree. Did you ever sleep so, Senhor Armstrong?”

Lawrence confessed that he had never yet indulged in such bird-like repose.

“Well, it’s not so difficult as you might think,” continued Pedro, with a meditative gaze at the fire, “especially if you’re very tired, hard pressed for time, and in some danger. Under these circumstances it’s wonderful what a fellow can do to make the best of his opportunities. You find out, somehow, the securest way to twine your legs and arms in among the branches, and twist your feet and fingers into the forks and twigs—don’t you know?”

Yes, Lawrence knew well; at least, if he did not know exactly, he had a powerful imagination!

“Well, then, long before daylight I was up and off, feeling my way as best I could in the first grey glimpses of dawn, so that I got a good start—at least I thought so; but soon I found my pursuers had also started early and were overhauling me; and no wonder, seeing that their canoes were large and well manned. I now felt that I had no chance of escaping by water, but I had by that time got into a part of the country with which I was well acquainted, and knew that if I could only reach a certain point before being caught, I might take to the bush and cross overland to my friend’s hut here. That was early this morning. The only trouble I had was that my wound was beginning to give me considerable pain, and I felt losing strength for want of food. I had scarce time to cat, much less to search for food, they pressed me so hard. However, a man makes a hard struggle for life, so I tightened my belt, and set to work with such good will, that I was soon a long way ahead of them, and got out of sight at a place where the river takes a number of bends and is full of small islands. At last, about noon, I reached the desired point, paddled carefully in among the reeds, so as to prevent the savages seeing where I had landed, jumped ashore, hid the canoe, stepped out as hard as I could, and—here I am.”

“But,” exclaimed Lawrence, with some excitement, “if you left the Indians so recently, won’t they be close on your heels?”

“No fear. I came here in a straight line overland. By the windings of the river they cannot be here, even at the soonest, before the afternoon of to-morrow. But they will probably give up the chase long before getting this length. Besides, if they did arrive, they would find a warm reception from four well-armed men, instead of catching one poor unarmed fugitive. But we won’t give them the chance. We will be up and away by daybreak. Tiger here has agreed to join us in our trip to Buenos Ayres. He will take his wife and family down stream to his father-in-law’s tribe, where they will be safe till his return. Are you all well, and ready for a start?”

“Yes, all well—and shall be ready as soon as you please.”

“That’s right. Where’s Quashy?”

“Close alongside. Don’t you hear him?”

Lawrence referred to a sound like the drone of a giant mosquito, which proceeded from the negro’s nose, for that worthy was a heavy sleeper—when not in danger—and had not been disturbed by the arrival of the guide.

Giving vent to a prolonged yawn, Pedro rose and stretched himself. Then he went up to the sleeping Quashy and took him by the nose, at the same time putting his hand on his mouth to smother the inevitable yell in its birth. When sufficiently awake to be released with safety, the amiable negro was permitted to raise himself, and when aware of who had grasped him, he beamed with good-will, and gleamed with surprise.

“Get up, Quashy, and help them to pack,” said Pedro, curtly, “we start at daybreak.”

Quashy was on his feet in a moment. “Don’t rouse me till it’s time to start,” added Pedro, who thereupon rolled into the vacant hammock, and was asleep—perchance in the land of dreams—almost as soon as his wearied head reposed on the negro’s pillow.

Chapter Sixteen.

Tells of Absurd, as well as Evil, Doings, and winds up with a Horrid Surprise

Whether Pedro’s pursuers continued the chase as far as the Indian hunter’s hut we cannot tell, for long before noon of the following day our travellers were far from the hunting-grounds of the gallant savage.

Soon after the usual midday siesta, the canoe, which contained the whole of the hunter’s worldly wealth, was run on the beach near to the spot where dwelt his father-in-law with many members of his tribe.

That worthy old man, in a light evening costume consisting of a cotton shirt and straw hat, came down to receive his children, who landed amid much noise with their boys and girls and household gods, including the red monkey, the parrot, the flamingo, the fat guinea-pig, the turtle, and the infant tapir. The old chief was quite willing to take care of the family during the absence of his son-in-law, and was very pressing in his offers of hospitality to the white travellers, but Pedro refused to delay more than an hour at the village.

The old man also evinced a considerable amount of curiosity in regard to Manuela, and made one or two attempts to engage her in conversation, but on being informed by Pedro that she belonged to a tribe living half-way between his hunting-grounds and the regions of Patagonia, and that she did not understand his dialect at all, he forbore to question her, and satisfied himself with simply gazing.

After a farewell which was wonderfully affectionate for savages, Spotted Tiger embarked in Pedro’s canoe, and, pushing off into the river, bade the Indians adieu.

The canoe in which the party now travelled belonged to Tiger, and was larger as well as more commodious than that in which they had hitherto journeyed, having a gondola-like cabin constructed of grasses and palm-leaves, underneath which Manuela found shelter from the sun. In the evenings Pedro could lie at full length on the top of it and smoke his cigarette. They were floating with the current, you see, and did not require to labour much at the paddles at that time.

It would weary the reader were we to continue our description of the daily proceedings of our adventurers in journalistic form. To get on with our tale requires that we should advance by bounds, and even flights—not exactly of fancy, but over stretches of space and time, though now and then we may find it desirable to creep or even to stand still.

We request the reader to creep with us at present, and quietly listen while Pedro and Tiger talk.

Pedro lies extended on his back on the roof of the gondola-like cabin, his hands under his head, his knees elevated, and a cigarette in his mouth. Lawrence and Quashy are leaning in more or less lazy attitudes on the gunwale of the canoe, indulging now and then in a few remarks, which do not merit attention. Manuela, also in a reclining attitude, rests under the shade of the erection on which Pedro lies, listening to their discourse. Tiger is the only one on duty, but his labour is light: it consists merely of holding the steering oar, and guiding the light craft along the smooth current of the river. Pedro lies with his head to the stern, so that his talk with the Indian is conducted, so to speak, upside-down. But that does not seem to incommode them, for the ideas probably turn right end foremost in passing to and fro.

Of course their language is in the Indian tongue. We translate.

“Tiger,” said Pedro, sending a long whiff of smoke straight up towards the bright blue sky, where the sun was beginning to descend towards his western couch, “we shan’t make much, I fear, of the men of this part of the country.”

“I did not expect that you would,” replied the Indian, giving a gentle turn to his oar in order to clear a mudbank, on which a number of alligators were basking comfortably.

“Why so, Tiger? Surely peace and good government are as desirable to them as to others.”

“No doubt, but many of them do not love peace. They are young. Their blood is hot, and they have nothing to do. When that is so, war is pleasant to them. It is natural. Man must work, or play, or fight. He cannot lie still. Those who are killed cannot return to tell their comrades what fools they have been, so those that remain are greater fools than ever.”

“I agree with you, Tiger; but you see it is not the young men who have the making of war, though they generally get all the doing of it, and the poor women and children take the consequences; it is the governors, whom one would expect to show some sort of wisdom, and recognise the fact that union is strength, and that respect for Law is the only hope of the land.”

“Governors,” returned Tiger, in a deep voice, “are not only fools, but villains—tyrants!”

The Indian spoke with such evidence of suppressed indignation that Pedro tried to look at him.

The aspect of his frowning countenance upside-down was not conducive to gravity.

“Come, Tiger,” said Pedro, with a tendency to laugh, “they are not all tyrants; I know one or two who are not bad fellows.”

“I know one who is a fool and a robber.”

“Indeed. What has he done to make you so bitter?” asked Pedro.

“Made us wear spectacles!” replied the Indian, sternly.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you not heard about it?”

“No; you know I have been away in Chili for some time, and am ignorant of much that has been going on in these parts.”

“There is in Spain a white man, I know not who,” said Tiger, with an expression of ineffable contempt, “but he must be the chief of the fools among the white men, who seem to me to be all fools together.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” said Pedro, with a laugh.

“This white fool,” continued Tiger, paying no regard to his friend’s interruption, “thought that he would send out here for sale some spectacles—glass things, you know, that old white men look through when they cannot see. We Indians, as you know, never need such things. We can see well as long as we live. It is supposed that a mistake was made by some one, for something like a canoe-load of spectacles was sent out—so many that in a hundred years the white men could not have used them up. The trader knew not what to do. There was no sale for them. He applied to the governor—that robber of whom I have spoken. He said to the trader, with a wink of his eye—that sort of wink which the white fool gives when he means to pass from folly to knavery—‘Wait,’ he said, ‘and you shall see.’ Then he issued an order that no Indian should dare to appear in his district, or in church during festival-days, without spectacles! The consequence was that the spectacles were all sold. I know not the price of these foolish things, but some white men told me they were sold at an enormous profit.”