THE VALLE DEL TAMBO.
The Valle del Tambo is a narrow valley shaded by beautiful trees, and
almost wholly sheltered from the storms which rage on the mounts. It is
a favourite halt for travellers, and is provided with a kind of little
house of solid stones; where people shelter themselves from the rain,
wind, or snow.
These lodges, or tambos, are met with frequently in the high regions
of the Cordilleras. When the Spanish government was powerful in these
countries, it ordered the construction of them on a large scale.
At the present day, thanks to the carelessness of the governments which
have succeeded to that of Spain, the majority of these tambos are in
ruins.
When Don Santiago Pincheyra, after the conversation with Emile
Gagnepain, which we have previously recorded, had set out with his
partisan, to return to Casa-Frama, the painter and his servant had sat
down before their watch fire.
The news that Pincheyra, urged by a feeling of gratitude, had given to
the young Frenchman, was of the highest importance. Unhappily, this
information arrived too late to enable him to warn the ladies, and to
place them on their guard against the dangers which threatened them.
In vain he racked his brain to find a means of honourably escaping from
the difficult position in which he found himself, when Tyro rudely
interrupted his reflections.
"Well, master," said he, "we are worrying our brains to little purpose.
I will take the responsibility of acquainting these ladies."
"You, Tyro? How will you do it?"
"Oh, leave that to me. I will answer for everything. Just write
a letter to the marchioness, place it in something that she will
immediately recognise, and you may depend upon it I will convey it to
her."
"You promise it?"
"On the word of Tyro."
"Good: I will write the letter. I have got a Book of Hours, which the
marchioness gave me a few days ago. She will not fail to recognise it."
"That is right, master. Write immediately, that I may the sooner
depart."
While they were thus speaking, the Guarani had lighted a torch, by
the light of which the young man traced a few lines on a leaf of his
memorandum book. Then he folded the paper, placed it in the prayer
book, and closed the clasp.
While his master was writing, Tyro had saddled his horse, so that he
was ready as soon as his master.
"Now," said he, "do not be uneasy, master. Remain quietly here, and you
will soon see me again."
"Go then, but be prudent."
The Guarani spurred his horse, and broke into a gallop. He now
disappeared in the darkness, and the sound of his horse's feet ceased
to be heard.
The young man gave a sigh, and went sadly to lie down in the tambo,
where, notwithstanding the anxiety to which his mind was a prey, it was
not long before he soundly slept.
Meanwhile Tyro had set out. The brave Indian, without troubling himself
about the night, the thick darkness of which enveloped him, galloped
at full speed in the direction of Casa-Frama. The plan which he had
conceived was extremely simple.
At about four or five leagues from the entrance of the camp, the road
passed through a tolerably large defile, the sides of which were
covered with thick shrubbery. It was in this place the Indian made a
halt. He entered the thicket, hid himself behind the trees and the
shrubs, alighted, and having covered with his girdle the nostrils of
his horse, he watched.
His body leaning forward, his eye and ear on the watch, he heard the
sounds which the night wind brought him; and prepared to act as soon as
the moment should arrive.
At last, a little before sunrise, at the moment when the darkness,
struggled with a last effort against the daybreak, which paled the
stars and tinged the heavens with greyish reflections, Tyro, whose eye
had not been dosed for an instant, thought he heard a slight noise in
the direction of Casa-Frama.
There was no room for mistake; it was the caravan which had set out
from the camp, and in the middle of which were the two ladies.
The Guarani advanced cautiously, and scarcely had the last horseman
been descried in the darkness, than he left the wood, and proceeded in
the same direction as the travellers, and imperceptibly approached the
rearguard.
The first part of the Indian's plan had succeeded with greater
ease than he could have dared to hope for; the second part alone
remained--that is to say, the conveying the book of hours to the
marchioness.
Tyro, affecting the sleepy pace of his companions, patted gently the
horse which he held firmly by the bridle; and, without exciting any
suspicion, drew nearer to the body of the troop.
His design was to reach the two ladies, and to slip the book in their
hands, without being perceived, but he soon saw that this project was
impracticable. The two ladies formed the centre of a group.
Tyro, however, was not discouraged.
There was not a moment to be lost. Any hesitation would have been
perilous. The day began to advance.
The decision of the Guarani was immediately taken.
Placed at about ten paces behind the two ladies, regardless of what
might happen to him, and determined at all hazards to accomplish his
mission, he took advantage of a moment when the horsemen to the right
and left of the prisoners had removed to some little distance; and
giving his horse the rein, he darted off at full gallop.
We have seen that, he succeeded in throwing the book to the marchioness.
Don Pablo Pincheyra, astonished at the unexpected appearance of this
horseman, whom he had only seen as he passed, but who appeared to hint
not to be part of his troop, prepared to follow him, to find out who
he was, when suddenly another care came to change the current of his
ideas, by constraining him to look after the safety of his companions.
The tempest which had so long threatened them at last burst with
extreme violence.
At the first breeze of the hurricane, Tyro understood that a danger, a
hundred times more terrible than that from which he had just escaped,
hung over his head. Exciting his horse, whose efforts were already
prodigious; leaping ravines and bogs, at the risk of dashing himself to
the bottom of precipices which he passed in his mad flight, he appeared
to fly over this narrow and scarcely practicable path, and which the
darkness, which suddenly spread over the mountains, rendered more
perilous still.
Suddenly a terrible noise burst at a few paces from him, a cloud of
dust enveloped him, his horse started and reared up on his hind legs
balancing itself for some minutes on the very edge of the gulf. The
Indian thought he was lost. By a prodigy of horsemanship, he gave him
the bridle, plunged his spurs into the palpitating sides of the horse,
and leant all his weight on the neck of the animal. The horse hesitated
an instant, suddenly he bounded forward, and made a few stumbling
steps. Then his four legs gave way, he fell, and threw the Indian over
his head.
Tyro raised himself, shattered and bruised by his fall, and looked
anxiously around him. A frightful spectacle met hit eyes. An enormous
avalanche had detached itself from the summit of the mountain.
But by a providential circumstance, Tyro, thanks to the rapidity of his
journey, had reached the valley. He was saved, but was separated from
the travellers who followed him by a nearly impregnable barrier.
The young man hastened to run towards his horse, which had already got
up.
Tyro patted him, and spoke to him to give him courage; but knowing the
impossibility of mounting in the state of prostration in which he found
the horse, he took him by the bridle and continued his route, dragging
him after him.
Emile was a prey to the greatest anxiety. It was with joy that he
received Tyro, and congratulated him warmly upon having returned safe
and sound.
The young man trembled at the thought of the perils with which the two
ladies were threatened.
"They must be saved," cried he with spirit.
"They are lost," said Tyro.
"Lost!" cried Emile with energy. "Nonsense! You cannot believe it; it
is not possible."
"I do not doubt, master; I am sure."
"But no, you are deceived. I do not believe you. That would be too
frightful. Doña Eva, so young, so beautiful, to perish thus--no, that
cannot be."
"Alas! Master," said the Indian, with a sigh, "how often have I seen
perish thus other young ladies as beautiful, and, without doubt, as
much loved!" added he, in a low voice.
Several minutes passed, during which the two men remained mute and
pensive; no other sound was heard than that of the hurricane which
raged in the valley.
Then the Frenchman raised his head. His face was radiant; an expression
of determined bravery was spread over his features; his eyes appeared
to flash.
"If I am to be crushed against the rocks," he said in a firm voice, "I
will not leave these unhappy ladies to die. Our fate is in the hands of
God; whatever happens, I will try to succour them."
While speaking thus, the young man had risen, and walked resolutely
towards the door of the tambo.
"Master, what would you do?" cried Tyro, throwing himself quickly
before him; "You do not know what a storm is in the mountains; you
expose yourself to a horrible death!"
"Be it so!" coolly responded the young man, trying to disengage
himself; "But I shall do my duty."
"Your duty, master," cried the Indian with grief--"you will go to your
death, that is all!"
"It is possible; but my resolution is irrevocably taken. Release me
then, my brave Tyro, your efforts and your words to detain me are
useless."
"Do as you think proper, master," said the Indian; "let us try, then,
since you wish it."
"I require nothing of you, my friend," replied he; "this regards me
alone, you will remain here."
"Oh, master," replied the Indian in a tone of reproach, "what have I
done that you should speak to me thus?"
"You have done nothing to me," my friend; "I am not angry with you.
Only, I have no right to expose you, to satisfy one of my caprices, to
a terrible death."
"Master," said the Indian in an earnest tone, "I am with you body and
soul; where you go, I shall go; what you do, I shall do. You wish to
try to save these travellers? Be it so; let us attempt it."
"You have misunderstood me, my friend. You have told me yourself,
that I shall go to a certain death in attempting to aid these unhappy
travellers; I have not wished that you, who are not concerned in it,
should share these perils."
"Pardon, master," quickly interrupted the young man, "let us resume the
question. I do not condemn or approve your project. You wish to put it
into execution--very well. This is your desire, and I shall not discuss
the point with you."
"Come then, since this is the case; but I leave to you to prove that I
used no constraint with you."
"Certainly, my master, and whatever happens, be convinced that no
reproach shall come from my lips."
A longer conversation became useless between the two men. They
understood each other. Notwithstanding the hurricane, they quitted the
tambo, followed by the gauchos.
Thanks to the incline of the path, and to its width at the spot where
it debouched into the valley, the injury caused by the avalanche,
although very great, was not irreparable. That which the travellers
could not attempt, because of the precarious situation in which they
found themselves placed, the four men, by uniting their forces, had
hopes of being able to accomplish; that is to say, that after three or
four hours' very painful work, they were certain of re-establishing a
provisionary passage--solid enough, however, for the horses and beasts
of burden to venture on.
They set themselves immediately to work, notwithstanding the efforts of
the tempest, then in all its force, but of which the squalls, broken by
the mountains, had not that intensity as on the road.
"While you work here to re-establish the passage," said Tyro, "I will
go and occupy myself in taking care to warn the travellers whom we
would save."
Without waiting for an answer, the Indian left.
We have shown how his appeals had been heard, and had moved Zeno Cabral
to attempt a last effort.
When the partisan found himself at last upon firm earth, his first
movement was to thank God for his marvellous deliverance; then
tendering his hand to Emile, who, at the first glance, he perceived to
be the master of those who had brought succour to him:
"Thank you, señor," he said; "thanks to you, I am saved; but there are
other unhappy ones."
"I know it, caballero," interrupted the young man. "A numerous troop of
travellers are at this moment still exposed to terrible danger; with
the aid of God, we shall save them."
"You believe so?" joyously cried the partisan.
"I hope so, at all events, señor: for several hours already my
companions and myself have been working. Come; your aid will not be
useless."
Zeno Cabral followed him with readiness.
He gave utterance to a cry of joy, on perceiving the bridge which the
painter bad succeeded in throwing from one side to the other of the
gulf.
The work was nearly finished; the plank alone remained to establish.
This was the affair of half an hour.
"Do you think, now," asked the young man, "that your companions will
risk themselves on this bridge?"
"Oh, that will be only play to them," responded the partisan.
"Cross the bridge, then; clear a passage through the ruins left by the
avalanche. Then, arrived on the other side, you will only have to open
in the earth heaped up on the rock a trench enough for a passage of a
horse."
"Will you not come with me?"
"What's the good? Better that you should go alone. Our sudden presence
would cause great surprise among your friends."
"That's reasonable; in the fainting state in which they are, perhaps
that would cause serious consequences. Au revoir, then, and to our
speedy meeting."
The young man took the hand of the Frenchman a last time, and set out
on the bridge, which he traversed in a minute.
Meanwhile the Pincheyras, who had had a moment's hope when they had
seen Don Zeno Cabral, with such skill and such cool bravery, launch
himself into the precipice to attempt to find a passage, suddenly felt
that hope extinguished in their hearts, when all of a sudden the tree
on which the adventurous young man was holding rolled into the abyss.
In vain Don Pablo, whose indomitable courage had not been cast down by
this terrible blow, attempted at several times, now in chiding, then
in exciting them, to galvanise his companions, and to awaken in them a
spark of bravery. All was useless; the instinct of self-preservation,
the last sentiment which stands in the human heart, and which supports
it in the most horrible crises, was extinct in their hearts.
Don Pablo, disheartened by this torpor into which the soldiers had
fallen, and acknowledging the impossibility of raising them from it,
crouched at the foot of the barricade, and there, his arms crossed over
his chest, awaited death.
The tempest had sensibly diminished; the sky had cleared up; the wind
only blew in gusts, and the fog, as it dissipated, permitted them to
descry the landscape, which presented so many features injured by the
storm, and the desolate aspect of which, if it were possible, added
more to the horror of the situation in which the travellers were.
"We must have done with this," murmured Don Pablo; "since these brutes
are incapable of helping us, and as terror paralyses them, I will leave
them, if it must be so, to their fate; but, as I hope for heaven. I
swear I will save these two unfortunate ladies."
Whilst speaking thus, the partisan raised himself, and, throwing around
him a last look, he prepared to go to the ladies, who were lying in a
fainting state.
On a sudden the branches of the barricade, pushed back by a vigorous
hand, separated rudely behind him, and Don Zeno leaped into the path.
At sight of him a total change took place in the troop. At the sight
of Zeno Cabral, whom they believed to be dead, the partisans leaped up
as though stricken by an electric shock, and hope, re-entering their
breasts, gave them back all their courage.
Don Pablo had no occasion to order them to set themselves to work;
they rushed on the barricade with a desperate ardour, and in less than
a half-hour every obstacle had disappeared. The earth, the rocks, the
very trees were thrown into the gulf, with the partisans' cries of joy
exciting one another to see who should do the most work.
The horses and the mules, held by the bridle by their masters, crossed
the bridge without much difficulty, and soon found themselves in safety
in the valley.
A litter had been made to transport the two ladies, still fainting;
they were placed in the tambo, on a bed of dry leaves, covered with
skins and cloaks, and then confided to the intelligent care of Tyro.
Don Pablo, perceiving his old prisoner, uttered a cry of surprise.
"What!" cried he, "you here, Don Emile?"
"As you see," answered the young man.
"Then it is to you that we owe our safety?"
"After God, it is to me that you owe it, señor."
The partisan looked at the Frenchman with admiration.
"Is it possible," murmured he, "that such great and noble natures
exist? Don Emile," said he, "I have done you serious injury; I
persecuted you during all the time that you were at Casa-Frama, without
any real reason. My conduct has been despicable; you ought to hate me,
and you save me!"
"Because, Don Pablo," answered the young man, "you are a man in the
true sense of the word; because your faults are those necessitated by
the life you lead; because every good feeling is not dead within you,
and your heart is generous. I do not claim the right of being more
severe than God, and of condemning you to perish, when a hope of saving
you existed."
"This obligation that you impose on me, Don Emile, I accept with joy.
You have a better opinion of me than I dared to have of myself. I will
try to show myself, for the future, worthy of what you have done for me
today."
"You were acquainted with one another?" said Don Zeno.
"A little," answered Don Pablo.
The conversation ceased here for the time. The partisans proceeded to
arrange their camp, and to prepare their breakfast, of which, now that
they were saved, they began to feel the want. Emotions, in the desert,
for a time overcome hunger; the danger passed, hunger returns.