FREE--PERHAPS.
After his Machiavellian soliloquy, the Frenchman, rubbing his
hands, advanced cautiously towards the tambo, following with a
gloomy countenance the preparations for departure being made by the
Pincheyras.
Don Pablo was ready the first.
"Don Emile," said he to the young man, "I do not seek to fathom the
motives which have induced you to conceal from me till this moment the
name of a man whom--you have known for a long time as my enemy."
The Frenchman wished to interrupt him.
"Do not say anything to me," cried he with violence; "the service that
you have rendered me is still too recent for me to demand an account
of this ambiguous conduct; but remember this, I consider myself as now
freed from all gratitude towards you."
"Be it so," answered the young man. "You know me well enough, I
suppose, to be convinced that I do not fear; any more than I love you."
"I know that you are a brave man, señor, and that if the moment were to
come for you to face me, you would bear yourself valiantly; but I did
not wish to leave you without telling you my intentions, and to warn
you to place yourself on your guard."
"I thank you for that act of courtesy, señor; and I will take advantage
of your warning."
"Now, adieu! Do not try again to cross my path."
Then striking the pommel of his saddle angrily with his fist, he placed
himself at the head of his troop; and after having cried "Forward!
Forward!" in a voice of thunder, darted off at a gallop.
"Aha!" said Emile, "All goes well; the vultures have rushed after the
prey. It is a good game to win, to withdraw these two doves from the
outstretched talons of these two birds of prey. God helping me, I will
try."
And completely restored to good humour by this soliloquy, the painter
entered the tambo.
The two ladies were half reclining on the skins before a fire lit by
the Guarani. Scarcely recovered from the perils and the terrors they
had undergone, they remained motionless and silent, their countenances
pale, and their eyes half-closed absorbed in their own thoughts,
not knowing whether they ought to be glad or sorry at being at last
sheltered from danger, and at having escaped the fury of the tempest.
At the entry of the young painter, a faint smile appeared upon their
faces.
"So," said the marchioness, after a stealthy glance at her daughter,
"it is, thanks to your courage, and to your presence of mind, that we
have escaped from a frightful death?"
"I have only been an instrument in the hand of God."
"This Indian has told me all," said the marchioness, designating Tyro
by a gesture. "I know that now Don Pablo Pincheyra, bound by the
gratitude which he owes you, would not dare to refuse you anything."
"Don Pablo was not alone, Madame."
"In fact, Don Sebastiao Vianna accompanies him, they say."
The painter smiled slyly.
"You laugh, Don Emile," she cried.
"Pardon me, Madame, this overflow of spirits. I will explain myself.
Don Sebastiao Vianna was not the name of the man who came to the camp
to demand your liberty."
"Ah!" murmured she; "Is he a man I know?"
"You know him, certainly; his name is Zeno Cabral."
"Don Zeno Cabral?" cried she, in a fright; "That man! Oh, then, I am
lost!"
"Reassure yourself, Madame; you are in safety."
"What do you mean?"
"Don Pablo has departed, Madame. I have started him off in pursuit of
Don Zeno, by revealing to him the name of the latter. Thus, apparently,
we are completely delivered from all our enemies."
The marchioness tendered him her hand.
"I thank you," said she. "Your devotedness never fails."
"And never shall fail, Madame. We have not long to remain here. It is
necessary for us to make a last effort, and to compete in strategy with
our enemies."
"Have you any plan?"
"Unhappily, no, Madame; but perhaps with the aid of our brave and
faithful Tyro, we may concert a plan."
"Let us try, then," responded she, "and lose no time, which is so
precious to us."
Tyro re-entered at this moment.
"Well," asked Emile of him. "Has anything fresh happened?"
"No, my friend; Sacatripas, whom I have charged to watch the departure
of the Pincheyras, has seen them go at full speed towards the plain.
There is no fear of a surprise on the part of Don Zeno; for a
considerable distance from here there is only one practicable road, and
that is the one on which we are."
"That is to be regretted, indeed; our flight is impossible."
"Mon Dieu!" murmured Doña Eva, clasping her hands with anguish.
"So we are lost," said the marchioness.
"I did not say so, Madame. I am compelled, however, to confess that the
situation is extremely critical."
"Let us see, Tyro, my friend; you who know so well these mountains, in
the midst of which you have been brought up--seek, invent! As for me,
what do I know? Find an expedient which gives us a chance of safety,"
cried the painter.
"God is my witness, my friend, that my best desire is to see you out of
danger," replied he.
"We have no hope but in you, my brave Indian," said Emile.
"Listen, then, since you insist on it; and first, I must tell you, that
at a league from here, more or less, there is an almost impracticable
path, which is, in fact, only the dry bed of a torrent. This path few
persons know, and no one, I am convinced, would venture to follow it,
so difficult is it. Scarcely traced on the side of the mountains, it
winds through rocks and precipices, and must at the present time be
inundated, by reason of the frightful storm which has raged in these
parts. This path, however, has this advantage over the other; it very
much shortens the passage from here to the plain."
"Up to the present time," interrupted the painter, "I do not see
anything but what is very advantageous to us in what you say."
"Patience, my friend, I have not yet finished."
"Finish, then, in mercy's name," cried the Frenchman, with impatience.
"If it were only you and me, my friend," pursued the Guarani, "I should
not hesitate."
"Why do you stop short?" asked the young man.
"I understand you," said the marchioness. "What two men can undertake,
with a chance of success, would be madness for women to attempt."
The Indian bowed respectfully to the two ladies.
"That is just my idea, señora," said he. "But there are other
objections."
"Of what objections do you speak?"
"This path, very little known by the whites, is nevertheless much
frequented by Puelche and Pampas Indians, fierce and untamed tribes,
into whose hands we should be pretty nearly certain to fall. We
should only escape one danger, to fall into another. At all events,
it is necessary that these ladies should consent to resume the men's
clothing."
"Do not trouble yourself about that," cried the marchioness.
"It would be necessary to march with the greatest prudence, watching,
for fear of a surprise."
"And should a surprise happen," quickly interrupted the marchioness,
"rather to allow ourselves to be killed, than to become the prey of
these men."
"You admirably understand my thoughts, señora," answered the Guarani,
respectfully bowing. "I have nothing more to add."
"This project is hazardous, and fraught with difficulties, I am
convinced," said the painter; "but, for my part, I see nothing which
renders its execution impossible. Let us set out at once, unless,"
added he, considering, "you think differently from me, Madame la
Marquise, and that the dangers which, without doubt, await us on the
road appear to you too great; in which case, Madame, I will conform to
your wishes."
"As that is the case," nobly replied the marchioness, "a longer
discussion becomes useless. Let us set out immediately. Go, then; in a
few moments we shall be quite ready to follow you."
"Be it so, Madame," said the painter; "we will obey."
He made a sign to the Guarani to follow him, and both quitted the tambo.
A quarter of an hour, indeed, had not passed, when the ladies came out
of the tambo, ready to start.
It was about half past three in the afternoon--an hour rather late to
commence a journey, especially in the midst of the mountains, in these
wild regions, where storms are so frequent, and changes of weather so
rapid. But the fugitives, surrounded by enemies, from whom they had
escaped as if by a miracle, had the gravest reasons to take themselves
quickly from the spot.
The sky was of a dull blue; the sun, near the horizon, spread profusely
its oblique rays on the earth, which it warmed; a light breeze tempered
the heat, and agitated the leaves of the trees; black swans rose from
the depths of the valleys, and flew rapidly in the direction of the
plains, followed by great bald vultures. The evening was magnificent,
and seemed to presage the continuance of fine weather.
Notwithstanding the rather perplexed state of mind in which the
travellers were, the journey was commenced gaily. They talked, and even
joked, forcing themselves to look hopefully to the future. As Tyro had
stated, at about a league from the valley, hidden in the midst of a
thick wood, they found the commencement of the path.
For any but those long habituated to life in the desert, the aspect of
the path would have appeared very encouraging. In fact, the underwood
almost wholly obstructed it; a high and tufted grass covered it as with
a green carpet.
However, notwithstanding these encouraging signs of complete solitude,
the Guarani knew too well the astuteness of his race to be so easily
deceived. The deserted appearance of the locality, instead of inspiring
him with confidence, led him to redouble his precautions.
"Well, Tyro," the painter asked him, "you have nothing to complain of,
I hope? Upon my word, this path is wild."
"Too wild, my friend," answered the Indian, shaking his head. "This
disorder is too well managed to be real."
"Oh, oh! And what makes you suppose that, my friend? I see, absolutely,
nothing to suspect."
"That is because you do not look above you, my friend. In the desert,
and especially in the mountain, a track is marked in the trees, and not
on the ground."
"But as to ourselves, It appears to me we simply follow the path."
"And we are wrong, my friend. On our entrance into the wood, we ought
only to have advanced from branch to branch on the trees; our horses
will betray us. Unhappily, what you and I could do, with some chance of
success, the ladies who accompany us could not attempt."
"If what you say is very true, our efforts will only end in retarding
our capture."
"Perhaps so, perhaps not, my friend; if God only gives us till tomorrow
at noon, we shall probably be saved."
"How is that?"
"Look here; this path goes towards the desert of the Frentones. The
Frentones are, especially, enemies of the whites, to whatever country
they belong; but they are good and hospitable to travellers. If we
succeed in reaching their territory, we shall be comparatively in
safety."
"Very good; and you expect to reach this territory tomorrow?"
"No; but we shall find ourselves nearly on the banks of the river
Primero, and might set ourselves adrift on a raft."
"Pardieu!" joyously cried the young man, "That is a happy idea? It
would be very unfortunate if, with so many chances of success, we do
not escape."
"You know the people against whom we have to fight. Believe me, we are
not saved yet."
"That is true; but, on the other hand, you see everything on the bright
side."
"What a life would ours be if we could not brighten it up now and
then!" pursued the young man.