EVENTS.
Great was the surprise of the marchioness when, at about eight o'clock
in the morning, she saw the young painter enter the camp, in company
with the two Guaycurus chiefs, and bearing boldly on his shoulders the
spoils of a lion, that terrible king of the desert.
The long absence of the young man, which was, as we have said,
prolonged during the whole night, began seriously to disquiet the
marchioness, who, like many persons tried by long misfortunes, was
ready to think that even the most common events would have lamentable
results. Already, giving freedom to her thoughts, she pictured to
herself the young man surprised by the Indians in the act of spying,
being killed by them; and she reproached herself with this supposed
death, as if she had really been the cause of it. The remarks of her
daughter and those of Tyro, to whom she had related her interview with
the painter, did not tend to reassure her, although Tyro, who was the
man to whom the young man had spoken before entering the enramada, told
him he was certain that it was not probable that his master had been
the victim of his curiosity, as, if it had been so, the chiefs would
have immediately returned to the camp, and he (Tyro) as well as all the
persons in the suite of the young man, would have been interrogated by
them, to learn what reason Don Emile had for acting the spy upon them.
The marchioness, acutely sensitive from long suffering, would not hear
anything, and as the time passed her anxiety became more poignant.
But when she perceived the young man, whose bearing was so calm, and
whose countenance was so radiant, a sudden reaction took place in her,
and she immediately passed from the most profound sadness to the most
lively joy.
The warriors, excited by the arrival of their chiefs, and especially
by the kind of triumphal entry which they made with the skins of the
lions carried on their shoulders, had met at the entry of the camp,
where they shouted with joy, and loudly clapped their hands, forgetting
in their enthusiasm the mask of impassibility that they usually bore on
their countenances.
The Cougar and Gueyma--men habituated to similar ovations for such
prowess--did not hesitate to give to the young Frenchman the honour
that was due to him in the death of the lions, and related in all its
details the event as it had happened; and then Gueyma gave to Emile the
skin which up to that moment he had kept on his shoulder.
At this action, done so generously before all the assembled warriors,
the shouts redoubled, and the enthusiasm was carried to its height.
The Guaycurus who till then had held the Frenchman in somewhat poor
esteem, by reason of the instinctive dislike which they have for the
whites generally, exhibited towards him marks of general consideration,
for the young man had manifested great courage--a virtue which the
Indians honour above all others.
Emile, delighted at his unexpected ovation--not that his pride was
flattered by the praises which the Guaycurus addressed to him, but
because he hoped that, thanks to the turn of opinion in his favour,
he would enjoy more liberty among the Indians, and thus could better
protect the ladies--did not notice, any further than he was obliged,
the infatuation of which he was the object, and, accompanied by Tyro,
who had loaded himself with the skins which he much admired, proceeded
hastily towards the enramada, to give the marchioness an account of his
expedition during the night.
The two ladies, seated side by side before the enramada, protected
by the gauchos, who were a few paces off, understood nothing of what
had passed in the camp, and of the joyous cries that the Indians
incessantly uttered. Their complete ignorance of the Guaycurus language
caused them to suffer secret disquiet, not knowing to what cause to
attribute the general commotion. They were too far from the theatre of
action to form a correct judgment of what was passing, but near enough
to see that the young painter was the centre of a group of warriors,
who gesticulated with animation, and, as they supposed, with anger. It
was therefore with pleasure that the marchioness and her daughter saw
the young man, at last rid of those who had surrounded him, running
towards them.
The marchioness was very anxious to hear the news. She scarcely allowed
the Frenchman to salute her, so great was her excitement.
Emile related to her, point by point, all that had passed between him
and the hunters since his departure from the camp, especially laying
stress on the manner in which the two chiefs had proceeded to the spot
where the solitary fire was burning.
After this recital, that the marchioness had listened to with sustained
interest, there was a pause.
"So," said the marchioness, at last, "you think it is certain that this
man really expected the two Guaycurus chiefs."
"I would swear it, señora," answered the young man. "Concealed in
the woods for some time, not only all their words reached my ear
distinctly, but even the very play of their faces could not escape me.
The manner in which they accosted each other, the first words that
they exchanged, convinced me that the chiefs knew very well that they
would meet the partisan in that place, and that moreover they were
intimately connected with him."
"That man is strange, his conduct is incomprehensible," murmured the
marchioness, sorrowfully; "everywhere I find himself on my steps,
devoted to my ruin, and, moreover, apparently with power almost without
limits. What is to be done?" she added, allowing her head to sink in
sadness on her breast.
The marchioness, speaking thus, had rather answered her, secret
thoughts than the words of the young man; but feebly as this remark had
been made, the painter had heard it.
"Madame," he answered, with an accent of tenderness, veiled by profound
grief, "I am but a stranger, thrown by chance on this strange land,
without friend or support. But I do not despair--I who have devoted
my existence to serve you--I fight continually against your numerous
enemies. Why should you not do for yourself what I have tried with all
the ardour of sincere devotion? Why should you be disheartened when
nothing yet proves that we shall fail in the struggle that we have so
long sustained, without having up to the present, time met with a real
check? Is not our situation really better than it was when we found
ourselves at Tucumán, in the hands of your enemies, or prisoners of the
Pincheyras at Casa-Frama? Reflect, Madame, and believe me; do not doubt
the power and justice of God. He has taken your cause in hand, and He
will save you."
"Will He do so?" sorrowfully murmured the marchioness, as she lowered
her head to conceal the tears which, in spite of her, filled her eyes.
"Oh, mother," said Doña Eva with tenderness, furtively grasping her
hand, fearing, on account of the costume which she wore, to make
any manifestations which might have divulged the fact of her being
disguised.
"Alas!" pursued the marchioness with that feverish impatience which
wounds those who are misunderstood by those whom they address, "Neither
of you understand the real situation in which fate has placed us.
Our prison is not the less real because it has no visible bounds it
is larger, that is all. In place of being shut up in stone walls,
we are held prisoners by the walls that our forests, mountains, and
rivers form around us. Our persecutor, certain that it is impossible
for us to escape, disdains to show himself to us, or to make us feel
the weight of the chain fastened to our bodies; he contents himself
with watching us from afar, allowing us an appearance of liberty
that he will take from us when he thinks necessary. For a long time
his plan has been known to me. I have reckoned up this man; hatred
is clairvoyant--nothing can hide it. In a week--tomorrow, or today
perhaps--you will see him suddenly rise, like an evil genius, before
us; all will then be finished and we shall be ruined."
Emile and the young girl did not try to answer these words, the justice
of which, however, struck them. Emile, who never concealed from himself
the desperate position of the marchioness, and whom devotion, and
another sentiment, perhaps, that he did not dare to avow, alone kept
near her, felt the uselessness of common consolations. It was evident
to him that no human power could succeed in snatching the two ladies
from the pursuit of their enemy, and that, unless by a miracle they
would positively be lost.
Meanwhile the enthusiasm of the Guaycurus had become somewhat calm.
On the order of the chiefs they were occupying themselves, with their
ordinary activity, in the preparations for their departure, and were
about to mount their horses to descend to the plains, where they hoped
to encamp the same evening.
Soon each one was in the saddle; the word "advance" was given, and the
troop left the camp.
Emile and Tyro were, side by side, talking in a low voice, followed
at a short distance by the two ladies, and as they supposed by the
gauchos, who conducted the baggage mules.
The descent, although rapid, was easy, as generally happens in those
countries where the roads are unknown, and the path traced, for the
most part, by wild beasts. The Indians followed the bed of a dry
torrent and everything appeared to indicate that long before the
setting of the sun they would reach a spot suitable for encamping, on
the borders of a little river, the waters of which, sparkling in the
rays of the sun, appeared at some distance in the plain, through the
high grass.
This river, named the Rio Bermejo, was an affluent of the Rio Paraguay,
and served as a natural frontier to the immense plain known under the
name of the llano de Manso, and which, nearly unknown at that epoch,
was only traversed by untamed hordes of Indian bravos, for whom it
formed a hunting territory abounding in game.
The Guaycurus had just forded the Rio Quachifras, a considerable
affluent of the Rio Parana, but nearly dry at that season of the year.
The Cougar gave the order to camp on the border of a wood of cotton
trees, that the horses might repose during the great heat of the day.
The ladies, fatigued with this long journey (for they had been
travelling for nearly five hours), withdrew on one side to take a
little repose, which they absolutely needed. Emile prepared to do the
same, leaving to Tyro the care of the mules and the horses, and already
he had comfortably installed himself in some shrubbery perfectly
sheltered from the sun, when he perceived the two gauchos stopping
before him, each with his carbine in one hand, and his hat in the other.
The young man looked for a moment at these two honest acolytes--for
whom, we may say, he had a profound aversion, though he took good care
to hide this feeling from them--and to his great discomfort he thought
he saw on the faces of the two rascals an expression which gave him
cause for reflection.
The gauchos remained before him silent and motionless. The young man,
wishing to put an end to this embarrassing situation, decided to speak
to them.
"What do you wish, señores?" he asked.
The two brothers exchanged a stealthy look of intelligence, appearing
to invite each other to speak first; but it appeared that neither
knew how to commence, for they contented themselves by bowing without
answering.
"Upon my word, gentlemen," said Emile, impatient at this dumb show,
which he did not understand, "since you will not speak, permit me to
have my siesta. I have a great desire to sleep, and I shall be obliged
if you will leave me to repose."
"We also, caballero," answered Sacatripas, at last deciding to speak,
"we also want sleep, for the sun is very hot, and we have no intention
to keep you long; only we desire to have a few words with you."
"Is the affair important, Señor Sacatripas?"
"Very important!--at least for us, caballero," answered Mataseis,
becoming bolder.
"Very well," said Emile, "then go on quickly, I beg you; I am
listening."
"Señor," pursued Sacatripas, recovering from the passing emotion which
he had experienced, and assuming an agreeable air, "you can recall, I
suppose, the conditions which we have had the honour of making with
you."
"That is to say, with Señor Tyro?"
"With Señor Tyro, caballero; pardon me if I insist on that point--you
remember it?"
"I confess, in all humility, señor, that I do but vaguely recall these
conditions, and that I should be much obliged to you to refresh my
memory on this subject."
"Very well, caballero," said Mataseis, intervening with a gracious
smile; "we stipulated that eight days before the end of each month we
should tell you if we consented to remain in your service."
"Ah! Very good--I believe that clause exists. Well."
"Señor," interrupted Sacatripas, with a courteous bow, "it is three
weeks since the month commenced."
"What has that to do with your conditions?"
"It seems to me, caballero, that it has much to do with them," resumed
Mataseis.
"So," sharply answered Emile, "it is your congé that you ask of me, is
it, señores?"
The two bandits made a gracious salute, no doubt flattered at having
been so well understood.
"I have neither the right, the power, nor the desire to retain you in
my service against your will. Since the service is no longer agreeable
to you, there is only one thing for me to do--to give you your congé."
"Very well put," observed Mataseis, twirling his moustache, with a
courteous smile.
"You are free, then. Tyro will pay you the sum I owe you. Are you
satisfied?"
"We could not be more so," they both answered at once.
"I am glad that we leave one another good friends. But permit me to ask
you one question. Have you ever had anything to complain of since you
have been in my service?"
"Never!" they cried, tragically placing their hands on the place where
there ought to have been a heart.
"Then perhaps, it is the smallness of the sum that I allow you which
induces you to leave me. If I were to double the money?"
"We should be very sorry to do so, caballero, but we should refuse."
"If I were to triple it?" he pursued, looking them full in the face.
The bandits felt compelled to lower their eyes before the flashing look
of the young man.
"We should refuse still, caballero," said they, turning away their
heads.
"If I were to quadruple it?" resumed he, in the evident intention of
pushing them to their last intrenchments.
They hesitated a moment; their eyes darted a momentary flash of
covetousness, and Mataseis, after having exchanged a look with his
companion, at last answered, in a voice strangled by the emotion which
he vainly strove to suppress:
"It would be detestably annoying, caballero, but we should still
refuse."
"Then you have decidedly made up your mind?"
"Perfectly, caballero."
"But you have grave motives, no doubt, for acting thus?"
"Certainly, caballero," answered Mataseis; "your service is very
agreeable--you see that we render you full justice--too agreeable
indeed, for we have nothing to do!"
"What! Nothing to do?" cried the young man.
"Yes, in our line," replied Sacatripas, making a significant gesture,
and placing his hand on the knife placed in his polena.
"And that displeases you?"
"Considerably, señor."
"But if it pleases me that it should be so--since you are paid,
notwithstanding, what does it matter to you?"
"Very much, caballero; we are men of action--we are, señor, known
caballeros, and we have a reputation to sustain. It is not for nothing
that we are called Sacatripas and Mataseis; we are getting rusty in
your service, señor; and, moreover," added he with dignity, "we rob you
of your money; that will not do."
"What do you mean--rob me of my money?"
"Certainly, caballero, since you do not employ us."
The young man fixed on the bandits--who this time supported it with
erect heads--a look of singular expression, and resumed:
"Very well, I admit the first reason; now for the second."
"Pardon, caballero, this is the second: we have now stopped near the
Rio Guachipas, have we not?"
"As to that, you ought to know better than I."
"Yes, it is the Rio Guachipas," said Tyro, who had arrived, and who
seated himself near his master.
"Very well," resumed Mataseis, bowing courteously to the Guarani, "we
have this morning traversed the Rio Dulce."
"What does that signify?" interrupted Emile.
"Pardon, señor; the Rio Dulce is in the province of Tucumán."
"The Rio Guachipas also," added the Guarani.
"Yes," answered the gaucho, without disconcerting himself, "but you
will traverse this evening the Rio Bermejo; the Rio Bermejo is in the
llano de Manso, and forms a part of the province of Yapizlaga."
"That is true; but what does that matter?"
"Very much, señor; we do not know where your journey will end, and
it may last much longer yet; on the other hand, the Rio Dulce runs
to Santiago del Estero, where we were born. We want much to see our
native country. Now, as we are only a short distance from it, we intend
to retrace our steps, follow the banks of the river, and return to
Santiago as soon as possible, in order to comfort our families," he
added, assuming a piteous countenance, "whom so long an absence has
considerably disquieted."
Emile and Tyro had much difficulty in not bursting out into a fit of
laughter in the face of the gauchos, at this singular remark.
"Very well," at last said the painter; "you can leave when you like;
you are free."
The gauchos were profuse in thanks, made their most gracious bows,
and prepared to withdraw. They had already gone some paces when Tyro
recalled them.
"Eh! Señores," he cried.
And they came back.
"Come, you have an account to render before you go."
"Just so, señor."
"And you were going like that, without taking what is due to you!"
pursued the Guarani, in a sarcastic tone, which had considerable effect
on the gauchos, who, in their desire to go away as quickly as possible,
had completely forgotten the money; "That is very gracious on your
part."
"I beg you to excuse me, señor," answered Mataseis, with
self-possession; "we intended to claim the miserable money before
leaving you."
"Eight ounces (£17)--you call that a miserable sum; it is, however, not
to be disdained."
"We by no means disdain it, believe me."
Tyro took out eight ounces of gold from a leather purse which he always
carried, and presented them to Sacatripas.
The gaucho's eye brightened suddenly at the sight of the gold, and he
quickly held out his hand to take it; but Tyro withdrew his hand, and
appearing to remember something:
"By the way," said he, "you doubtless remember all the conditions of
your agreement?"
"All," answered the gaucho, with his eye fixed on the pieces of gold
that Tyro amused himself by chinking in his hand.
"Good; you know that you cannot undertake anything against Señor Don
Emile or his friends during the month which follows the termination of
your agreement with him?"
"Eh!" said the bandits, starting as if they had been stung by a serpent.
"Yes, so it is written," answered Tyro carelessly.
"Pardon!" sentimentally observed Sacatripas; "But I think that this
clause adds that we shall be free of that engagement on the condition
of not accepting at our departure the last month's salary."
"Ah! I see that you remember this clause well," cried Tyro, laughing,
and making the gold glitter more than ever in the eyes of the gauchos;
"so, make your decision, my masters--accept or refuse."
"We refuse," said Mataseis.
"You refuse what?"
"To receive our salary," answered with effort the two men, whose
tongues appeared to stick to the roof of their mouths, so much
difficulty had they in saying these few words.
"Good, that is agreed," said Tyro, putting the gold in his leather
purse, and the purse in his pocket; "a word to the wise! We will be on
our guard."
"Oh. I do not fear them," said Emile shrugging his shoulders with
scorn.
"¡Caray! Nor I either," said the Guarani. "However, it is good to know
how to act."
"Señor," said Mataseis, wrapping himself with dignity in the folds of
his poncho, "we have neither hatred nor friendship for you. You are
indifferent to us. We do not cherish any project to your prejudice, but
we wish to remain free. Liberty is better than gold."
And after this bit of buffoonery, the two gauchos bowed, as Scaramouche
would have done, and withdrew apparently quite satisfied with
themselves.
Emile followed them with a look for a short time, and then turning
towards Tyro:
"No matter, my friend," said he laughing, "it must be confessed that
those two fellows are very well matched, physically and morally."
"Yes, they are a pretty pair."
"I expect we shall soon hear something more of them."
"Probably," answered the Guarani, becoming thoughtful. "I will watch
them."
"You are right; as to me, I shall worry myself no more about them.
Well, good night. I shall go and regain the time they have caused me to
lose. I am very sleepy. What a capital invention is that siesta!"
The young man stretched himself on the grass, closed his eyes, and in
five minutes he was sound asleep.
Tyro, after a few moments reflection, left him to his repose.