THE GAUCHOS.
The gauchos, like knowing men, aware that it would not be long before
they wanted their horses, were careful not to unsaddle them. They had
contented themselves with removing the bridle to enable them to feed on
the fresh and short grass of the bank, and, for fear of accident, they
had attached them by lassos to the trunks of trees.
After the interview which we have related, they returned quickly to
find their horses, apparently being in great haste to get away.
But at the moment of putting his foot in the stirrup, Mataseis, whom,
as the reader has observed, was the cleverer of the two, stopped
suddenly, and turning towards his friend, already in the saddle:
"Eh, companion," said he, "what are you doing?"
"I am going off, you see," answered the other in a sulky air.
"You are going off like that?"
"Why, how do you wish that I should go off?"
"¡Caray! Like a true caballero as you are, by taking leave honestly of
our travelling companions."
"To the devil with such folly," said the other, spurring his horse.
But Mataseis boldly seized the horse by the curb, and arrested him in
his course.
"It is not folly, my dear fellow," said he; "no one would be less
inclined to do that than I; but serious matters are in question."
"Serious matters!" said Sacatripas, with astonishment.
"Caray, I believe you. Ah, where do you come from, my dear fellow? Have
you forgotten that we are almost prisoners of the Moros. Ought we not
to inform them of our departure? I by no means wish that some thirty of
these demons should be at our heels with those interminable lances."
"¡Rayo de Dios! Companion; I have no more wish for that than you,
believe me. The mere thought of it chills my blood."
"Bah! reassure yourself; things will go better than you think for. I am
convinced that these honest countrymen will be delighted at seeing us
go away."
"Let us hope so, companion, let us hope so. I confess that if they wish
to get rid of us, there is between them and myself an extraordinary
sympathy, for I heartily hope never to see them again."
"Good, you admit the justice of my argument, then."
"Yes, I admit it--I proclaim it!" he cried, with enthusiasm.
"If that is the case, as we ought to lose as little time as possible,
get down from your horse and follow me."
"Where are we going?" asked Sacatripas, immediately alighting.
"To the chiefs. Is it not to them that we ought to address ourselves?"
The Guaycurus captains were sitting a little apart, in the shade of
a cluster of forest trees which completely sheltered them from the
heat of the sun. Instead of imitating the example of their warriors by
sleeping, they were conversing, apparently on important matters, as
their dignified gestures and their serious mode of talking would have
led an observer to believe.
Notwithstanding the large share of effrontery with which they were by
nature endowed, it was nevertheless with timidity that the gauchos
approached the warriors, before whom they stopped, after having humbly
bowed to them.
Arnal turned towards them, and after having with cool contempt eyed
them from head to foot for a minute or two:
"What do you want?" he asked in Spanish.
"Honourable captain," answered Mataseis, making a bow which resembled a
genuflexion, "my brother and I have the ambitious desire to obtain the
kind consideration of your lordship, so that--that--"
And the poor devil stopped short in this intricate sentence, from which
he did not know how to escape, upset by the stem and disdainful look of
the chief.
"Come to the point--what do you want? Explain yourself briefly," said
the chief.
"We wish to leave," resumed Mataseis, boldly taking courage.
"What, to leave? Are you, then, in such a hurry? Wait till we give the
order to resume the march."
"Your lordship does not do me the honour to understand me," humbly
answered Mataseis, more at his ease. "We wish to separate ourselves
from your honourable troop, in order to attend to our personal affairs."
"Ah!" said the chief in a sharp tone, and darting at him a searching
look; "If it is so, your master very little understands courtesy if he
sends you in his place. Or perhaps he thinks us beneath him?"
"Your lordship still does not understand me," pursued the gaucho,
with ill-concealed spite; "my master is entirely ignorant of our
application. He has no intention of leaving you."
"Well, then, if that is the case, what do you mean by your
application?" cried the chief, whose countenance became immediately
calm at this news. "Go to sleep, and do not bother me anymore." Then,
turning towards his mute companions, he said scornfully, "These whites,
when they have tasted firewater, lose their reason."
"Your honourable lordship errs," replied the gaucho, without concerning
himself with the leave which had been so unceremoniously given him.
"I have not drunk firewater; nor has my companion. My master has sent
us away from his service," added he, slightly altering the truth; "we
therefore ask your permission to leave the camp, and to go where we
think proper."
"Aha!" cried Arnal, with a disdainful smile, "Is that it?"
"Nothing else, honourable cap--"
"Go, go; be off as quick as possible," cried the chief, interrupting
him; "the sooner we are rid of you, the better we shall like it."
And stopping with a peremptory gesture the pompous expressions of
gratitude, and the obsequious salutations which they thought themselves
obliged to make, the chief dismissed them, and immediately resumed his
conversation with the captains, as though he had not been interrupted
by this incident.
The gauchos did not wait for a repetition of the invitation which they
had had; they prepared immediately to profit by the permission given
them, and took themselves off at a smart gallop in the direction of the
Rio Dulce.
During half an hour, or thereabouts, they proceeded quickly without
exchanging a word; then, when they had completely disappeared in the
windings of the path, and they were quite certain that the tall grass
effectually concealed them, they slackened by degrees the pace of their
horses, and soon entered some thick shrubbery.
After having alighted, unsaddled their horses, and having assured
themselves by a minute search that they had nothing to fear from the
ears of any spy, they stretched themselves on the grass, and, free from
all care, lit their puros, which they began to smoke with great gusto.
"Ah! My dear fellow!" said Mataseis, sending a long column of bluish
smoke, which escaped at the same time from his nose and mouth, "What
brutes these Pagans are! Upon my word they are idiots. But what could
one do? I was obliged to make concessions."
"And you have done very well, brother," answered Sacatripas; "the
principal thing for us was to escape from the trap in which we were."
"Your approbation is very sensible, my dear fellow; it is sweet to be
understood."
"But tell me; now that we are alone, and quite certain not to be heard,
we can speak with freedom."
"Between ourselves, we never speak otherwise."
"That is true. Nature has created us brothers."
"Well said, Sacatripas; you have summed up in a few words the bonds
that unite us."
"Thank you," answered Sacatripas; "now candidly, I am afraid you have
committed an error."
"Oho! And how's that, if you please?"
"Why, it is that I do not at all know this country."
"Because memory fails you."
"Possibly; but I should not be sorry to be quite certain."
"That is easy; listen to me. We crossed this morning the Rio Dulce, did
we not? At the ford on this side of the river we passed near a thicket
of Holm oaks."
"Let me see, I do not very well remember. There was a wood that
we traversed, the trees of which, about the height of a man, were
vertically notched."
"Ah, upon my word, it was so. Well?"
"Well, behind this wood was some very thick shrubbery, that we also
crossed."
"We were told to be in a thicket in the midst of which there is a larch
tree."
"Very good. Look carefully round you; we are in the thicket, and there
is the larch tree behind us."
"Upon my word, I confess that I had not remarked it. On the first
branch of the tree there ought to be a cross."
"Look, my dear fellow, look," answered Mataseis.
"¡Caray! I will have the matter cleared up," cried Sacatripas, rising
and going towards the tree.
In a minute he returned.
"Honour to you!" he said; "You follow a track like a Pampas Indian; the
cross is there."
"Did I not tell you so?" answered Mataseis.
"It is true," humbly answered the other, "but I did not like to believe
you."
There was a pause of a few minutes, during which the two gauchos
yawned, so as almost to put their jaws out of joint.
"When is he to come?" asked Sacatripas.
"He will be certainly here at sunset."
Sacatripas raised his eyes, stifling a new yawn.
"Hum!" murmured he; "It is scarcely two in the afternoon; we have still
three hours to wait; it is very long."
"You are getting weary," said his companion.
"I confess it to my shame--I am horribly tired," said he, lighting
another puro.
"Time hangs heavily when there is nothing to do," sententiously
remarked Mataseis.
"That is true," gaped Sacatripas, lighting his cigar.
"Ah! I have it! What do you say to a game?" said Mataseis.
"Good!" exclaimed Sacatripas; "Why should we not have a hand?"
"Let us do so," they cried, brightening up, and each taking an old pack
of cards from their pockets, at the same time drawing their knives from
their girdles.
These two movements had been executed with such precision and so
simultaneously, that they showed that, notwithstanding the great
friendship of which they made a parade, the two brothers had not an
unlimited confidence in each other's honesty.
"What shall we play for, my dear fellow?" carelessly asked Mataseis
shuffling the cards.
"We must play for something."
"Certainly; without that, there would be no pleasure."
"Well put--if we played only for honour."
"Pooh!" exclaimed Sacatripas; "Between us, my dear fellow, honour does
not signify much."
"What do you mean?" cried Mataseis.
"I mean," pursued Sacatripas, "that we are both too accomplished and
too justly renowned caballeros to risk our honour on a card."
"¡Caray! That is well thought, and delicately said. I entirely share
your opinion, my friend."
"It seems to me that the stake is easy to find. For some time we have
received a few ounces without having met with any opportunity to spend
it."
"Very well, we will play for an ounce."
The two pieces of gold were placed on the grass. They drew lots who
should deal. Fate favoured Mataseis, and the game commenced.
Monte is the American lansquenet. Its combinations are the same, or
nearly so, as those of lansquenet; only as more cards are on the table,
the chances of the banker are greater. The chief art in the game is--as
in all games of chance, for that matter--to adroitly shuffle and deal
the cards, talents which the Spanish-Americans possess in an eminent
degree. They could easily teach the Greeks, the cleverest people in
Europe, who are very skilful in the matter.
The game that the two brothers were playing was all the more curious,
inasmuch as each one knew thoroughly the resources that his adversary
possessed, and his manner of playing.
Two hours passed, during which they did no harm, which the reader can
easily understand; the two friends watched each other too narrowly.
During all this time, there had been very little conversation. The
only words that they pronounced were in connection with the game, and
they confined themselves to the announcement of the colours--words
like these, for example, and very little understood by a third
party--bastos, palos, copas, oro, sometimes adding the same before the
colour--siete de copas, cinco de palos, &c. However, as often happens,
Mataseis, who, in playing fairly, saw fortune favouring him, wished to
force the luck, and oblige her to remain faithful to him. The mode was
easy for him, and perfectly within his reach; let us do him the justice
to acknowledge that he hesitated a long time to employ it--not that his
conscience revolted the least in the world against the expedient, which
appeared all fair to him--but simply that he was afraid he would be
discovered by his companion.
The strife was long; it lasted at least five minutes, but there were
four ounces on the game--a pretty sum. There wanted only a dos de oro
to win the game. Mataseis balanced the card between his fingers; he was
ready to turn it--when he suddenly stopped, leant forward and listened.
"Did you not hear something, my dear fellow?" said he.
His companion turned his head a little.
"No, nothing," said he.
The movement which he had made, rapid as it had been, was enough; the
stroke was played, a magnificent dos de oro, carelessly thrown by
Mataseis, stood out boldly by the side of the other.
"I have lost again," piteously said Sacatripas, drawing another ounce
from his pocket.
"Will you go on?" asked Mataseis, removing the stakes.
This was too much; it awakened the half-dormant suspicions of
Sacatripas.
"Yes," replied he; "why not?"
"Why, because you are not in luck, and I should not like to occasion
you too serious losses, my dear friend."
"I thank you, but don't concern yourself about that, I beg; luck will
return to me, I hope."
"Very well; how much shall we play for this time?"
"Four ounce," boldly said Sacatripas.
"Hum! That is a good deal; mind you are not stumped out."
"Bah! Nothing venture, nothing win. Come, there are my four ounces."
"There are mine!"
Mataseis won again, but this time fairly; fortune favoured him.
Sacatripas bit his lips till the blood came, but he did not appear to
notice it. He prided himself on being a good player. Coolly drawing his
money from his pocket, and piling it before him:
"Ten ounces," said he.
"Oh! oh!" cried Mataseis; "That is a good deal, but I must add two
ounces, for there are but eight on the game."
"That is true; well, add them."
"It is a good deal," resumed he.
"Are you afraid?"
"I afraid!" cried Mataseis, wounded in his self-love, and whose
covetousness was still more excited by the gold spread out before him;
"come on then; you are joking;" and he added the two ounces which were
wanting.
The game became enthralling; there were twenty ounces staked on it.
"La codicia rompe el saco," says a Spanish proverb, which may be
translated: Avarice breaks the purse. The sight of the pieces of gold
which glittered before his eyes made Mataseis forget all prudence: he
had but one thought--to secure, no matter by what means, the sum placed
like a bait before him.
After a moment or two of hesitation, he seized the cards with a
feverish hand, and commenced the game.
Sacatripas, instead of taking a third puro, carelessly made a
cigarette. Apparently indifferent, he followed with a sullen eye all
the movements of his adversary.
Several cards had been turned, without the ocho de bastos, which would
decide the game in favour of Mataseis, appearing. The more the game
advanced, the more the anxiety of the gaucho increased.
Sacatripas laughed gently; he made pleasant jokes on the delay of the
appearance of the tres de copas, which would win the game for him.
The question was between the ocho de bastos and the tres de copas. If
one turned up first, Mataseis would win; if the other, he would lose.
Suddenly, the gaucho turned pale; he saw, on drawing the card that
he was about to turn, that it was the tres de copas--that is to say,
that he should lose; a cold sweat burst upon his countenance: his hand
trembled.
Sacatripas did not flinch; he also had seen the card. We have said that
for these two knowing men the back of the cards virtually did not exist.
"Well," said he, after a pause, "do not you turn it, companion?"
"Yes, yes," answered Mataseis, in a choking voice; then suddenly
starting like a wounded buck, "this time, I am sure," cried he
excitedly, "we are watched."
With a movement rapid as thought, Sacatripas had with one hand picked
up the stakes, and with the other seized and turned one of the cards,
at the very moment when Mataseis tried to slip it under the pack.
"This time, companion," said he, in a sharp and biting tone, "I catch
you; you are robbing me."
"I rob you!" cried the other in a thundering voice, "I, a
caballero--you dare to accuse me of such infamy! You tell a lie,
miserable pícaro! It is you who are a thief."
Mataseis had but one resource--that was to get into a rage, and he did
so. For that matter, he had ample reasons. He had been caught with his
hand in the bag, in the very act of theft, and then--and this made him
especially furious--he had lost twenty ounces; for he knew his brother
too well to suppose that he would ever consent to give him back the
stakes on which he had seized.
"Upon my word," said Sacatripas, with irony, "the game becomes
wearisome; luck was against me; we should soon not have known what to
do. Let us fight a little; that will help us to pass the time."
"Let us fight then," cried Mataseis, seizing his knife, and placing his
poncho half rolled round his left arm for a shield.
"One moment," said Sacatripas, who had imitated all the movements of
his brother, and, like him, was ready for a fight; "let us first settle
the conditions of duel; we are caballeros."
"Very good, let us settle them," answered Mataseis, taking a step
backward.
"Let us first ask ourselves this question--is the quarrel well founded?"
"It is," duly answered Mataseis.
"Be it so, I admit it; it demands blood."
"It shall have it."
"Does it demand that one of us remain on this soil?"
Mataseis hesitated an instant.
"No," he at last replied.
"Very well; we will not fight with the whole blade."
"No, certainly; it appears to me that five inches will be sufficient."
"I think that will be too much," sententiously replied Sacatripas.
"We only fight because our honour is attacked, and because we are
caballeros; but the rage which just now excites us ought not to make us
forget that we are brothers, and that we love one another very much."
"That is true, we love one another very much."
"This is what I propose, then; we will only fight with two inches, and
for the first blood. Is that agreeable to you, my dear fellow?"
"I am at your orders; what you have proposed seems to me just, and I
accept it."
"Well, if that is the case, let God protect the right."
Each of the adversaries seized his knife, so that the hand was placed
just two inches from the point of the blade, preventing the steel
from entering further. After having courteously bowed, they placed
themselves on their guard, the body leaning forward, the legs apart
and slightly bent, the left arm extended to parry, and the right hand,
holding the knife, lightly resting on the right thigh.
The fight began.
The two brothers were expert in the management of the knife; they
knew every movement, and dealt with extreme rapidity blow upon blow
continually dodging one another.
The knife is not a weapon so easy to be managed as might at first be
imagined. The Spanish-Americans have made a profound study of it, and
none can equal them in the way in which they manage it. The weapon
demands great suppleness of body, a wonderful rapidity of movement, and
extreme quickness.
Two antagonists can fight a very long time without being wounded,
thanks to the poncho--a shield whose wavy folds deaden the blows, and
prevent them from reaching the body, completely sheltering the chest.
The two brothers appeared to have completely forgotten the friendship
of which they had every now and then so much boasted, such deadly aim
did they take, and with such force did they deal their blows.
All this time, notwithstanding the coolness which he feigned, Mataseis
was deeply vexed by the very cause which had led to his taking a weapon
in his hand. The shame of having thus been taken in the act of theft
further increased his rage, and took from him, by blinding him with the
hope of a prompt vengeance, the presence of mind necessary to sustain
the fight without disadvantage.
This circumstance had not escaped Sacatripas, who, while pushing his
brother to extremity, and threatening him on all sides at once, never
laid himself open to a blow, and kept himself always on his guard.
"¡Rayo de Dios!" cried Mataseis, suddenly, making a sudden backward
step, "I believe I am caught!"
"I think so too," answered Sacatripas, looking coolly at the point of
his knife; "here is blood!"
At that moment a sound of footsteps was heard, and a man appeared in
the thicket.
"Ha! Ha!" said he, rubbing his hands joyously; "There is fighting here;
do not disturb yourselves, companions; I will be your witness; I should
be much annoyed to disturb you in the least."
At the sound of this voice the two men stood back, trembling.
"You come too late, Don Pablo!" said Mataseis, with a gracious smile;
"We have done."
"Already!" answered Don Pablo Pincheyra--for it was he who had so
suddenly arrived; "That is a pity."
"We were amusing ourselves till you came, señor, merely to keep our
hand in," said Sacatripas.
"Hum!" said the partisan; "The amusement is pretty, and quite to my
taste. You were doing well, I think. Señor Mataseis has a gash on his
cheek, which has a fine effect."
"Oh! A scratch!" replied Mataseis, with a ghastly smile, and, for want
of a handkerchief, wiping his face with his poncho; "Better that I
should be wounded than my brother, who is so good, and whom I love so
much."
"These sentiments honour you as well as your brother," ironically
answered Don Pablo; "it is charming, upon my word, to see a family so
united as yours; I am quite overcome by it."
"You flatter us, señor," answered Mataseis, who did not know whether
to laugh or to cry, but who, in the dilemma, adopted the former
alternative.
"Well," said Don Pablo, "as you have now finished--for you have done,
have you not?--"
"Quite, señor."
"Very well; then, if you please, Señor Mataseis, you shall wash your
face with a little water, and then, as I have not a moment to lose, we
will speak a little of our business."
"We are at your orders, caballero."
"I will be back in a minute," said Mataseis, leaving the thicket, and
running towards a stream not far distant.
"Ah, you have had a quarrel, then, with your brother, Señor
Sacatripas?" asked Don Pablo.
"I, señor!" cried the gaucho, with a start of affected astonishment; "I
quarrel with my brother, my only relation, my only friend--he whom I
cherish more than myself! Oh, señor, you cannot believe it!"
Don Pablo looked at him a moment with admiration.
"Come," said he, "you have acted your parts well; you are well matched;
do not let us say any more about it; it is quite agreed that you are
model brothers."
At this moment Mataseis returned; he had made a poultice of coca
leaves, and had placed it on his face, tying it on with a strip tom
from a blanket; so that he had an extraordinarily original appearance.
"Let us talk then," said Don Pablo, seating himself on the grass, and
making a sign to the gauchos to take their seats near him.
"Let us talk," replied the latter.