THE INDIAN.
As we have said at the end of the preceding chapter, at the moment when
the painter came out of the gallery in the cavern, he found himself
face to face with Tyro, who, having entered by the opposite gallery,
and not finding him in the room, was going to seek for him in the
stable, where he supposed the painter might be.
The two men remained a short time motionless and silent, facing each
other, carefully examining each other, and somewhat embarrassed how
to commence the conversation. However, the situation, already very
embarrassing, threatened, if it continued much longer, to become
critical. The Frenchman saw that he must, at any price, get out of it;
so he resolved on speaking boldly, persuaded that this was the best
means of escaping from his embarrassment.
"You here, at last, Tyro!" he cried, feigning great joy; "I began to
feel uneasy at this seclusion, to which I cannot become accustomed."
"It was impossible for me to come sooner to see you, master," answered
the Indian, giving a cunning glance from under his half-closed
eyelashes. "You have, I suppose, found everything in order here."
"Perfectly. I must confess that I have passed an excellent night."
"Ah!" said the Guaraní; "You have heard nothing? Has there been no
unusual noise to disturb your sleep?"
"Upon my word, no; I have slept right off through the whole night. I
only waked about half an hour ago."
"So much the better, master. I am delighted at what you tell me. If you
did not tell it to me so decidedly, I frankly confess I should scarcely
have believed you."
"Why?" asked he, with feigned astonishment.
"Because, master, the night has been anything but tranquil."
"Ah! Bah!" cried he, with the most natural air that he could assume;
"What has happened, then? You understand that, buried here, at the
bottom of this hole, I am ignorant of everything."
"A desperate battle has been fought close by here, between the
Spaniards and the patriots."
"The devil! That is serious. And this combat has terminated?"
"Otherwise, should I be here, master?"
"That is right, my friend. And who have got the best of it?"
"The patriots."
"Ah! Ah!"
"Yes, and for certain reasons I am very sorry, for your sake."
"For me, do you say, Tyro? What have I to do in the matter?"
"Are you not proscribed by the patriots?"
"Just so, you remind me of a fact; but what does that signify?"
"Why, at this moment the Spaniards are, or at least are supposed to be,
your friends."
"That is true; but conquerors or conquered, I should not be able to
claim their aid."
The Indian remained a moment silent; then he took a step backward, and,
bowing to the young man--
"Master," said he, in a sad voice, "What have I done to lose your
confidence? What have I done that you should now wish to keep secrets
from me?"
Emile felt that he blushed; however, he answered--
"I do not understand this reproach that you address to me, my brave
friend; explain yourself more clearly."
The Guaraní shook his head with a sorrowful air.
"What good will it be," pursued he, "since you mistrust me?"
"I mistrust you!" cried the young man, who felt that he was to blame,
but who did not believe himself authorised to give up a secret which
did not belong to him.
"Certainly, master. Look at these two glasses and two plates; look,
moreover, at these remains of cigars."
"Well?"
"Well, do you think, then, that, if I did not know already, these
things would not be sufficient to prove to me the presence of another
person here besides yourself?"
"How? What do you know?"
"I know, master, that a man, whose name, if I chose, I could easily
tell you, this morning entered the cavern, that you have given him
hospitality, and that at the moment I am speaking, he is still
here--hidden there--look," added he, stretching out his arm--"in that
gallery."
"But then," cried the young man, violently, "since you are so well
informed, you have then betrayed me?"
"So, he is really here?" said the Indian, with a gesture of joy.
"Have you not just told me so yourself?"
"True, master, but I feared that he had already gone away."
"Ah! But what does all that mean? I am quite at a loss to understand
it."
"It is, nevertheless, very simple, master; call this man; all will be
explained in a few words."
"_Ma foi!_" cried the young man, in an ill-humoured tone; "Call him
yourself, since you know him so well."
"You are angry with me, master; you are wrong, for in everything that
occurs I should only act for you and in your interest."
"It is possible, but I am annoyed at the position in which fate
constantly places me, and at the absurd part I am condemned to play."
"Oh, master, do not complain; for this time, I assure you, Fate, as you
call it, has shown rare intelligence; and you will soon have a proof of
it."
"I should like nothing better."
"Will you permit me, master?"--
"Are you not in your own place? Do what you like; I wash my hands of
it."
After having answered, by this outburst, the young man threw himself
on a seat, and lit a cigar with the most careless air he could affect,
although he felt himself in reality quite upset by the situation in
which he found himself.
The Indian looked at him a moment with an indefinable expression, and
then, taking his hand, and kissing it respectfully--
"Oh, master!" said he, in a gentle and somewhat trembling voice, "Do
not be unjust towards a faithful servant."
And then he strode towards the gallery.
"Come, Don Santiago," cried he, with a loud voice, stopping at the
entrance, "you can show yourself; there are none here but friends."
The sound of a quick step was heard, and the Montonero almost
immediately showed himself.
Alter having cast a glance around him, he advanced briskly towards the
Guaraní, and, grasping him heartily by the hand--
"_¡Vive Dios!_" cried he; "My brave friend, I am happy to see you
here!"
"And so am I, Señor," respectfully answered the Indian; "but first
permit me to ask you a favour."
"What, my friend?"
"In return for the service I have rendered you, render me another."
"If it depends on me, I will do so willingly."
"Will you be good enough to explain to this gentleman, who is my
master, what has passed between you and me the last two days?"
"What!" said the Spaniard, with surprise; "This _caballero_ your
master--my friend; the meeting is strange!"
"It may be that I had prepared it, or at least tried to arrange it,"
answered the Indian.
"That's possible, after all," said the Spaniard.
"You know that I do not understand a word of what you are saying,"
interrupted the Frenchman with suppressed impatience.
"Speak, Don Santiago, I beg you."
"This is what has occurred," pursued the Montonero. "For certain
reasons, too long to tell you--and which, moreover, would very little
interest you, I am convinced--I am the friend of this brave Indian, to
whom I cannot, and do not wish to refuse anything. Two days ago, then,
he came to me, at one of my habitual rendezvous that he has long known,
and made me promise to come here with some of the men of my squadron,
in order to protect the flight of several persons in whom he is much
interested, and whom the patriots--I do not know for what reasons--have
proscribed."
"Hum!" cried the young man, rising quickly, and throwing away his
cigar; "Continue, continue; Señor; it this becomes very interesting to
me."
"So much the better; only you do wrong to throw away your cigar on
that account. I have come, then. Unhappily, notwithstanding all the
precautions that I have taken, I have been discovered, and--you know
the rest."
"Yes, but you do not know it, Señor, and I am going to tell you,"
answered the Indian.
"I should like nothing better."
"One moment!" cried the painter, holding out his hand to the Guaraní.
"I owe you an apology, Tyro, for my unjust suspicions. I offer it from
the bottom of my heart. You know how soured I must be through all that
has happened to me the last few days, and I am convinced that you will
excuse me."
"Oh, that is too much, master; your goodness confounds me," answered
the Guaraní, with emotion. "I only wished to prove to you that I am
still your faithful servant."
"There remains not the least doubt of that, my friend."
"Thank you, master."
"Yes, yes," murmured the Spaniard; "believe me, Señor, these redskins
are better than they are generally supposed, and when they once are
attached to you, you can always reckon on them; now, my brave friend,"
added he, addressing Tyro, "tell me what, according to you, I do not
know."
"The result--here it is, Señor; you have been betrayed."
"_¡Vive Dios!_ I feared so; you know the traitor?"
"I know him."
"Good!" said he, joyfully rubbing his hands; "you will no doubt tell me
his name."
"It is useless, Señor; I intend to chastise him myself."
"As you please. I should, however, have much liked to give myself that
pleasure."
"Believe me, Señor--you or me--he will lose nothing," pursued the
Indian, with an accent of hatred it would be impossible to render.
"I will not cavil any longer with you on that; let us return to our
business; I am sufficiently embarrassed at this moment."
The Indian smiled.
"Do you not know me then, Don Santiago?" said he; "The evil has been
repaired as far as it is possible."
"Good! That is to say--"
"That is to say, that I have myself carried the news of your defeat to
your friends; that tonight twenty-five horsemen will arrive here, where
we shall conceal them, whilst fifty others will await your return to
Vado del Nandus, ambuscaded in the rocks."
"Perfectly arranged all that--perfectly, my master," said the Spaniard,
in a joyous tone. "But why should I not go myself, just to meet my
friends? That would simplify matters very much, it appears to me. I do
not expect to be a second time defeated, as I was last night. I do not
propose this out of self-love, you know, especially as I hope someday
or other to have my revenge."
"All that is just, Don Santiago," answered the Indian, "but you forget
that I have asked you to render me a service."
"That is true! I do not know where my brains are at this moment;
excuse me, I beg, and be convinced that I am still at your disposal."
"I thank you. Now, master," added he, turning towards the young man,
"it is necessary that this very day the ladies that you know should
quit San Miguel; tomorrow would be too late. You must go immediately
and resume your disguise, and repair to the convent. It is but about
two leagues from here to the convent. You will arrive just at sunset,
only you must make haste."
"The devil!" murmured the painter, "But how shall I conduct these
ladies here."
"Do not let that disturb you, master; at the gate of the convent a
guide will await you, who will bring you safely here."
"And that guide?"
"Will be me, master."
"Oh, that will be all right then," said the young man.
"You have not a moment to lose."
"Can I resume my nap?" asked the Spaniard.
"Certainly, nothing will prevent you; especially as I shall return in
time to introduce your companions into the cave."
"Very well. Good fortune then."
And he stretched himself comfortably in the hammock, while Tyro aided
his master to complete his metamorphosis, which did not take long.
The two men then left the cavern by the gallery through which Tyro had
entered, leaving the Spaniard already in a sound sleep.
The gallery by which the master and the servant departed led out to
the very bank of the river, and was so completely concealed, that
unless anyone had known of its existence, it would never have been
suspected.
A boat, run aground on the land, at a few paces off, awaited them.
Tyro immediately went towards it; he set it partly afloat, made his
master enter it, stepped into it himself, and then, taking the paddles,
launched it into the current.
"We shall arrive quicker thus," he said; "by this means I can put you
down at a few paces only from the spot where you are going."
The painter made a sign of assent, and they continued their route.
The idea of the Indian was excellent in this respect, that not only
this means of locomotion, which was very rapid, very much shortened
the journey that they had to make, but it also had the advantage of
freedom from espionage, always to be feared on entering the town, and
traversing streets filled with people.
The head of the boat soon grated on the sand of the bank; they had
arrived. The Frenchman landed.
"Good fortune!" murmured Tyro, pushing off again.
Spite of himself, on finding himself again in the midst of a town,
where he knew he was looked for as a criminal, and tracked as a wild
beast, the young man felt some emotion, and felt his heart beat more
than usual.
He knew that he was risking his head on a throw of the dice, in an
enterprise that many others in his place would have considered as mad,
especially in the critical position in which he found himself placed.
But Emile had a generous and intrepid heart; he had promised two ladies
to try all he could to aid them; and, notwithstanding the natural
apprehension which he felt as to the result of his expedition, he had
not for a moment the thought of failing in his word.
Moreover, what had he to fear more than death? Nothing. Exposed
already to the hatred of the patriots, in case of surprise, he still
had the chance of selling his life dearly. Under his disguise, he was
well armed; and, moreover, his course was decided on; the Rubicon was
passed; he could not go back. He threw an inquiring look around him,
assured himself that the environs were deserted, and, after having a
last time touched the pistols placed under his poncho in his girdle, he
boldly entered the street.
Like the bank of the river, the street was a desert.
The young man, affecting the somewhat trembling step of an old man, and
looking carefully around him, took the side of the street opposite to
that of the convent. Then, having arrived before the windows, he twice
repeated the signal which he had agreed upon with the marchioness.
"Suppose," said he to himself, "they have placed someone in
concealment, and my signal has been perceived!"
Then, after a pause, no doubt employed in still further bracing up his
resolution, he crossed the street and approached the gate.
At the moment when he was preparing to knock, the gate opened.
He entered, and the gate shut immediately after him.
"Ouf!" said he, "Here am I in the mousetrap; what is going to happen
now?"
A nun--not the same as had the first time opened to him--stood before
him. Without uttering a word, she made him a sign to follow her, and
proceeded.
They thus traversed silently and rapidly the long corridors and the
cloisters, and at last reached the chamber of the superior. The door
was open.
The conductress of the young man stood on one side to give him
entrance, and when he had gone in, shut the door behind him, remaining
herself outside.
One person only was in the chamber; this person was the superior.
The young man bowed respectfully to her.
"Well," she asked, briskly approaching him, "what has happened? Speak
without fear; no one can hear us."
"What has happened, Madame," answered he, "is, that if these ladies
still have the intention to fly, all is ready."
"God be praised!" cried the superior, with, joy, "And when shall they
go?"
"Immediately, if they are disposed; tomorrow, as I am assured, it would
be too late for them."
"It is but too true, alas!" said she, with a sigh; "So you can answer
for their safety?"
"I can answer, Madame, that I would suffer myself to be killed to
defend them; a man cannot engage to do more."
"You are right, _caballero;_ it is, in fact, more than we have a right
to ask you."
"Now, Madame, be so kind as to inform these ladies as soon as possible;
I do not need to repeat, that time is very precious."
"They are aware of it already; they are now finishing their
preparations; in a short time they will be here."
"So much the better, for I am anxious to get in the open country. I
confess that I do not breathe freely within these thick walls. You
know, Madame, that you have offered me the means of facilitating our
quitting this house. I could not by myself undertake this task, in
which I should fail."
"Do not distress yourself; what I have said I will do."
"A thousand thanks, Madame; permit me one last observation."
"Speak, _caballero._"
"When I first came here, I thought I remarked--perhaps I was
deceived--that the person who acted as my guide did not possess your
entire confidence."
"Yes, Señor, you were not deceived; but," added she, with a significant
smile, "you will now have nothing to fear from the indiscretions of
that nun; her post is occupied by a reliable person; as to the former,
I have given her another position."
The young man bowed.
At the same moment a door opened, and two persons entered.
The darkness which began to prevail in the room prevented the Frenchman
at first recognising these two persons, enveloped in thick mantles,
and their heads covered with hats, which so covered their faces, that
their features could not he distinguished.
"We are lost?" murmured he, taking a step backward, and instinctively
putting his hand to his pistols.
"Stop!" sharply cried one of the two unknown, letting fall the lappet
of her mantle, "Do you not see who we are?"
"Oh!" cried the Frenchman, recognising the marchioness.
"I thought," she resumed, "that for the hazardous adventure which we
undertake this costume would be better than our own."
"And you are most decidedly right, Madame. Oh! now, if there be no
unforeseen complications, I think I may almost answer for the success
of your escape."
The young girl concealed herself timidly and trembling behind her
mother.
"We will leave when you please, Madame," pursued the young man, "only I
think the sooner the better."
"Immediately! Immediately!" cried the marchioness.
"Very well," said the superior, "follow me."
They quitted the chamber.
The marchioness and her daughter each carried a light valise under
their arms.
The marchioness also--no doubt to add to the correctness of her
masculine costume--had a pair of pistols in her girdle, a sabre at her
side, and a cutlass in her right _polena_.
The cloisters were deserted; a death-like silence reigned in the
convent.
"You can go without any fear," said the superior; "no one watches you."
"Where are the horses?" asked the marchioness.
"At a few paces from here," answered Emile; "it would have been
imprudent to have brought them to the convent."
"That is true," answered the marchioness.
They still walked on.
The painter was very uneasy. The last question of the marchioness,
about the horses, reminded him--rather late in the day--that he had
never thought of providing them. Carried away by the rapidity with
which events had occurred since the arrival of Tyro in the cavern,
he had left everything to the Guaraní, without for a moment thinking
of this little matter, which was, nevertheless, so important for the
success of his project of flight.
"Confound it," murmured he to himself, "suppose Tyro has had no
more memory than I! I could not, however, admit this unpardonable
forgetfulness; besides, the principal thing is to escape from here."
The four persons rapidly traversed the corridors, and were not long in
reaching the gate of the convent. The superior, after having cast a
searching look through the grating, to assure herself that the street
was deserted, took a key from the bunch hanging at her girdle, and
opened the door.
"Adieu, and the Lord protect you!" said she; "I have honourably kept my
promise."
"Adieu, and thank you," answered the marchioness. As to the young girl,
she threw herself into the arms of the nun, and embraced her, weeping.
"Go! go!" quickly cried the superior; and pushing them gently, she
closed the door behind them.
The two ladies gave a last sad look at the convent, and, enveloping
themselves carefully in their mantles, they prepared to follow their
protector.
"Which way do we take?" asked the marchioness.
"This," answered Emile, turning to the right--that is to say,
proceeding to the river.
Was it by chance or intuition that he took this direction? A little of
one and a little of the other.
A rather large barque, rowed by four men, was waiting, run aground on
the bank.
"Eh!" said one of the men, in whom Emile immediately recognised Tyro;
"Here is the master--that is not unfortunate."
The latter, without answering, made his companions enter the barque,
and immediately stepped in after them.
On a sign from the Indian, the oars were shipped, and the barque darted
rapidly away.
The ladies gave a sigh of relief.
Tyro had thought that it would be better, on leaving, to resume the
same mode of travelling, especially on account of the ladies, who,
notwithstanding all their precautions, ran the risk of being easily
discovered; only, as he had not thought of acquainting his master with
his plans, he feared that the latter might have arranged to traverse
the streets. He had therefore grounded the barque in such a position
that he could see his master on his exit from the convent; and if he
had seen him turn in an opposite direction to that which he had taken,
he would have run after him so as to bring them back.
We have seen how, this time, Fate--no doubt tired of always persecuting
the young man--had consented to protect him in directing him in the
right way.
Thanks to the darkness--for the sun had set, and already the darkness
was great--and especially to the breadth of the river, the barque
keeping to the middle, the fugitives ran very little risk of being
recognised.
They accomplished their passage in a very little time, and during all
the time they did not meet any other boat than their own, except an
Indian pirogue containing a single man, which crossed them on their
leaving the town.
But this pirogue passed them too far off, and its course was too rapid,
for it to be supposed that the man who was in it could perceive them.
They at last arrived at the entrance of the cavern.
We have said that the barque was rowed by four men.
Of these four men, two were gauchos, engaged by Tyro, and, as the
Guaraní had well paid them, he had a right to reckon on their fidelity;
let us add that, for greater safety, the Indian had told them nothing
about their destination. The third was a domestic of the painter's--an
Indian whom the latter had left at San Miguel, without taking any heed
of him, when he himself took flight. The fourth was Tyro himself.
When the barque touched the bank, the Guaraní respectfully helped the
two ladies to land, and then, going up to the entry of the cavern--
"Will you, ladies," said he, "enter this cavern, where we will speedily
rejoin you."
The ladies obeyed.
"And we?--" asked the painter.
"We have still something to do, master," answered the Indian.
The peculiar stress with which these words were pronounced astonished
Emile, but he took no notice of it, convinced that the Guaraní must
have some serious reason to induce him to answer in so peremptory a way.