When the stallion started forward on his mad gallop, he pointed once
more for the narrow gorge, from which he had already been turned by the
presence of Calificura and Lenketrou. But those Indians, no sooner had
they seen their fellows come to close quarters with the baguales, had
galloped forward to take part in the fray, and themselves secure, if
possible, a prize each, leaving the gorge for the nonce unguarded.
With his head thrown back and his tail furiously lashing his sides, the
stallion held on his way. Although Topsie clung to the lasso like grim
death, and kept it as tight as possible, it seemed to have very little
effect in checking the animal’s speed. His blood was up, and he
evidently meant fighting it out to the bitter end.
His quick eye had swept the gorge, and ascertained that the pass was
clear, and for this outlet, therefore, he made as straight as a die. In
a few minutes it was reached, entered, and traversed at the same
headlong pace, and the hunter and hunted passed out of sight of the
circular plain where the Indians and the others were engaged with the
baguales.
And now Topsie was able to gauge for the first time the enormity of the
task which she had set herself to accomplish. It was perfectly clear
that the wild horse had no intention of giving in, and that his powers
of endurance were unlimited. Then, too, the country they had entered was
rough and hillocky, and some five or six miles ahead a dense,
impenetrable forest appeared to intervene and to bar all further
progress. It would be extremely awkward if the stallion took to the
woods at this headlong pace, and nothing she could do, could apparently
induce him to alter his course in any way.
As they galloped along, Topsie had an opportunity of testing the speed
and stamina of the horse which she bestrode. Putting spurs to it, she
endeavoured to get it to race up close alongside the wild one, when she
thought by luck she might be able to put a bullet from her revolver
through the sensitive part of his crest, and so bring him to the ground
and stun him, in the same way as she had done to the two baguales, which
she and Harry had captured at the outset of their wanderings in
Patagonia two years before. Her horse was a game one and a good one, and
he made a brave effort to obey his rider’s wishes. Gradually he crept up
alongside the angry bagual, and Topsie, drawing her revolver, took as
careful an aim as possible, and fired.
But the pace at which they were going made it impossible to fire true.
The bullet just grazed the stallion’s crest, terrifying him more than
ever, and infusing into him a new strength and an accelerated speed.
Thus they flew along. The thick forest ahead was growing nearer and
nearer, and the position was becoming perilous in the extreme; so
perilous indeed, that much as she hated doing so, Topsie was perforce
obliged to acknowledge herself beaten, and to make up her mind to cast
the stallion loose, and give up the struggle as hopeless.
But when she came to slacken and cast off the lasso, she found that the
knot had become so tight in consequence of the enormous strain put upon
it, that she was utterly unable to free the saddle from the line that
now held her horse coupled to the wild one. What was she to do? The pace
at which they were going was breakneck, and yet she had but two choices
before her. One was to stick to her horse, and take her chance of being
dashed to pieces as they entered the forest; the other was to throw
herself off the animal. This latter alternative probably meant death, or
a multiplicity of broken bones. She chose the former.
Grasping the lasso with both hands, she endeavoured, by a supreme
effort, to draw the noose so tightly round the stallion’s neck as to
choke him; but the running loop refused to do its work, and the wild
horse went faster than ever.
I wonder what poor Shag thought of it all? He was straining his utmost
to keep up with the racing animals, by no means an easy task, for Shag
was a big, heavy dog, and not bred for racing. However, he did his best,
and with his great red tongue lolling out of his mouth, struggled along.
They were within about two hundred yards of the forest, and Topsie had
slipped her feet out of the stirrups, so as to be free for a spill, when
a loud neigh sounded ahead. To this the stallion replied briskly, though
chokingly; for the heavy strain on his neck was beginning to tell, and
he was decidedly short of wind. The next moment a troop of wild horses
swept into the open from a nook in the forest, where they had been
seeking shelter from the hot sun, and stood staring wildly ahead. What
they saw probably produced terrifying effects, for with loud neighs,
screams, and whinnyings, they wheeled about and fled precipitately
towards the forest, into which they quickly penetrated, and became lost
to view.
Buoyed up with hope at the sight of his fellows, the stallion put on a
tremendous spurt. After this everything was confused in Topsie’s memory.
She had a faint recollection of entering the forest, then of hearing a
loud crack, after that a crash and a bang, a whizzing in the brain, and
then no more.
When her senses returned her first feeling was that of movement. She
seemed to be carried along in some one’s arms; but she felt too weak and
knocked about to open her eyes, and indeed, feeling was all too confused
and transitory to enable her to realise where she was or what had
happened.
She must have swooned again, and some time elapsed between her first
awakening and her second; for when she came to once more, she found
herself lying on a soft bed of leaves, beneath a green canopy of
interwoven branches, which sheltered her from the hot rays of the sun.
Her first impulse was to call Shag, and to put out her hand to feel for
him. As she did so, it came in contact with a soft, hairy skin; but
Topsie had enough consciousness to know, that what she touched was not
the rough Labrador coat of her faithful dog, nor had Shag, in response
to her call, come near her.
What then could this soft hair be? It was warm, and apparently belonged
to some living creature.
With an effort Topsie turned her head to look. Then she gave a terrified
cry, and attempted to spring to her feet, but a strong arm restrained
her, an arm in which both gentleness and herculean strength appeared to
be blended; for though it resisted and repelled her attempt to rise, its
grasp was neither rough nor brutal. What was it that drew from the
naturally plucky girl, this cry of terror? What was it whose grasp was
strong yet tender? A tall hairy man was bending over her, a man or huge
ape, or monster baboon. Topsie could not make out what the apparition
was as she scanned it with creeping horror, but it looked to her more
like a human being than a monkey. Yet such a curious human being. As
Topsie, bravely submitting to circumstances, took stock of her strange
captor, she noticed that his face was hairy all over, and, unlike the
ape, showed no sign of bare skin anywhere. The hair was of a lightish
brown, which became darker on the head, where it was slightly longer,
and somewhat curly. The hair upon the neck and arms, like the face, was
much lighter, as was also that on the chest and back. But what inclined
Topsie more than ever to the belief that this strange being was human,
was the short kilt or narrow skirt of skins which he wore round his
loins, and which reached almost to his knees. Just below the knees, and
sinking deep into the hair of his legs, glittered two golden rings, the
same adorning his ankles and arms. Then his aspect was not savage, nor
was his head formed after the hideous appearance of the ape, gorilla, or
baboon. It was a perfectly human face, one, that if it had been
white-skinned, would have been called handsome, while the eyes were dark
with just a snatch of blue, which showed itself from time to time. But
the lips of this extraordinary man were quite black, and there was not a
tinge of red of any kind in them.
“Who are you?” Topsie found courage to say when she found that her
captor apparently meditated no harm to her. “Speak, and tell me who you
are.”
But the hairy man made no reply; not even a guttural sound escaped him.
What was she to do? Where on earth was she? Was it all a dream? Could it
possibly be real? Over and over again the girl put these questions
anxiously to herself, without being able to give to them any
intelligible reply. Then gradually the recollection of the wild horse
hunt came back to her, her tussle with the stallion, and the mad gallop
across the plain.
Where then was Shag? Surely under no circumstances would the faithful
dog have left her, unless he had been killed, or unless—and here
Topsie’s heart throbbed with hope—he had returned to fetch her uncles,
brother, cousins, Aniwee, and the other hunters to the rescue. She lay
back and closed her eyes, and tried to realise the situation. She could
not recall being knocked from her horse, and yet she clearly must have
been, and struck senseless. She could feel that her rifle was gone,
though the cartridge belt was still slung around her shoulders; and when
her hand sought her side, she found that her revolver pouch was empty,
though her knife remained in its sheath.
Remaining very quiet for a time, she heard the silent creature by her
side move gently away, and then surreptitiously unclosing her eyes, she
sought to make out his movements.
He was standing with his back to her, leaning against a tall tree around
which his right arm was thrown, and in his left hand Topsie made out
that he held a light bow and a pair of beautifully fashioned arrows
tipped with gold. And in looking she perceived that she was no longer on
a plain, but high up a mountain side, and beneath her was a deep,
precipitous gorge, and across it ranges of wooded heights, which rose
one above the other, until they came in contact with the snow line of
the glittering Andes.
“I must have been a long time insensible, and he must have carried me a
great distance,” moaned poor Topsie to herself, as the horror of her
position gradually forced itself upon her. And if her surmise was
correct, she reflected with all the more despair, that if Shag was
alive, he would not be able to trace her. In spite of herself, Topsie
groaned aloud. In a moment the hairy man had turned and fixed his dark
eyes upon her. Topsie could not help observing that they were beautiful
eyes, with all the lustre and softness of the gazelle. He had evidently
no intention of harming her; he was clearly no cannibal. On the
contrary, he seemed tenderly solicitous for her safety and comfort. At
least it so seemed, for he came over to her side and offered her a large
rosy-cheeked apple, which he had apparently but lately plucked from a
tree which grew near, and which was loaded with them.
Being terribly thirsty, and not a little hungry, the girl gratefully
accepted the proffered fruit, and pressed it to her hot lips. It was
deliciously cool and juicy, and proved exceedingly refreshing.
Nevertheless, it did not altogether appease her thirst, and she looked
about her to see if she could detect any evidence of water in any
direction.
Failing in her eye quest, she felt that she must appeal to her strange
companion. Half closing her hand, she laid it on the ground, and made
signs as if she was ladling water to her mouth from an imaginary stream.
In a moment the silent, hairy man seemed to understand her, for he bent
over her, lifted her in his arms as though she had been a feather, and
strode through the forest at a quick, swinging pace. In a short time the
sound of running water struck on Topsie’s ears, and a few minutes later
they passed into a sort of natural glade, across whose path foamed and
tossed a sparkling mountain torrent. At the sight of the water Topsie
struggled to get free; but again she felt herself held tight by the same
herculean strength which had restrained her on a former occasion. Her
captor evidently feared that she would attempt to escape.
“Let me go, let me go!” cried poor Topsie, struggling vainly in his
powerful grasp, and then, as the hopelessness of her position rushed
through her mind, she burst into a passionate flood of tears.
In an instant the strange creature let go his hold, and stared at her
with a piteous, deprecating expression. Then he put up both his hands to
his eyes, as though to shut out from them the picture of her grief. Next
he stroked her head, and gave vent to the first sound she had heard him
utter, a sort of purring noise, like the purring of a big cat, and
lastly, he took her by the hand and led her to the water’s edge, and
then let it go.
In spite of her misery, Topsie could not resist the tempting sight of
the cool stream. She threw herself face downwards, and took a long deep
draught. When she rose up the tears still stood in her eyes, but her
sobs were hushed.
This appeared to give the hairy man great pleasure, for he opened his
lips and smiled, showing two rows of well-formed, even, and very white
teeth, distinctly human in appearance. At the same time a low, soft cry
broke forth close at hand, and looking round in the direction whence it
came, Topsie found herself face to face with two more hairy beings.
[Illustration]