BOOK III--THE LAND OF GIANTS.

ALL ALONE ON THE PAMPAS--THE CAMP IN THE CANON.

Alone on the Pampas. Alone in the moonlight. Alone amidst scenery so

black, so bare, so desolate, that looking back now through a long vista

of years, as I sit by my cosy English fireside, I shudder to think of

it.

There was nought of life to be seen anywhere, save that single horseman

on his trusty steed who stopped for a moment on an upland ridge to gaze

around him. Not a tree; hardly a bush; the very grass itself in stunted

patches, with rough boulders lying here and there as if they had been

rained from the heavens. No signs of house nor habitation, only the

sharply undulating plain, wherever the eye might turn, and far away on

the western horizon, hills or mountains snow-clad, glimmering white in

the uncertain light of moon and stars.

The moon? Yes, and I have oftentimes thought, while on the Pampas, that

if one could reach that orb, it would be just such a landscape as this

he would see on every side; and if wind blows there at all, it would be

just such a wind, as is now moaning and sighing over this dreary plain

from the distant Cordilleras.

It was neither a wild nor a stormy night, however. Behind a huge bank

of yellow clouds, that lay high over the mountains, the lightning was

flickering and playing every moment; the breeze was not high nor was it

extra cold, being early summer in this region. It is the desolation and

the exceeding lonesomeness of the situation that strikes to the heart

and feelings of one when he thinks of it.

And the deep silence!

Were there no sounds at all? Very few; only that moaning, sighing,

whispering wind, rising at times into almost a shriek, then dying away

again till it could scarce be heard. A wind in which, had you been at

all nervous, you might have almost declared you heard voices, human or

ghostly. Only the wind, and now and then the cry of some night-hawk or

its victim; or the plaintive, peevish yap of the prairie fox.

Very marked indeed is the silence by night on the Patagonian Pampas.

Not more so anywhere except on the broad, glittering snow-fields of the

Arctic "pack," or the highest plateaus of the Himalayan hills.

So tall and square is the figure of the horseman, whose rifle is slung

across his shoulders, and so active, yet sturdy and strong, does his

horse look, that standing there on the ridge, he has all the

picturesqueness of a mounted Arab.

He shudders slightly now and draws his guanaco mantle closer about him,

gazes once more around as if taking his bearings, then rides slowly on.

Presently he comes near a bush, a stunted barberia and draws rein

speedily, for from under it fierce green eyes glare at him, and a sound,

which is half yawn half yell of anger, makes him place a hand on his

revolver.

He does not fire, however; he waits. Then a huge puma gathers itself up

and edges off, drawing its graceful length along the ground, but making

off still with head turned towards him, and breathing hoarse defiance,

till, with bounds and leaps, he is soon out sight. When the puma has

quite disappeared, he rides on again, but with a little more caution,

avoiding the bushes. Where there is one puma there may be, and

generally is, another.

He does not draw rein again for a good hour. Uphill and downhill, but

mostly on the gravelly level, till all at once he finds himself on the

bank of a canon or ravine.

He bends down now and pats the neck of his horse. The animal neighs,

and is answered from the bottom of the glen; then the horseman slowly

descends, carefully, and with judicious hand restraining the impatience

of his steed. So steep is the bank that the hind legs of the horse

sometimes slip right under him, and loosened stones roll down to the

green sward below.

Low down in the strath here there is a stream of water, a river in fact,

rushing along, its waters sparkling in the moonlight, and everywhere on

its banks the sward is green and beautiful. Here a whole herd of horses

are quietly grazing. They look up as the horseman approaches, and toss

their heads as if happy to have a new companion, while from some little

distance the barking of dogs is heard, and presently a huge animal--

looking huger still in the uncertain light--comes bounding straight

through the herd of horses, and challenges the rider. The dog's hair is

erect from head to stern, and he growls low but ominously.

"Good dog," says Senor Castizo; "don't you know me? Poor Ossian, poor

boy!"

The dog knows him very well indeed, but gives him to understand that

he--Ossian--is on guard to-night, and must be careful.

"It is easy to know you," Ossian seems to say. "My nose has not failed

me yet. I'd know you with my eyes shut. But what are you doing out

alone at night? It looks bad. No, you needn't call me poor boy. I'm

not I'm Ossian, and with the exception of honest Bruce, the other dogs

are not worth a bark. You can follow me now, but be careful."

Ossian ran on in front, growling low to himself, and the horseman

followed. As soon as they had rounded the corner of a rock bluff, they

came in sight of the camp, and now Ossian stopped short and gave vent to

such an alarm-peal that every one speedily rushed outside their tents.

It might be hostile Indians, they thought. When living in the desert

one must be at all times cautious.

But here was no hostile Indian, only honest, bold Castizo.

Peter and I were the first to rush towards him, and bid him welcome. I

caught the horse by the head. The brute was longing to join the herd.

Peter, always impulsive, grasped his friend's hand even before he had

dismounted.

"We were really getting anxious about you."

"And supper's all ready," I added.

"Ah, that's the way. I confess I'm hungry. I gave you two days' start

from Santa Cruz station, and so you see I've overtaken you, and I only

slept one night on the Pampas."

"Weren't you afraid, sir, the pumas would eat you?"

"No, they don't like _live_ meat; but now, young fellows, I'm not going

to be `sir'-ed. We can't live together free and easy if we stand on

ceremony. We are all equal on the Pampas."

"But there is a cacique or chief among the Ishmaelites?"

"Yes; but a cacique holds a kind of sinecure office. He is partly chief

and partly magistrate, gives himself a great many airs; and the women

often laugh at him behind his back. I'll be cacique if you like, but

not `Sir.'"

"Well," said Peter, "I'll be bound we won't laugh at you behind your

back."

As he spoke, Peter divested the horse of saddle and bridle, as nimbly as

if he had been brought up in a stable all his life. It quite took me by

surprise.

The saddle is a mere bundle of wood and skins, covered with rugs and

gear. It is not uncomfortable to ride on once you are acquainted with

it; but although we had been a few days on the Pampas, and had ridden as

neatly as we could, we were still tired and exceedingly sore. The

bridle is also of guanaco skin, and the bit of wood and thong.

Nevertheless these hardy horses of the plains are well used to such

primitive harness.

There is one fault with the saddle, which we soon found out: unless it

be particularly well girt it has a disagreeable habit of wheeling to one

side just when you are at a pleasant canter, or gallop perhaps, and so

emptying you out.

"Here," cried Peter, stuffing the gear into my arms, "take hold of that,

Greenie, and look lively; the cacique is hungry."

"I'm not Greenie," I said; "if I was, Peter, old man, I'd pull your

ears."

"Oh, you're not Greenie! Well, Jack, then, you shouldn't be so like him

in the moonlight. I'm going to put a black spot on one of your noses,

so that I can tell t'other from which. Then I suppose I'd forget which

I put the black spot on."

"Better not try it on me," I said.

The horse was loose now and free, and with a happy nicker he went

trotting off to quench his thirst in the stream, previously to having

his supper.

"Come on, boys, I'm starving. Good Ossian. Ah! you can be friendly

enough now. Where is your _kau_ [tent], Peter?"

"My cow, _mon ami_?"

"Yes, your kau."

"We haven't got a cow. We have some condensed milk."

Castizo laughed.

"Why," he explained, "a kau is a toldo, or tent."

"Well, Cacique, I've heard of people, when overtaken by a blizzard on

the North American prairies, killing a horse, disembowelling it, then

getting inside and hauling the hole in after them; but it's the first

time I ever heard of a cow being used as a tent. We live to learn.

Here's the cow, _mon ami_. Will you walk inside, Senor Cacique?"

"Ah!" cried Castizo, rubbing his hands gleefully.

"Here's a blaze of light and glory! Here's comfort; here's luxury!"

Then, even before he shook hands with Jill and Ritchie, Castizo must

elevate his palms like a Spanish girl dancing, cock his head a little on

one side, and smilingly sing a verse of a song which caused his eyes to

sparkle with merriment, and made those laugh who listened to him.

"We're glad to see you," said Jill.

"_Right_ glad to see you," said Ritchie.

"I know you all are, boys. Thought I would lose myself, I suppose. Ah,

no! I have been too long on the plains, and in forests, mountains, and

wildernesses, to do that. My good Pedro here knows me."

"Master likes to be alone--much," said Pedro, a dark-haired, black-eyed,

black-bearded, sturdy little Chilian.

This man's face was preternaturally white. No sunshine ever scorched

him brown, or even red; but perhaps the darkness of his hair brought out

the pallor more. He had a pleasant smile, and two rows of teeth as

white as a young puppy's.

Lawlor was not far away; and with him also Castizo shook hands. So

equality was established.

Our tent was not of guanaco skins, like that of the Indians who

accompanied us on this expedition. We had a canvas marquee of small

dimensions, but most comfortable, and so neatly made that it could pack

together into a load for one horse, poles and all.

Castizo had been a Patagonian traveller for years. At first, he told

us, he "herded" with the Indians under their tents of skin, and lived

quite as they did, with the exception of the drinking of rum; but he

soon found it better to import a little civilisation into his mode of

life. So he did; and I advise any one who meditates going to the

Patagonian Pampas to do the same.

Here we were in our handsome tent, with every comfort before and around

us which it is capable of transporting into the wilderness.

The table was a piece of canvas spread on the ground in the middle of

the tent. Candles--real candles--burned in the centre, stuck in a

rudely formed sconce of wood, which in its turn was stuck through the

canvas into the ground. Our seats were our huge, gown-like guanaco

mantles, which by and by would serve us for blankets, when we lay down

to sleep on our couches of withered grass.

Our dishes and plates were all of tin, easily packed and easily carried,

and we had knives and forks. Had our table been a raised wooden one, it

would have groaned, not so much with the variety of good things, but

with their solidness and substantiality. Here were steak of guanaco,

and stew of horseflesh--one of our pack animals had broken a leg the day

before, and we were wise to make use of him--and here were roast ducks.

Cakes we had, too, made of flour which had been half-roasted before it

left Valparaiso. These cakes were made by Pedro, who was our very

excellent cook. I think there must have been something else in them as

well as flour. However they were very nice, and tasted and looked

somewhat like a happy combination of Scotch haggis, Australian damper,

and Irish scone.

We had no beer to drink; we had no wine; but we had _yerba mate_, which

combines the invigorating qualities of both, with all the soothing,

calming influence of a cup of good coffee or tea.

It is a kind of tea made of the dried leaves of the Paraguayan ilex, and

is infused and drunk just as tea is; though the Patagonian Indians and

hunters usually drink it through tubes pierced with little holes, so

that they can have the infusion without the powder or leaves.

"Well, boys," said Castizo, whose English, by the way, was

irreproachable, "we've made a fairly good start. And your captain, with

his adorable little wife--what an amiable creature she is--will be

nearly half-way home by this time. Are you sorry you haven't gone with

them to see the mother?"

"Ah!" I said, "I know mother well: she will be pleased to hear we are

enjoying ourselves, and learning something at the same time. Won't she,

Jill?"

"Assuredly; and so will aunt."

"Well," said Castizo, with a laugh, "as to learning something, there is

no doubt about that. You will learn to be men. The Pampas is the best

school in the world."

"Whose sentry-go is it to-night?" said Peter.

"Mine, I believe," said Jill, looking at his watch; "I go on in half an

hour. Then Lawlor."

"That's right," said Lawlor.

In less than an hour, we were all curled up in our toldo or kau, wrapped

in our good guanaco robes, and fast asleep.

Out in the moonlight, however, Jill, with his rifle at the shoulder,

paced steadily to and fro on sentry, and not very far off, leaning

against one of the posts of the great skin tent, stood a Patagonian,

also on duty. He looked a noble savage, erect and stately, and tall

enough in his robe of skin to have passed for a veritable giant. Lying

carelessly across his left arm, its point upwards, and gaily decorated

with ostrich feathers, was his spear. A formidable weapon is this

Patagonian spear, of immense length and strength, and tipped with a

knife of stoutest steel. A swordsman has little chance against so

terrible an instrument of warfare, for your giant antagonist can strike

home long before you can get near enough to do execution. If very

active and you can succeed in parrying one blow, you _may_ seize the

instrument, and rush in and slay your man; but, as the Scotch put it,

"What would he be doing all this time?" He will not wait till you get

quietly up to him, depend upon it. So I say that the best fencer that

ever switched a foil is not a match for a Patagonian spearsman.

The Patagonians who formed part of our present camp were good fellows

all. They were hired by Castizo, some at Puento Arenas, and some from a

tribe stationed at or near Santa Cruz. Those from the former place, our

cacique--as we may as well now call Castizo--had taken north with him in

his yacht to Santa Cruz, and altogether our Indians numbered twenty-four

souls. No women, no children, save those of the chief and his second in

command. Our cacique knew better than to encumber himself with many of

these on the march.

That these Patagonians would remain faithful to us, we had little doubt.

For, first and foremost, they are, on the whole, good-natured and

friendly to white men; secondly, they had only been paid in part, and

would not get the remainder of their stores till we returned to Santa

Cruz.

A glance at the map will show where this last place lies. But do not

think it is a town. At the time of which I speak, it consisted indeed

of but one _estancia_, on an island. It has an excellent harbour,

however, and ships in distress often come here. Others, again, come

regularly to meet the Indian tribes, and purchase from them skins,

ostrich feathers, and curios.

There is a regular Indian encampment here. They all live in tents, and

for the matter of that compare favourably with the gipsies we meet on

our own Scottish borders at home.

How sound one sleeps on the Pampas! I scarcely knew my head was on the

pillow till it was morning again, dogs barking and yelping, Indians

shouting, horses neighing, and the bold, strong voice of the Patagonian

chief as he harangued his men, heard high above all.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A WILD RIDE--COOKING AN OSTRICH WHOLE--QUIET EVENINGS ROUND THE CAMP

FIRE.

He was indeed a noble savage, this Patagonian chief. His name was

Jeeka; at least it sounded like that. Peter said "Jeeka" was near

enough, and to give it a better ring we added "Prince"--Prince Jeeka.

Peter admired him very much, as all young men admire nobility of figure.

"I'll tell you what it is, Jack," he said to me to-day; "if I had a

figure like that fellow, it isn't going to sea I'd be."

"What would you do?"

"Take to the stage. What an Othello the fellow would make! Look at him

now. What an air of quiet command, and such a voice! That is his

favourite wife in the corner, with baby in her arms. She looks at him

with fondness, not unmingled with awe. Even the dogs are listening, as

if they understood every word he said."

"It's more than I do, Peter."

In good weather--and this particular morning was beautiful--no one feels

inclined to laze on the Pampas. Your sleep has been sweet and sound;

your breakfast, principally of meat, as fat as you please, has been a

hearty one, yet you do not feel heavy after it. On the contrary you

have but one wish--to be up and away.

Our route to-day would lead us somewhat aside from this Rio Santa Cruz

(the river of the Holy Cross), in a direction about west and by north,

straight away, in fact, for the distant Cordillera range of mountains,

which was to be our ultimate destination.

Ever since our start, and even before we started, we--Ritchie, Peter,

Jill, and myself--had been practising morn, noon, and night with bolas

and lasso. The latter needs no description, and a good horseman soon

gets up to throwing it well, although there is a danger of being dragged

headlong out of the saddle, when it becomes tightened between the

lassoed animal and the thrower. The bolas are balls, two or three, of

either stone or lead covered with skin, attached to the ends of some

yards of thong. They are whirled rapidly round the head for a moment or

two, then deftly allowed to fly off at a tangent, so that when they fall

upon an animal, be it ostrich, guanaco, or even the South American lion

called puma, they so hamper his movements that further flight is out of

the question. The horseman speedily advances and puts a speedy end to

the creature's sufferings.

To-day the journey was a peculiarly arduous one. The sun was blazing

down from an unclouded sky, making it positively hot for the climate;

but after being heated, when we stopped a short time the cold east wind

went searching through bones and marrow. We felt, as Peter expressed

it, "suddenly placed inside an American patent freezer."

The route was very rough: the same barren wilderness that we had been

traversing for days; the same sort of sand-clay or gravel, under foot;

the same stunted bushes, grass and thistle tufts; the same stony ground,

the same up hill and down dell, over banks, up steep terraces, across

plateaus, down into cartons and past _salinas_, near which was a greater

abundance of vegetation, though nothing approaching to luxuriance.

These salinas are salt lagoons or lakes. I feel sure, from their

appearance, many of them are the craters of extinct volcanos. And

indeed the whole country where we were to-day seemed as if at one time

it had been overflown by lava, and subsequently rent and torn by

earthquakes.

Castizo told Jill and me that all the land here at various periods of

time had been raised from the level of the sea by the giant forces of

nature operating beneath, and that this accounted for the terrace-like

formation we now and then came to. But Jill and I were too young at

that time to study geology. Besides, we had no more love for "ologies"

at this period of our lives, than we had when poor Aunt Serapheema used

to strike one o'clock on our knuckles at home. As we wanted to put as

much land between us and the Atlantic as possible, we did not stay

to-day for big hunting. Besides, we were not in the very best of

hunting countries yet, though we saw several herds of guanaco, and a

good many ostriches.

We had one little hunt, however. It was disobeying the orders of our

cacique to break away from the line of march, but in this particular

case we could not well help it. Besides, if any one was to blame, it

was Ossian.

A fox, a huge beast like a wolf, ran across our path.

"Hurrah!" Ossian seemed to cry, "Yowff, yowff. Come on, Bruce. Here's

a chance!"

Away went the two dogs like two birds. Away went Jill after his pets

like a third bird, while I brought up the rear.

We heard Castizo order a halt, so we thought it would be all right, and

rode heedlessly on after the dogs. We must have ridden fully two miles

when we came up with Ossian. Poor Bruce was nowhere in it; near him lay

the fox, dead. I speedily dismounted, and secured the tail, which I

fastened to Jill's saddle. Then Bruce came up panting, and complained

to us that his legs were not long enough. Guanacos, he said, were more

his form; and this proved to be true enough, for he afterwards proved

invaluable at this form of hunting.

As we were returning, we noticed an ostrich at some distance to the

right. Our bolas were handy, and so off we went at a tangent, in

pursuit. Another and another sprang up, and to my intense delight and

Jill's glory he succeeded in entangling one I shot the bird with my

revolver, but I think even now I see the wild and frightened look the

poor creature had in its quaint, queer face. We did not stop to possess

ourselves of any of the meat, but secured the feathers, tied them in a

bundle, and prepared to return in triumph.

Well, to retrace our trail was easy enough. We reached the spot where

we had left our companions.

They were gone.

But where, whither? We could see the plains all round us when we rode

up to the top of a ridge for very many miles, but never a vestige of the

cavalcade.

"Jill," I said, "we're left and lost."

"But they cannot surely have gone out of sight in so short a time!"

"Where are they then?"

"It seems to me as if the earth has opened and swallowed them up."

And that was really and truly what had happened, with this difference:

the earth had opened thousands of years before, and our companions were

swallowed to-day. They were quietly preparing lunch down in the bottom

of a green-carpeted canon.

We were very glad to find them, and Peter told us after, he had been

looking out for us all the time from behind a boulder at the top of the

bank.

When Prince Jeeka found out we had killed an ostrich, and had not

brought in the flesh, he was astonished.

"You young," he said, smiling, "young, young--" Then he ordered an

Indian to go and find it; which he did, and not long after brought it to

camp.

Meanwhile the Indians had made a splendid fire in the lee of a rock,

with roots and bushes pulled from the adjoining bank. I had once seen

an ox roasted whole, but never before an ostrich.

The huge bird was speedily disembowelled. The entrails fell to the

share of the mongrel greyhounds, or coarse-built whippets, and a deal of

quarrelling they had over them. The blood was drunk by the chief and

his wives. It certainly did not improve their copper-coloured

complexions. Meanwhile stones were heated and placed inside the bird,

the whole being finally lifted on to the bright fire, and partly

covered. In about an hour it was cooked.

We were all hungry, and glad to share with the Indians. I cannot say I

relished it very much; but hunger is sweet sauce, and it is never half

so sweet as when squatting gipsy-fashion round a meal spread in the open

air.

After a few hours' rest we went on again, and so on and on day after

day.

We seemed to be making forced marches, and seldom stayed to do much

hunting, except simply for sake of fresh meat.

Unless one keeps a diary on the road--and that is what neither Jill nor

I did--it is impossible to remember a tithe of the many little events

that happen, or the character of the scenery. During the first six or

eight days of this journey, however, there was but one character in the

scenery, and that I have already noted; and great events were few and

far between, so that only a few impressions remain recorded on the

tablets of my memory.

I will never forget our quiet camp life of an evening, when the tents

were raised, and we settled down for enjoyment. Sometimes even yet,

when sleepless in bed of a night I allow my mind to revert to them, and

they never fail to woo me to sweet and dreamless slumber.

The dinner was, of course, _the_ great event of the evening, and it was

wonderful how well Pedro cooked that meal, considering the few things at

his command. Lawlor and he were our servants in a manner of speaking,

but immediately after dinner they joined the group around the camp fire,

and there we sat chatting and telling stories till ten o'clock or past.

Every one had something to tell, and Castizo, though full of adventurous

stories and reminiscences himself, never failed to draw "yarns," as

sailors call them, from others.

Even Jill and I found our tongues, and told Castizo about the little

escapades of our schoolboy days. He listened to these, I think, far

more eagerly than he did to the wilder exploits of Ritchie, Lawlor, and

Pedro.

He laughed heartily over our piratical experiences, running with, or

being run away with by the hulk, and firing our pistols at the

flag-ship.

"Your sister Mattie," I remember him saying one evening, "must be a

darling child, and as full of spirit and fun as a young puma."

"She is all that," "She is all that," said Jill and I together.

It used to amuse Castizo to hear my brother and me, when mutually

excited, speak thus together in one breath and in the same words. He

would laugh, and then say--

"You boys seem to be animated with but one spirit between you."

"One spirit is quite enough for Jill and me," "One spirit is quite

enough for Jack and me."--this would be our answers.

It was not very often that Castizo was in the humour to tell us a story;

but when we did get him to consent, we had descriptions of the most

thrilling adventures, both by sea and land, that it is possible to

imagine.

"Do," I ventured to say once, "do the senora, your wife, and the

senorita--"

"Dulzura," said Peter.

"Miss you greatly, when from home?"

A strange change came over his countenance. From happiness and mirth it

suddenly changed to melancholy the most acute. I felt sorry immediately

I had spoken, and hastened to say--

"My dear friend, I have hurt your feelings; pray pardon my

thoughtlessness."

"Nay, nay," he made haste to reply; "it is nothing. But my wife is

gone. If ever angel lived and breathed on earth, it was Magdalena. Her

death was to me an abiding sorrow. But I seem to see her and feel her

presence even yet, and she is often with me when I am alone."

This gave me the clue to what we had considered a mystery, namely,

Castizo's great fondness for spending a portion of almost every night

all alone out in the Pampas. Whether it rained or blew, in fact

whatsoever the weather was like, Castizo always went out. This habit he

commenced, as I have already shown, when we first started, when he rode

two lonesome days and nights after us; and the habit he kept up till the

last.

But Castizo was always willing to oblige us with a song. He had a

splendid voice, and sang as well in English as in Spanish or Chilian.

Pedro's stories were also well worth listening to. His experiences had

been many and varied; but, alas! many of them were, to say the least,

very hazy, and there was a deal in the history of his life far too dark

to tell. Yet he was a faithful fellow, and would any day go through

fire and water to oblige us.

Peter never had a story to tell. When asked to "spin us a yarn" he

would tap his clarionet, and say, with a smile--

"I tell all my stories, like the Arcadian shepherds, through my pipe."

"Well, then, play," Castizo would remark.

"Yes, play," Jill would add emphatically; "our cacique commands you."

"All right, Greenie dear," Peter would reply, and play forthwith.

I do not think I ever heard sweeter melody anywhere than that which

Peter discoursed on his pipe, as he called it, around the camp fire on

the lonely Pampas.

Some of the Indians would be sure to come from their toldos, and draw

near our door, whenever Peter began to play, especially Prince Jeeka and

his favourite wife, Nadi.

They were invariably asked in, and just as invariably did poor Nadi

bring with her some sewing to do, generally in the shape of a few pieces

of guanaco skin, which she was sewing together to make a roba or mantle

for her husband or herself.

Very gentle, quiet, and amiable was Nadi, and bound up in her child and

noble husband. I say "noble" advisedly; for all the time we knew him he

was always the "prince," generous, kind to his wife and child, brave and

unselfish in the extreme. And yet they told me that he had in his time

done some terrible deeds, and had even with his own hand slain the

cousin of his wife Nadi. When I looked at Jeeka, I could not find it in

my heart to believe this.

Nadi used to sing. It was more a wail than anything else; though while

doing so she used to nod her head, and smiles would steal over her dark

but pretty face, while her eyes sparkled with excitement and fun. Her

husband would join in the chorus, as if he, too, enjoyed it. Perhaps

Castizo and Pedro knew what it was all about; I am sure none of the rest

of us ever did.

Sometimes Jill, or Peter, and I used to go over to the toldos of the

Indians. We always took with us a bit of tobacco, and sometimes a

little bag of flour. We generally found them lazing in groups, smoking

and playing cards or dice. But as soon as ever their own cacique,

Jeeka, gave the word, all playing was almost instantly stopped, and soon

after they had rolled their mantles more tightly round them, and gone

off to sleep.

In the morning before the start, Jeeka invariably helped his wife into

the saddle; then she, with her child and the other two women, rode

leisurely on.

To be alone in the desert, is to be alone with God; and every one of us

soon came to follow the habit of Castizo, and retire nightly a little

way from the camp, there to commune with our Father above. Like as in

the old, old times, Jill and I invariably went together, knelt together,

and returned together.

Jeeka was a strange being. He was clever, for he could not only speak

Spanish but tolerably good English, and he could think.

"What you go out for," he said to me one morning, "last night?"

"To speak with the Great Good Spirit," I replied. "He who made all

things, and who keeps us in life and free from danger. Do you not speak

with the Great Good Spirit?"

"Hum-m-m. Sometime. I think there is one, two, Great Spirit."

"Yes, a Spirit of Evil, and a Great Good Spirit."

"Hum-m-m. I sometime speak the one for good. Sometime I speak the

other."

"That is not right, Jeeka. We are told only to pray to the Great Good

Spirit."

"You told? Who tell you?"

I was getting out of my depth now, so I put him off for the present.

"Some day soon," I said, "Jill, my brother, and I, will tell you all the

strange story of the world."

"You tell Nadi, my wife, too?"

"Yes, we will tell you both, and you shall tell your tribe."

"Hum-m-m. Good!"

Next minute Jeeka had shaken off all concern and religious feeling, and

was addressing his men in loud stentorian tones as to the duties of the

day before us. For a great hunt was on the tapis.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE "MURDER TREE"--WILD AND EXCITING SPORT--JILL AND THE PUMA--HOSTILE

INDIANS.

This was to be a memorable day in the history of our adventures, for

troubles began that we did not see the end of for many a long month

afterwards.

We were now in a splendid hunting district; herds of guanacos had been

seen, with innumerable ostriches, besides animals of various kinds.

We had even noticed some wild horses in the distance, but they had

evidently sniffed danger from afar, for they speedily drew off, and

disappeared to the nor'ard in a cloud of dust.

Very early in the morning we crossed a river. I am unable at this date

to give the name of it, but think it must have been some tributary of

the now distant Rio Santa Cruz or of the Chico.

We Englishmen were all tolerably good horsemen now, thanks to Jeeka, who

had given us lessons, and thanks to our good steeds themselves. They

were wonderfully well trained. Peter and Lawlor were the worst riders,

and got many a tumble and shaking; but instead of bolting when their

riders fell off, the horses simply stood and looked at them, as much as

to say: "What fun you can find in tumbling off our backs in that

higgledy-piggledy way, we utterly fail to discover."

An accident of this kind caused the greatest merriment among the

Indians. They waved their spears in the air, and shouted with laughter.

Even gentle Nadi clapped her hands, and cried "Engleese! Engleese!"

She meant, of course, that there was nothing too eccentric for an

Englishman to do, for the notion that they had fallen off accidentally

never for a moment crossed her thoughts.

We got over the river easily enough, only Peter did not gird up his

mantle in the true Patagonian fashion, and so when he reached bank he

looked more like a half-drowned pole-cat ferret than anything else on

earth. Again Nadi must clap her hands and laugh, and cry "Engleese!

Engleese!"

On now over a vast undulating plain, with more bush than we had yet

seen, and, wonder of wonders! one single tree, growing at the east side

of a rock. I noticed that all the Indians gave the tree a wide birth.

I asked one Indian to come with me towards it; he only answered "Malo,

malo," and rode away in another direction. So Jill and I went to see

it. A more weird-looking tree I never had come near. It was almost

dead; just a few green leaves, the rest of its branches bare and

blackened, as if by fire. Near it, and half buried in the gravel, were

several skulls and bones.

It was a murder tree!

Castizo told us this in the evening. Some Chilians, who were suspected

of having proved false to a certain tribe, were taken to this dreary

spot at midnight, and quietly "knifed."

The story made us shudder, and both Jill and I dreamt about it

afterwards.

Preparations were now set about to form a grand battue.

This is a form of hunting which I admit I do not admire, but it is

common in nearly every country, Scotland and England not excepted. In

this case it was to some extent a necessity. We wanted fresh meat, and

the Indians wanted skins and feathers.

To say that we "youngsters" were not excited from the very commencement,

would be to throw doubts upon our very nationality.

We were excited.

So much so, that the preliminaries seemed to us interminably long and

dull. First of all a halt was called, and Jeeka held a short palaver

with our cacique. As they spoke in Patagonian we could not tell what

was said, but from the gestures they made it was evident that Castizo

was placing the principal command of the hunt in the hands of Prince

Jeeka.

Now guns and revolvers, lassoes and bolas, were seen to. After this,

Jeeka disrobed himself, tying his mantle on his saddle, and almost at

the same time four Indians followed his example. Off they presently

rode in different directions, two bearing away to the right, and three,

including Jeeka, to the left. They seemed to make or describe the arc

of a circle. After they had been gone some time, a fire was seen in one

place on the right, and another to the left. Four more Indians at once

divested themselves of the roba, and rode after the others. So

gradually they all dispersed. We followed in due time, "dislocating"

ourselves just as the Indians had done, leaving the women with the spare

horses, and one boy to follow slowly along the tract.

We soon sighted the Indians, who were careering to and fro, and

gradually closing in. But the portion of country--a wide, rough,

rolling, bushy plain--was very extensive, so that the afternoon was well

begun before the real sport was.

We soon, however, noticed herds of guanaco here and there, and scared

looking, strangely bewildered ostriches. The guanacos stampeded, the

birds fled hither and thither, but were turned with yells and shouts

wherever they went.

Presently a herd began to break between Jill and myself and some

Indians.

Now was the time to display our skill. Our horses seemed to know more

about this strange species of hunting than we did, for they carried us

quickly near the flying herd. I swung and flung my bolas, and missed,

and had to dismount. Jill was more fortunate, and soon killed his first

guanaco. The Indians were very busy indeed; so was Castizo. I had

never seen finer horsemanship than his was out of the circus itself. He

and his steed seemed imbued with the same spirit. Indeed, it did not

appear to be a man on horseback we saw before us, but some Centaur of

old. As Ritchie said afterwards, man and horse were all of a-piece.

I made up soon after for my awkwardness, and an ostrich succumbed to my

bolas.

Gradually as the circle narrowed, wilder and more exciting grew the

sport. Wilder and wilder yet. It came to be almost a _melee_ at last.

It came to a slaughter and murder of the innocents. And we white men,

tired of bolas work, laid birds and beasts dead around us by the dozen

with our guns.

It has been said that the puma will not attack a man on horseback. But

in cases like the present there is many an exception.

Jill had an adventure which I will never forget. Nor shall I ever

forget the splendid display of his huge strength and skill as a rider,

which Prince Jeeka made on this occasion.

From behind a green calpeta bush an immense puma charged down on my

brother. I noticed that, but I was powerless to help him, though my

rifle lay on my arm. But I noticed something else at the same moment--

Jeeka coming thundering down to the charge. He was rapidly shortening

his bolas till he swung but one ball.

The puma paused to spring--so terrible a countenance, such fierce,

vindictive eyes, such awful teeth! Hurrah! Jeeka is on him or over

him. There is a dull thud as the ball crashes against the brute's

skull. Next moment the beast is on his back, spitting blood and

spasmodically kicking his last; while Jeeka is riding on as

unconsciously as if he had not saved my dear Jill's life.

I frequently saw Peter driving the battue. I sometimes saw him in the

saddle; at other times I saw him on his back on the gravel, and once I

noticed him crawling out of a bush into which his horse had shied him.

At least he told us his horse had shied him there; but Jill only laughed

at him, and said the facts were, he had no seat.

"No mistake about the seat," said Peter. "It's all there, and a

precious hard one it is."

Prince Jeeka told us that he had never conducted a more successful hunt

in his life, and that there would be plenty of work now for his

followers in curing skins, so that playing cards must for a time be

abandoned.

As we rode on to a camping ground that night we saw the smoke of fires

in the distance, and after about half an hour drew rein near a camp of

strange Indians. They were men from the north, Castizo informed us,

hardly so well mounted as we were, but even better armed than our own

Indians.

As they at once sprang to their saddles on our approach, and as Jeeka

marshalled his men in battle array, the danger of a fight appeared

imminent.

Castizo, however, was equal to the occasion for once. He galloped in

front of our Prince Jeeka and waved him back, the proud Patagonian chief

obeying reluctantly. Then he stationed us white men on each flank of

our little army, the women having already been beckoned off to a safe

distance in the rear.

Castizo's next move was a brave one. With revolver in his right hand he

rode straight up to the northern cacique, and at once covered him. This

chief's spear had been pointed at Castizo's breast, but after a few

words from the latter it was raised. The spears of all his band were

immediately after elevated also. Then the palaver began. There was

much excited talking between Castizo and the strange cacique, and

several times I expected to see Castizo put a bullet through his heart,

for he still had him covered.

After a time matters grew more quiet, but I could frequently hear the

name of Nadi mentioned. At last Castizo shouted, and with downcast head

Nadi appeared--still on horseback--before them. Prince Jeeka was about

to plunge forward and join his wife, but a word from Castizo restrained

him. Had he done so, the consequences would have been terrible.

There was more wild talk, much of it addressed by the northern cacique

to Nadi, who answered never a word, but sat as still as a statue, the

tears raining down over her face and falling on her baby's shoulders.

I was very sorry for Nadi, though I could not tell what it all meant.

At last the long stormy interview ended. Nadi made a gesture as if

about to ask forgiveness from the strange cacique, but he turned from

her.

Then the Indians of our party filed slowly past the others, Jeeka, with

his wife riding beside him, exchanging glances of deadly hatred with the

other cacique as he left him on his right hand.

When all had gone on, but not one moment before, Castizo slowly lowered

his revolver, made a salaam, which was--not without some considerable

degree of courtesy returned,--and came on after us.

I noticed soon after this that Nadi, with a fond smile, handed her baby

to Jeeka, and that he kissed it and returned it. This was a very pretty

little Patagonian love-passage that spoke volumes.

Peter asked Castizo for an explanation of the feud soon after, but was

laughingly referred to Jeeka himself.

"That man, that cacique, is my Nadi's blood-brother,"--he meant her real

brother, for the term "brother" is often used among the Patagonians in

the sense of sincere friendship. "I visit far north. I see Nadi; Nadi

see me. I not can live without Nadi. I offer fifty horse for her. The

brother refuse. Then I call my men; I ride to the brother's camp. We

fight, and kill much men. Then I carry Nadi away. I not give _one_

horse. Ha, ha!"

"Then it was, after all, a case of elopement. It was young Lochnivar

all over again, only ten times more so."

"We see, then, Peter," I said, "that the self-same feelings agitate the

breasts of these savages as dwell in our own."

"Yes," said Peter, "human nature is the same all the world over."

That evening, after supper, Jill asked Peter what his feelings were

particularly.

"I don't know," was the reply, "which end of me is uppermost. I feel

all bruised and sore, and just as though I had gone in at one end of a

thrashing machine and come out at the other."

"Won't you sing us a song to-night, then?" said Castizo, laughing, "or

play on your pipe?"

"Play, _mon ami_? Pipe, my friend? It'll be when I'm asleep, then."

"I tell you what it is, you know," said Ritchie. "You wouldn't find it

'alf so 'ard on ye if you were to stick more in the saddle."

"Ah! well," said Peter, "I'll perhaps learn to. Anyhow, I mean to try.

Good-night, boys; I'm off to the land of dreams."

Extra precaution was used to-night to prevent a surprise. Although he

had been riding all day, Castizo intimated his intention of keeping the

middle watch. He knew the Patagonians well, and knew that, while he

lived, Jeeka would not be forgiven by the chief whom he had made his

brother-in-law in so heroic a manner. Sooner or later vengeance would

come, and it would be sooner rather than later if the northern Indians

should have their will.

But the night wore away peacefully, and next day a scout, who had been

sent out early to see what was doing at the hostile camp, returned with

a morsel of half-burnt wood in his hand. He silently handed it to

Jeeka. It was cold to the heart.

The enemy had gone early.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

A BLINDING SUMMER-SNOWSTORM--PETER AS A HORSEMAN--PETER IN A FIX.

Such is the exhilarating and toning power of the air on the Pampas, that

though we had all lain down tired enough, we felt as fresh next morning

as mountain trouts.

The only feeling that remained from our exertions of yesterday was a

kind of gentle and not unpleasant languor. We were therefore in no

great hurry to depart. But as towards ten o'clock the clouds began to

bank up and obscure the sun in the north and east, and our present camp

was not one of the best-positioned, Castizo gave the order for

departure.

We had not gone far till up started an ostrich right from under Jill's

horse's nose, and lo! and behold, our first find of a nest--if nest it

could be called.

As there were but fifteen eggs in it, we were sure they would be fresh,

so we quickly appropriated them, the poor bird himself and his mate, who

was not far away, both falling victims to the bolas of the Indians.

Perhaps it was just as well; it took them away from sorrow.

A most exemplary parent and husband is the ostrich. The hen bird lays

over a score of eggs, and the cock considers it his duty to do the

greater part of the hatching. At all events, he sits on the nest for

about eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, and before he leaves the

nest carefully turns every egg over. Then he goes away to stretch his

legs and scratch a bit for his breakfast, which it must be allowed he

has fairly earned. While he is gone it is the hen's turn to brood, so

that between them, in about a month's time, they usually succeed in

raising a very large family of the most idiotic-looking chickens it has

ever been my good fortune to cast eyes upon.

There is no close time for the ostrich on the Pampas of Patagonia, and

it will probably be a very long time indeed before there is one.

Meanwhile, despite hunters, white and brown, wild cats, pumas, and

foxes, the birds thrive and abound in such quantities, that the wonder

is that more sportsmen from this country do not go to Patagonia to try

their luck.

As we advanced on our journey to-day the weather seemed to grow colder

and colder. The wind went down at last. It had not been high all the

morning. Then little morsels of snow began to fall. They were no

bigger than millet-seeds, but Jeeka shook his head when he saw them,

pointed upwards, then around him, and said something to our cacique in

Patagonian.

The millet-seed snow gradually merged into flakes; bigger and bigger did

these grow, till at last we were in the midst of a blinding summer's

snowstorm.

It was impossible to see even a few yards ahead, so we formed into line,

one going in front of the other, Jeeka and Castizo being ahead. Castizo

had a compass. Jeeka seemed to carry a compass in the brain. He

appeared to know every rock, every bush, and every tussock of grass,

disguised though they now were in a mantle of snow.

By and by Castizo came to the rear, where, with heads down and with our

arms often across our faces, leaving it entirely to the horses to follow

the trail, Peter, Jill, and I were struggling on.

"How do you like it?" he said cheerfully to Jill, who was the centre

figure.

"I've been more agreeably situated many a time," replied Jill.

"And I've been more agreeably _seat_-uated too," cried Peter, with a

glance behind him, which almost cost him the seat he was punning about.

For when on horseback, poor Peter was always like the rocking-stone on

the Cornish hills--touch and go. Only the rocking-stone never does go.

Peter did frequently, and although the sly dog at first pretended that

he could ride, he had the reckless courage to confess now that he had

been mistaken. He would not venture to look up in the air, he said, for

anything; and whenever he was rash enough to glance behind him, as he

did now, he had to clutch at the saddle with both hands.

"Peter!" I shouted, "you'll fall, little boy."

"He deserves to," said Jill, "after making so despicable a pun."

"Well," said Castizo, laughing, "seat or no seat, Peter, you will have

to remain in that saddle for many hours to come. You'll have to dine

there, too."

"Will I, indeed? Well, _mon ami_, before night comes I'll be as soft as

a jellyfish or a lightly boiled egg. But never mind, if I'm to be a

martyr, here goes. I'm willing."

Just at that very moment, as if fate were all against Peter, his horse

stumbled and the rider tumbled. Then the steed stood stock still, and

Peter got up, rubbing himself amid a chorus of laughing. We really

could not help it, he looked so comical and ridiculous. Castizo had to

hold his sides, and Nadi, who was next in front, and of course jumped to

the conclusion that Peter had done it on purpose, and that he was the

most humorous youth under the sun, made the Pampa ring with her merry

laughter.

"He, he, hee-ee!" she laughed. "O Engleese! Engleese!"

But Peter himself looked as solemn as a judge with the black cap on. He

simply rubbed himself.

"That's the way it's done, you see," he said at last. "You thought I

would remain in the saddle for many hours, did you, my friend? Ah! you

don't know Peter Jeffries yet."

"Well, Peter," I said, "I should think that falling off would get

somewhat monotonous at last."

"I _don't_ fall off. The beast pitches me off Come, Jack, don't you sit

and grin there like a cub fox at a dead turkey. Get down and give a

fellow a leg-up."

I did as told, and Peter was soon seated once more. Nadi departed still

laughing, for she never could imagine that any one, unless a squaw,

would ask a "leg-up." She imagined it was all part of the performance.

Peter was evidently a favourite of hers.

This was still more evident when, about an hour afterwards, wishing to

adjust her robe, she rode coolly alongside his horse and, before Peter

could tell what she was about, deposited the baby in his arms.

Peter looked aghast, though he kept firm hold of the child.

"_Honi soit qui mal y pense_!" he said, solemnly. "Honey, suet,

marling-spikes, and pens! I'm in a fix now. Jack, dear boy, are you

behind me? I daren't look round for the world!"

"I'm here," I answered, choking with laughter.

"Pray for me, Jack. I'll do as much for you again. Goodness gracious,

Jack! if I've got to leave the saddle now, I'll be death of this darling

child. If the horse should stumble or baby should kick, it's all up

with us; and I haven't made my will either."

Here the baby sneezed, and Peter swayed unsteadily in the saddle.

"Hoop!" he cried. "I did think it was all up with me then. Jack, will

you have baby?"

"Not I, thank you."

"Jill, you're a dear, good fellow. You'll take the baby, won't you?

The mother has gone away forward somewhere. Do, old man. I'll never

call you Greenie again."

"I won't have little copper-face."

"Well, then," said Peter, doggedly, "if it should sneeze again there'll

be manslaughter. That's all."

But, greatly to our shipmate's relief, back came Nadi, and once more

secured her darling. Peter smiled now, but he gave a big sigh of relief

that might have been heard all over the Pampas.

"You chaps," he said, "boast about your feats of horsemanship; but just

let any of you try riding over the wide wild prairie with a baby in your

arms. Well, I've done that, and don't you forget it."

The storm grew worse instead of better; the snow fell thicker and faster

every moment. And now something very strange occurred, for suddenly it

became very dark. One would have thought night was falling. While we

were all wondering what was about to happen, a blinding flash of

lightning spread itself athwart the gloom, followed almost immediately

after by a rattling peal of thunder. Flash succeeded flash, peal after

peal of thunder, harsh, sharp, and deafening, reverberated from rock to

rock. It was unlike any thunder I had ever heard before--not the deep

bass roar that one listens to in a storm off the Cape, nor the crashing

big-gun sound of thunder in the mountains. The noise was of a tearing,

rending character, and resembled platoon or volley firing as near as

anything I know of. But the effect of the lightning among the falling

snow was most beautiful and wonderful. And whenever a more brilliant

and dazzling flash than usual occurred, for a few seconds thereafter the

flakes looked purple, blue, and crimson, and sometimes nearly black.

Our horses stood the storm well, for they are marvellously trained

animals.

It got lighter now, and gradually the snow ceased to fall, and we could

see the sky. Blue it was towards the eastern horizon, with one dark,

unbroken canopy of clouds moving fast away overhead towards the

Cordilleras.

Back rolled the great cloud-curtain, and presently out shone the

glorious sun, and the scene around us was now beautiful but dazzling in

the extreme.

We rode on through the Pampas all that day. Whenever we came to a

lagoon--and we passed many--we noticed that the water looked as black as

ink. It is the same with the sea in the Arctic regions, the contrast in

colour accounting for the optical illusion.

We saw many ducks on these lakes, as well as a species of wild geese;

but Castizo did not think it advisable to delay our advance for the sake

of sport, especially as our larder was full to repletion.

The sun was setting when we reached our camping ground, which was under

the lee of a terrace of rocks and close to a pretty little lake. Tired

though we all were, more particularly Peter, we could not help pausing

to marvel at the extraordinary beauty of the snow-clad hills of the

west. Their strange and fantastic summits, and even far down towards

the base of the mountains, were lit up with a glory of colour which in

no country of the world have I ever seen rivalled or equalled. The

shadows or shades were sharply defined and of a bluish purple hue. The

high lights were either of pure white or the most delicate shades of

crimson. What a beautiful world this is, after all, if we could be but

content with it! and every sort of weather, every sort of scenery, and

every season, whether spring, summer, autumn or winter, has its own

peculiar charm to one who is at home with Nature or Nature's God.

Our men and the Indians now bustled about, and in less than half an hour

the toldos were erected and the dinner nearly ready. Our dish to-night

was to be a Patagonian stew, the meat consisting of the tit-bits of the

guanaco and ostrich, with a kind of tuberous root dug up by the Indians,

and which is indeed a palatable adjunct to diet on the Pampas. Another

dish was to be a mash of ostriches' eggs, which, well salted and

peppered and mixed with a morsel of guanaco suet, is food fit for a

hungry king.

But while dinner was cooking, and in order to pass the time, Ritchie,

Jill, and I went down by the side of the lagoon to look for game, while

Peter lay down in the toldo to rub himself.

We had half an hour's splendid sport. Owing to the weather, perhaps,

the birds did not care to fly, so we had to shoot them afloat Ossian

would not take the water to retrieve, so Bruce had all the work to do,

and very nimbly and energetically he did it too. There were with us

several of the ordinary Pampas whippets, but they merely sat with their

tails in the snow and looked on. It really seemed to us that Bruce was

showing off a bit on his own account, for although he might have waded

into the water, this did not suit him. It was not effective enough. He

must give one warning bark first to attract the attention of the

mongrels--the bark sounding almost like the word "look?"--then down he

came with a feathering rush, sprang far into the water, swam up to his

bird, caught it nimbly and brought it out.

We retired early, and slept very sound indeed, particularly Peter.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

"OUR HORSES STAMPEDED"--"POOR BENIGHTED HEATHENS!"--JILL'S LITTLE JOKE--

TELLING JEEKA THE STORY OF THE WORLD--ADVENTURE IN THE HAUNTED WOOD.

When we looked out next morning we found, to our surprise, that the snow

had all gone from the Pampas.

"Isn't it strange?" I said to Castizo.

"No," he answered--"at least I should say `yes, it is strange,' but then

one must never marvel at anything that happens on the Pampas. If I'm

any judge of the weather, however, well have summer now."

Travelling to-day was exceedingly difficult, the ground being so wet and

sloppy. Peter only tumbled once. We came to a river, and had some

trouble getting over it. There should be no river here, though on very

rare occasions the rain from the mountains, and more particularly the

melting snow, has been known to come down in an immense force and fill

the canon from bank to bank.

As the weather soon grew fine once more, with the exception of now and

then a drizzling rain or thick fog, which, however, did little more than

damp the surface and lay the dust, Castizo, our worthy cacique,

determined to take things easy.

We therefore set about enjoying ourselves as much as we could. Our

report was at all times excellent. I could not help saying to Peter

that a sportsman in this country who was not afraid of roughing it a

little, might actually accumulate wealth.

"And bumps," said Peter, solemnly. "My dear Jack," he added, "it's the

roughing it that is the great drawback. Now I can walk as well as

anybody. Or if I ride and the nag goes at a nice swinging gallop, then

I'm as jolly as if on the quarter-deck of an A1-er. But these beastly

nags go hippity-skippity, skippity-nippity, till it's perfectly

sickening."

"Well, but Peter, old man, you ought to be getting quite hard by this

time."

"No, Jack, it's all the other way. Instead of the saddle hardening me,

I'm hardening the saddle. There is where the grief comes in, and I'm

afraid it is breaking down an otherwise splendid constitution."

"Have an extra rug under you, then."

"A feather pillow would suit him best," said Jill, laughing.

"I'll tell Mother Coates about you, Mr Greenie, soon's we get home.

That is if there be anything left of me to get home."

"Well, Peter," continued Jill, "it is partly my fault, after all--your

being so sore, I mean."

"How, Greenie?"

"Because I neglected to ask Mother Coates for the cold cream before the

steamer left Sandy Point."

At this moment a herd of guanacos was sighted. There was a shout from

the Indians, who at once spread out to surround them.

"Hurrah!" cried Peter. "Here's for off. Hoop!"

And away went our erratic messmate, helter-skelter over the plains,

quite forgetting the hardness of the saddle in that wild gallop.

Peter had become quite an adept at throwing either lasso or bolas. The

only drawback here again being that after "heaving," as he called it, he

was apt to follow them, and this resulted in more bumps. It is really

surprising to me that Peter never smashed his neck, or at the very least

his collar-bones. When we congratulated him on his good luck in this

respect, he replied--

"Why, how can I break bones? There isn't a bone in my body, I tell you.

I'm all pulp."

Peter certainly had plenty of pluck.

I never saw Peter happier than one morning when awaking, we found that

all our horses had stampeded. Perhaps stampeded is too strong a word.

It would be more correct to say they had silently disappeared. So we

had to walk in search of them.

The trail was evident enough, and led us still farther to the west.

There was no mistake about it. Peter could walk if he could not ride.

He was constantly turning round to us and calling--

"Come on, you fellows. Haven't you got any legs under you? Such old

dawdlers I never did see!"

The Indians said that the Gualichu had lured the horses away--meaning

the evil spirit whom they sometimes worship.

The Gualichu might have been an evil spirit, but if so he was a most

handsome one, and shaped like a small-headed, fiery-eyed, arch-necked

stallion, with marvellous mane and tail.

I was surprised to see Jeeka level his gun at the beautiful brute and

fire. The stallion rolled down dead, and after that we had but little

difficulty in bringing back our steeds.

We encamped that night by a very small stream, which meandered through a

chaos of round stones and boulders. And here, for the first time since

we set out, we succeeded in catching fish--a kind of grey mountain

trout; they were of excellent flavour, but small in size.

We saw some commotion among the Indians this evening after dinner, and

found they were muttering prayers or incantations, and making salaams to

the new moon.

"Poor benighted heathens!" said Peter, glancing up at the lunar

scimitar, which had just escaped from beneath a little cloud. "Poor

heathens! I quite feel for them."

"But what are you doing," said Jill, "with your hands in your pockets?"

"Why, I'm turning my money of course. Don't you always do that when you

see the new moon?"

"Poor benighted heathen!" cried Jill.

Peter now saw what was meant, and laughed as heartily as any one.

Presently we entered the toldo, and Peter sat down as usual to smooth

his bumps. I noticed Jill looking towards him with a half-subdued smile

of mischief on his face. Soon he glanced towards me, and we went out

together.

"I've thought of a little trick to play Peter," said Jill.

"Well?" I said.

"Get Nadi to give him the baby again."

"But how will you manage?"

"Come and see."

Nadi's innocent face always lighted up with smiles when Jill and I went

near her. My brother addressed her in broken Patagonian. It was very

much broken, but it suited the purpose. Nevertheless, Nadi understood

English well, though too shy to talk it.

"Peter," he said, pointing to little copper-face. "Peter ywotisk, Peter

kekoosh, moyout win coquet talenque." (Peter is weary and cold, and

would like to have the baby for a little while.)

Up jumped Nadi, her eyes sparkling with delight, and went off to the

tent. We followed. In she went, and without a word popped the baby

down on Peter's knee, then retired most gracefully.

Everybody laughed at Peter, but, like a sensible young man, he made the

best of it; and when we entered, looking as innocent as sucking

guanacos, there he was talking away to the child, and making it laugh

and crow more than ever its mother did.

"You see what it is to be a good-natured fellow," Peter said to me.

"Now you'll live a long time before _you_ get baby to hold."

Peter often got baby after this, and I really think he came to like it,

only he told Jeeka to inform his wife, that the danger of handing him

the child when on horseback was extreme. So this never occurred again.

I think, on the whole, then, that Peter had the best of Jill and his

little joke.

The country now became changed in aspect, far more rugged and hilly and

wild, but at times its beauty was almost awesome.

One day we came upon a patch of woodland, the first real trees we had

seen. Then we knew we were within a measurable distance of Castizo's

romantic home in the Cordilleran forests.

We encamped this night close to the wood.

The Indians did not, according to Jeeka, quite relish the propinquity.

The wood was haunted by evil spirits. There was a fox with two heads

that had been frequently seen within its dark shades, and there was

something in white which Jeeka could not well define. It might have two

heads or it might have twenty, he could not say; but it was very

terrible, and death soon visited the person whose track this

something-in-white crossed.

There was no good could accrue from laughing at Jeeka. I could not help

thinking, however, what a pity it was so noble a fellow--savage, if you

choose to call him so--should remain in such mental darkness. Could we

not do a little to help him, Jill and I?

We might try. One never does know what one can do till a trial is made.

"Jeeka," I said that evening, "will you go for a walk with Jill and me,

and bring Nadi?"

"So, so," was the reply, meaning "yes."

We would have led him towards the wood, but he shook his head, and spoke

but one word in a very firm and decided tone--

"Gualichu!"

He led us down into a rocky ravine where grew many strange bushes we had

never seen before, and in the more open places an abundance of wild

flowers, many like our own pinks and primroses that grow among the dear

Cornish hills. In this ravine was a streamlet which, however, had so

worn away its rocky bed that we could hardly see it. We could hear it,

however, and when we peeped over the cliffs that formed its banks, there

it was foaming and tearing along, and leaping from shelf to shelf of its

stony bed. Sometimes it formed great pools of dark brown water, in

which fish were leaping after the swarming flies.

Not far from this wild stream, and within hearing of its ceaseless song,

we all threw ourselves on the grass in a ring. Nadi, woman-like, had

brought some sewing with her, some beautiful skunk skins from which--we

afterwards discovered--she was making a little roba or poncho for her

favourite Peter.

"You're not afraid of the Gualichu?" I said.

Jeeka looked hastily round as if to make sure there was nothing very

dreadful in sight, before he replied--

"I shoot he quick, suppose I can."

"But you shot him before in the shape of a horse?" I said.

"So, so."

"And he has come to life again?"

"He, everywhere."

"You speak the truth, Jeeka: the spirit of evil, if not the evil spirit

in person, is everywhere. Now who, think you, made these grand old

hills, the mountains beyond? Who made trees and those sweet flowers?

Who made the horses at first, the guanaco and the ostrich? Who made

man? Not the Gualichu, surely?"

"N-no. He not make them good," said Jeeka, thoughtfully.

It was an innocent, childlike answer, but yet it brought to my mind at

once the words in the first chapter of Genesis, "And God saw that it was

good."

It brought me at once to my subject too. I had felt very shy in

speaking at first, but I felt it my duty to speak, and I really think I

waxed eloquent as I proceeded. Words seemed to come at all events,

simple words and simple language, but they suited the occasion.

I told Nadi and Jeeka the story of the world, the story of its fall, and

of its redemption through the mercy and loving-kindness of the Good

Spirit who made it.

A story so simple that babes and sucklings can understand it, appealed

to the very hearts of these poor handsome heathens.

Nadi dropped her skunk skins in her lap, and listened open-mouthed.

Jeeka was cutting the root of a bush which he had plucked into chips

with his dagger. He never once looked up, but I knew he was listening

too.

There was silence for a time after I had finished. Then Jeeka rose, and

grasped my hand.

"Brother," he said, "you tell me this story again? So, so?"

"So, so," repeated poor Nadi.

During all my story she looked as though she understood every word, and

I have no doubt she did; but her husband frequently interrupted me by

saying to her--

"Ma Onques?" (Do you understand?) on which Nadi would merely nod

assent, without taking her eyes a moment from my face.

I have often thought since then what a blessing it is that all a poor

human being needs for his soul's salvation is so easily understood, that

even the intellect of a savage can compass and comprehend it. What a

hard road it would be to the New Jerusalem were the finger-posts that

point the way written in a language few could understand, or the

directions couched in technicalities only a limited few could fathom.

But no, there it is in a nutshell. "Repent, love, believe and be

forgiven."

The truth had got firm hold of Jeeka, or Jeeka had got firm hold of the

truth. I was soon sure of that. It was not so much that he tried to be

a better man, as that he seemed ever afterwards to live as if he were

only "down here"--the woods are his own for a brief time,--and that his

real home was in the far beyond.

He used often now to make Jill or me repeat the story of the world to

him, and especially the story of the Cross. He always brought Nadi with

him when he desired to speak to me on such subjects. But he sometimes

asked us strange questions. Such as about the grass: was it a good crop

in heaven? Horses: were they well trained? etc, etc. Once Jill read to

him from the Revelation a passage where white horses are mentioned in a

vision.

Jeeka was delighted, and made him read it over and over again. He was

also greatly pleased with descriptions of Bible battles.

One day Jill read to him the description of the great fight between the

Israelites and the Canaanites, in which it is said that the Lord caused

great stones to be rained from heaven upon the enemy.

Jeeka here grew quite excited.

"Hum-m-m. So. So. So!" he cried. "The same thing I have seen."

"You, Jeeka?"

"So, so. Big stone. Terrible fire, much smoke and t'under. Big stone

fall eberywhere. So, so."

As he spoke Jeeka waved his arm away towards the west, and I at once

understood him to refer to an eruption of some great volcano of the

Cordilleras, for there are several such.

What pleased Nadi more than anything else was the singing of hymns. She

used to join with us, but it was more of a child's voice than anything

else.

However, Nadi was very young, not more than sixteen perhaps, wife and

mother though she was.

Our route lay even more to the north than the west now, and it was soon

evident that we were on the great border-line betwixt the wild bleak

Pampas and the forest-clad mountains, which are but a continuation of

the great Andes chain.

The way was now a winding one, for we often had to make long detours to

get round a lake or the spur of a mountain, although the lower hills we

still continued to face and cross.

Sport, and plenty of it, still fell to our lot, though the gun and

revolver and spear came in now more handy than the bolas and lasso.

Even here, however, in the midst of the wildest mountain and sylvan

scenery, there were vast stretches of level valleys and plateaus between

the hills. Most of these were the feeding-grounds for vast herds of

guanacos and of wild horses.

Our camping grounds of a night were now generally in some grass-covered

glade, and it was indeed a pleasure to fall asleep in our toldo with the

sound of the wind whispering through the trees like the murmur of waves

on a sandy beach.

There were many night sounds now, however, besides the whispering of the

trees, and some of these, to say the least, were not over-pleasant to

listen to. If, for instance, we were anywhere near to rocky ground,

there was the mournful and weird yelling of wild cats. These were

mingled at times with the "Yap-yap-yeow--ow" of the Patagonian fox.

There were also many strange cries and sounds which we could not account

for, so we were fain to put them all down to the birds.

It was not safe to enter the forests by night; sometimes even in daytime

there was danger enough. I remember I went to bathe one day by myself

in a bright clear pool formed by a mountain torrent. The water was

delightfully cool, so I stopped for a full hour enjoying myself.

After lounging a little by the river's bank, dressing leisurely and

falling into a kind of day-dream, I prepared to return. No one knew

where I was, and if I were missed, both Jill and Peter would be anxious.

I commenced to retrace my steps up a little pathway through an

entanglement of bush and thorn, but had only advanced a short way when

from the scrub in front I heard a low growl, emitted evidently by a

puma, and he could not be many yards away. To fly was to court pursuit,

and that meant death, for I had no arms of any kind. I shaded my eyes

with my hand, and looked cautiously under the bush. Yes, yonder was a

pair of huge green fiend-like eyes glaring at me, watching me as a cat

watches a mouse.

I drew cautiously back, glad to get away with my life, and re-crossed

the stream. But here I was on another horn of the dilemma, for the only

other way back to the camp would take me fully three miles about, with

the probability, too, that I might lose myself and wander about all

night long. No, this would not do; I must scare that puma. The little

pathway, it just then occurred to me, must have been made by wild

beasts--perhaps pumas.

"Whatever man dares, he can do," I said to myself, as I gathered an

armful of big round stones. Then I advanced once more towards the

puma's bush, and shouting, threw a stone I was answered by a snap and a

growling roar. Another stone: result the same, only the snap more

vicious and the growl more angry. I was in for it now, so I threw the

third stone with all the force I could command, giving vent at the same

time a yell that would have startled a Chak-Chak Indian.

This had an effect that I had hardly bargained for. I had counted upon

the denizen of that incense bush going off in any direction rather than

mine. Not so. With a spitting coughing roar, that went through my

nerves like a shock from a powerful battery, the brute sprang out

towards me. But a merciful Providence was surely protecting me, for at

the very moment the huge extended talons were nearly in my neck, another

and larger puma bounded from the bush, striking the first and sending it

rolling down the little pathway. Then over and over they rolled like

two huge overgrown kittens, until they finally disappeared. Indeed it

is evident enough the two beasts had been all the time romping together,

and that even my presence did not suffice to interfere with their sense

of fun.

Peter laughed heartily when I told him of the occurrence; but Jill did

not. He even scolded me. What right had I to go away into the bush

without him? he inquired, and hoped it would be a warning to me.

Poor innocent Jill!

The Indians, and even Jeeka, were rather afraid of the wood in which

this adventure had taken place. It was haunted.

Strange, I thought, that so many woods were haunted.

Yet one cannot wonder at these poor people being superstitious,

wandering so much as they do in this wild lone land, seeing so many

sights and hearing so many strange sounds for which they cannot account.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

A JOURNEY TO THE COUNTRY OF THE GUALICHU--THE EARTHQUAKE--A WONDROUS

SIGHT--"I WILL PRAY TO THE GREAT GOOD SPIRIT."

"I feel unusually fresh this morning," said Peter one day as we all

squatted down to breakfast.

"Considering," he added, "the roughish time we had yesterday, I'm a

little astonished at my recuperative powers."

"What ship did you say?" said Ritchie.

"Recuperative powers, Edward. That's the ship. And I didn't know I had

any. Why, when I turned in last night I said to Jack there, `Jack,'

says I, `I'm feeling ninety years of age.' But this morning I can hold

my age like a young hawk."

"And the bumps, Peter?" I said.

"Gone down beautifully, Jack. Hardly a bump visible to-day. Just a

blueness on some of the bone ends. Greenie, I'll trouble you for

another slice of that ostrich gizzard."

"Well," said Castizo, "I'm glad to see you all looking so bright and

jolly. `Jolly' is English, is it not?"

"Oh, thorough English!"

"Because, my boys all, I want to make a _detour_ to-day, and pay a visit

to an old friend of mine, Kaiso to name--King Kaiso in full. Kaiso

means big, and big he is."

"A giant."

"A giant among giants, for he has surrounded himself with the biggest

fellows he could find anywhere. He's a funny fellow himself. He has

been far travelled too: been to Chili and Monte Video, where he went as

a show on the boards of a small theatre or concert place. As soon as he

made money, however, he bought all the pretty and useful things he could

find, and so retired to the fastnesses of his mountains. His troops are

a strange band, of northern and southern Indians. The wonder to me is

how he manages to keep peace among them. He keeps a private witch,

however, a tame puma, and a medicine man."

"I don't mind the witch much," said Peter, "they are usually pretty

tame; but the puma, _mon ami_, is it tame? Has he a dog licence? Does

he keep it chained up?"

"Oh, no, but it is very affectionate. Don't let it lick your hand, that

is all, for its tongue is exceedingly rough, and if it tastes blood, it

is like King Kaiso with rum, it wants more. Jill, my plate is empty."

"And does this King Kaiso," said Ritchie, "live far from here."

"Yes, several days' hard ride."

Peter groaned.

"But we'll have a good rest when we get there. Then a few days more

will take us home."

Peter smiled now, and passed his plate to Jill again.

"Last time, and the only time in fact," continued our cacique, "that I

visited Kaiso, he condemned me to death. But this was at night, and

Kaiso had some rum. He told me he would himself do me the honour to cut

my head off with one of his very best swords. I thanked him, of course,

and appeared quite pleased about it. But lo! in the morning he had

forgotten all about it. We were half-way through breakfast when he

said, `Oh, by de way, I was goin' to lop your head off dis mornin'. But

I too tire. I much too tire. Some oder day p'r'aps.' I assured him

not to trouble about the matter; that I could afford to wait, and would

wait to oblige him."

"And there was no more about it?"

"Never a word. He had finished all the rum, you see. But Kaiso lives

in a strange land. His home is in the country of the Gualichu."

"Gualichu! That's the evil spirit, isn't it?"

"Yes, Jill. But the only evil spirit I ever saw there had been imported

from Jamaica."

"Rum?"

"Rum, yes, that's the real Gualichu. Well, Jack, you have good

influence with Jeeka; go and tell him where we mean going. He will

demur; I had the greatest difficulty in getting him to go last time, and

he said he never would return."

So as soon as breakfast was finished I paid a visit to Jeeka's toldo.

He was waiting while his people, harnessed up and were ready for the

road.

"Jeeka," I said, coming to the point at once, "we are going to visit

King Kaiso!"

Jeeka's face assumed an aspect of almost terror.

"What!" he said. "Go to Kaiso. Kaiso bad man. Kaiso all same's

Gualichu. He live in Gualichu land. Hum-m-m. I will not go. Kaiso

kill us all. Hum-m. He have snake to hiss and bite. He have puma to

roar and tear. He keep Gualichu man and Gualichu karken. He have fire

all round de forest. But the forest itself not burn!"

I sat with Jeeka and Nadi a whole hour, and it needed all my powers of

persuasion to make them consent to lead the way to the Gualichu land.

They did so at last, however, and long before the sun was high in the

north we were well on our road.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It would take the greater part of a goodly volume, to give anything like

a correct description and history of our journey to the land of the

Gualichu. We had hills to climb, mountain torrents to wade, long dreary

plains to cross that seemed never-ending, and deep jungle-like forests

to penetrate through. Sometimes these last were as dark as gloaming

even under the midday sun. In their gloomy thickets we could hear the

voices of angry pumas, and we saw and shot some of these of immense

size.

We saw one immense snake of the boa description, and we also saw some

_deer_.

Castizo marvelled much at this.

"I did not know," he said, "there were deer so far south."

"Strayed out of some gentleman's park," said Peter, quizzingly.

"And as for boas, if that _was_ a boa, how on earth did it come there!"

continued Castizo.

"Oh, I know," said Peter.

"Do you?" said Ritchie; "tell us."

"Why it has escaped from Wombell's Menagerie, of course."

The idea of gentleman's parks or Wombell's Menagerie being in this

wilderness was ridiculous enough; but Peter was in one of his funny

moods.

We did not stop anywhere for sport, only when any wild creature crossed

our hawse, as Ritchie phrased it, we brought it down for sake of its

flesh or skin.

Hawks and vultures we found very numerous in these regions, and many

strange animals we had never seen before, some of the ant-eating

fraternity, others like ermines, but brilliantly coloured, and others

again that seemed partly rat and partly nondescript. There were otters

in the mountain streams, and fish in such marvellous abundance that, in

one hour, Jill and I caught nearly one hundred and fifty.

(This would, indeed, be a land of pleasure for the sportsman. And yet

only a month ago, I heard a member of a West-End club assure a friend

that sport was played out. He had been everywhere, he said, and shot

everything, and there really wasn't anything left worth pointing a gun

at.)

One dark night, while encamped near the borders of a deep, dark wood, we

were all awakened by a strange feeling of qualmishness.

"I dreamt," said Jill, "I was at sea for the first time again."

"Something we've all eaten," said Peter, "that hasn't agreed with us,

though I had nothing for supper except about a pound of that puma steak,

and a few handfuls of ba-ba roots."

"Hark! Listen."

"Hark! Listen," from Jill and me.

There was a noise in the distance as of heavy waggons rolling over a

metal road, then the earth trembled and shook with a strange heaving

motion as if water were rushing beneath the surface. The same feeling

of qualmishness shot over us, and we all pressed our hands to our heads.

It was an earthquake.

The vibration had no sooner ceased than we heard Castizo's voice calling

to us.

"_Come_ out, boys, and you'll see something."

We hurried on our clothes. I felt more nervous and frightened than ever

I had done in my life before. So were Jill and Peter.

"I hope," said the latter, "the earth won't open and swallow us up.

Fancy being buried alive!"

"It would soon be all over, Peter," said Jill.

Castizo, Lawlor and Ritchie were already out in the open and gazing

westward. A fitful, changeful light was on their faces, such as I had

never seen before. Sometimes it was a rosy glimmer, then it would

change to pale yellow or blue.

The light came from the western horizon, and the appearance there was

simply appalling. A great cone-shaped hill was vomiting forth columns

of smoke alternating with fierce and terrible flames. In the midst of

the fire we saw innumerable dark bodies which were undoubtedly rocks.

The night was very dark, so that the eruption was more fearful than it

would otherwise have been.

All the Indians were out; most of them lying on their faces, and, I

thought, praying.

I went to Jeeka, who sat beside his wife on the grass. Nadi was weeping

and moaning.

"Jeeka," I said, "do not pray to the Gualichu. Pray to Him who made

everything, and who loves us--the Great Good Spirit."

"Did He make that fiery hill?"

"He made and governs everything."

"Does He govern the Gualichu?"

"He governs every one on earth, and all things on and under the earth."

"I will pray to the Great Good Spirit."

Towards morning the eruption died away as quickly as it had begun. Then

we retired, and slept well and soundly for several hours.

But next day there was something very like mutiny in our camp. The

Indians now refused point blank to go farther with us into the land of

the Gualichu.

Jeeka would have braved everything to oblige us, but cacique though he

was, he could not go entirely against the wishes of his people.

So it was determined to leave them here in camp till we returned. It

was but one day's journey now to King Kaiso's country, and Jeeka gave us

a solemn pledge that he would not let his people desert. He would shoot

them first, he said.

Then we white men saddled our horses, the Indians loaded our pack mares,

and off we started all alone to see the terrible king, who kept pet

pumas and snakes, tame witches and medicine men.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

KING KAISO'S LAND--A REGIMENT OF GIANTS--KAISO'S WITCH--CONDEMNED TO

DEATH.

Our first intimation we received that we were close on King Kaiso's

country, we had this same evening from a lot of dogs that were ranging

through the wood we were in. A wood, singular to say, with hardly any

undergrowth, but bedded feet deep with the fallen leaves and nut husks

that had fallen in previous years.

The dogs yelped and ran. Presently we came upon a bevy of children whom

our sudden appearance seemed to scare out of their senses. I shall

never forget their looks of terror, nor the speed with which they fled

screaming and howling out of the woods.

Soon we heard drums beating and a trumpet braying. "Braying" is exactly

the right word in the right place, but, a donkey with a bad attack of

whooping cough would have brayed far more musically.

Nevertheless, that trumpet was a call to arms. And we were no sooner

clear of the trees than we saw a troop of fully fifty spear-armed

warriors riding boldly towards us, from a gipsy-like encampment in the

centre of a plain.

This was the flower of King Kaiso's army. And yonder was the king

himself at the head of them.

We halted, and as they came rushing on towards us, I thought I had never

seen finer men in my life. Not one of them could have been less than

six feet high in his potro boots, while the muscles of their arms and

naked chests were wondrous to behold. They were naked to the waist, and

their black hair, adorned with ostrich feathers, floated over their

brawny shoulders.

The king was a giant, pure and simple. A very Saul among his soldiers,

towering a good head and shoulders over the biggest among them.