Riding at a gentle amble, so that his daughter on her small palfrey may
easily keep up with him, Halberger in due time arrives at the Indian
village; to his surprise seeing it is no more a village, or only a
deserted one! The toldos of bamboo and palm thatch are still standing,
but untenanted--every one of them!
Dismounting, he steps inside them, one after the other, but finds each
and all unoccupied--neither man, woman, nor child within; nor without,
either in the alleys between, or on the large open space around which
the frail tenements are set, that has served as a loitering-place for
the older members of the tribe, and a play-ground for the younger.
The grand council room, called _malocca_, he also enters with like
result; no one is inside it--not a soul to be seen anywhere, either in
the streets of the village or on the plain stretching around!
He is alarmed as much as surprised; indeed more, since he has been
anticipating something amiss. But by degrees, as he continues to make
an examination of the place, his apprehensions became calmed down, these
having been for the fate of the Indians themselves. His first thought
he had entertained while conjecturing the cause of their long absence
from the _estancia_, was that some hostile tribe had attacked them,
massacred the men, and carried captive the women and children. Such
tragical occurrences are far from uncommon among the red aborigines of
America, Southern or Northern. Soon, however, his fears on this score
are set at rest. Moving around, he detects no traces of a struggle,
neither dead bodies nor blood. If there had been a fight the corpses of
the fallen would surely still be there, strewing the plain; and not a
_toldo_ would be standing or seen--instead, only their ashes.
As it is, he finds the houses all stripped of their furniture and
domestic utensils; these evidently borne off not as by marauders, but
taken away in a systematic manner, as when a regular move is made by
these nomadic people. He sees fragments of cut _sipos_ and bits of
raw-hide thong--the overplus left after packing.
Though no longer alarmed for the safety of the Indians, he is,
nevertheless, still surprised and perplexed. What could have taken them
away from the _tolderia_, and whither can they have gone? Strange, too,
Naraguana should have left the place in such unceremonious fashion,
without giving him, Halberger, notice of his intention! Their absence
on this occasion cannot be accounted for by any hunting or foraging
expedition, nor can it be a foray of war. In any of these cases the
women and children would have been left behind. Beyond doubt, it is an
absolute abandonment of the place; perhaps with no intention of
returning to it; or not for a very long time.
Revolving these thoughts through his mind, Halberger climbs back into
his saddle, and sits further reflecting. His daughter, who has not
dismounted, trots up to his side, she, too, in as much wonderment as
himself; for, although but a very young creature, almost a child in age,
she has passed through experiences that impart the sageness of years.
She knows of all the relationships which exist between them and the
Tovas tribe, and knows something of why her father fled from his old
home; that is, she believes it to have been through fear of El Supremo,
the "bogie" of every Paraguayan child, boy or girl. Aware of the
friendship of the Tovas chief, and the protection he has extended to
them, she now shares her father's surprise, as she had his
apprehensions.
They exchange thoughts on the subject--the child equally perplexed with
the parent; and after an interval passed in conjecturing, all to no
purpose, Halberger is about to turn and ride home again, when it occurs
to him he had better find out in what direction the Indians went away
from their village.
There is no difficulty in discovering this; the trail of their ridden
horses, still more that of their pack animals, is easily found and
followed. It leads out from the village at the opposite end from that
by which they themselves entered; and after following it for a mile or
so along the river's bank, they see that it takes an abrupt turn across
the _pampa_. Up to this point it has been quite conspicuous, and is
also beyond; for although it is anything but recent, no rain has since
fallen, and the hoof-prints of the horses can be here and there
distinguished clean cut on the smooth sward, over which the mounted men
had gone at a gallop. Besides, there is the broad belt of trodden grass
where the pack animals toiled more slowly along; and upon this bits of
broken utensils, with other useless articles, have been dropped and
abandoned, plainly proclaiming the character of the cavalcade.
Here Halberger would halt, and turn back, but for a remembrance coming
into his mind which hinders, at the same time urging him to continue on.
In one of his hunting excursions he had been over this ground before,
and remembers that some ten miles further on a tributary stream flows
into the Pilcomayo. Curious to know whether the departing Tovas have
turned up this tributary, or followed the course of the main river, he
determines to proceed. For glancing skyward, he sees that the sun is
just crossing the meridian, and knows he will have no lack of time
before darkness can overtake him. The circumstances and events, so
strange and startling, cause him to forget that promise made to his
wife--soon to be back at the _estancia_.
Spurring his horse, and calling on Francesca to follow, he starts off
again at a brisk gallop; which is kept up till they draw bridle on the
bank of the influent stream.
This, though broad, is but shallow, with a selvedge of soft ooze on
either side; and on that where they have arrived the mud shows the track
of several hundred horses. Without crossing over, Halberger can see
that the Indian trail leads on along the main river, and not up the
branch stream.
Again he is on the balance, to go back--with the intention of returning
next day, accompanied by Caspar, and making further search for the
missing Indians--when an object comes under his eye, causing him to give
a start of surprise.
It is only the track of a horse; and strange that this should surprise
him, among hundreds. But the one on which he has fixed his attention
differs from all the rest in being the hoof-print of a _shod_ horse,
while the others are as Nature made them. Still even this difference
would not make so much impression upon him were the tracks of the same
_age_. Himself skilled as any Indian in the reading of _pampas_ sign,
at a glance he sees they are not. The hoof-marks of the Tovas horses in
their travelling train are all quite three weeks old; while the animal
having the iron on its heels, must have crossed over that stream within
the week.
Its rider, whoever he was, could not have been in the company of the
departing Tovas; and to him now regarding the tracks, it is only a
question as to whether he were a _white_ man, or Indian. Everything is
against his having been the former, travelling in a district tabooed to
the palefaces, other than Halberger and his--everything, save the fact
of his being on the back of a _shod_ horse; while this alone hinders the
supposition of the animal being bestridden by an Indian.
For a long while the hunter-naturalist, with Francesca by his side, sits
in his saddle contemplating the shod hoof-prints in a reverie of
reflection. He at length thinks of crossing the tributary stream, to
see if these continue on with the Indian trail, and has given his horse
the spur, with a word to his daughter to do likewise, when voices reach
his ear from the opposite side, warning him to pull in again. Along
with loud words and ejaculations there is laughter; as of boys at play,
only not stationary in one place, but apparently moving onward, and
drawing nearer to him.
On both sides of the branch stream, as also along the banks of the
river, is a dense growth of tropical vegetation--mostly underwood, with
here and there a tall _moriche_ palm towering above the humbler shrubs.
Through this they who travel so gleefully are making their way; but
cannot yet be seen from the spot where Halberger has halted. But just
on the opposite bank, where the trail goes up from the ford, is a bit of
treeless sward, several acres in extent, in all likelihood, kept clear
of undergrowth by the wild horses and other animals on their way to the
water to drink. It runs back like an embayment into the close-growing
scrub, and as the trail can be distinguished debouching at its upper
end, the naturalist has no doubt that these joyous gentry are
approaching in that direction.
And so are they--a singular cavalcade, consisting of some thirty
individuals on horseback; for all are mounted. Two are riding side by
side, some little way ahead of the others, who follow also in twos--the
trail being sufficiently wide to admit of the double formation. For the
Indians of _pampa_ and prairie--unlike their brethren of the forest, do
not always travel "single file." On horseback it would string them out
too far for either convenience or safety. Indeed, these horse Indians
not unfrequently march in column, and in line.
With the exception of the pair spoken of as being in the advance, all
the others are costumed, and their horses caparisoned, nearly alike.
Their dress is of the simplest and scantiest kind--a hip-cloth swathing
their bodies from waist to mid-thigh, closely akin to the "breech-clout"
of the Northern Indian, only of a different material. Instead of
dressed buckskin, the loin covering of the Chaco savage is a strip of
white cotton cloth, some of wool in bands of bright colour having a very
pretty effect. But, unlike their red brethren of the North, they know
nought of either leggings or moccasin. Their mild climate calls not for
such covering; and for foot protection against stone, thorn, or thistle,
the Chaco Indian rarely ever sets sole to the ground--his horse's back
being his home habitually.
Those now making way through the wood show limbs naked from thigh to
toe, smooth as moulded bronze, and proportioned as if cut by the chisel
of Praxiteles. Their bodies above also nude; but here again differing
from the red men of the prairies. No daub and disfigurement of chalk,
charcoal, vermilion, or other garish pigment; but clear skins showing
the lustrous hue of health, of bronze or brown amber tint, adorned only
with some stringlets of shell beads, or the seeds of a plant peculiar to
their country.
All are mounted on steeds of small size, but sinewy and perfect in
shape, having long tails and flowing manes; for the barbarism of the
clipping shears has not yet reached these barbarians of the Chaco.
Nor yet know they, or knowing, they use not saddle. A piece of ox-hide,
or scrap of deer-skin serves them for its substitute; and for bridle a
raw-hide rope looped around the under jaw, without head-strap, bittless,
and single reined, enabling them to check or guide their horses, as if
these were controlled by the cruellest of curbs, or the jaw-breaking
Mameluke bitt.
As they file forth two by two into the open ground, it is seen that
there is some quality and fashion common to all; to wit, that they are
all youths--not any of them over twenty--and that they wear their hair
cropped in front, showing a square line across the forehead, but left
untouched on the crown and back of the head. There it falls in full
profuseness, reaching to the hips, and in the case of some mingling with
the tails, of their horses.
Two, however, are notably different from the rest; they riding in the
advance, with a horse's length or so of interval between them and their
following. One of the two differs only in the style of his dress; being
an Indian as the others, and, like them, quite a youth, to all
appearance the youngest of the party. Yet also their chief, by reason
of his richer and grander dress; his attire being of the most
picturesque and costly kind worn by the Chaco savages. Covering his
body, from the breast to half-way down his thighs, is a sort of
loosely-fitting tunic of white cotton stuff. Sleeveless, it leaves his
arm bare from nigh the shoulder to the wrist, around which glistens a
bracelet with the sheen of solid gold. His limbs also are bare, save a
sort of gartering below the knee, of shell and bead embroidery. On his
head is a fillet band ornamented in like manner, with bright plumes, set
vertically around it--the tail-feathers of the _guacamaya_, one of the
most superb of South American parrots. But the most distinctive article
of his apparel is his _manta_, a sort of cloak of the _poncho_ kind,
hanging loosely behind his back, but altogether different from the
well-known garment of the gauchos, which is usually woven from wool.
That on the shoulders of the young Indian is of no textile fabric, but
the skin of a fawn, tanned and bleached to the softness and whiteness of
a dress kid glove, the outward side being elaborately feather-worked in
flowers and patterns, the feathers obtained from many a bird of gay
plumage.
Of form perfectly symmetrical, the young Indian, save for his
complexion, would seem a sort of Apollo, or Hyperion on horseback; while
he who rides alongside him, withal that his skin is white, or once was,
might well be likened to the Satyr. A man over thirty years of age,
tall, and of tough, sinewy frame, with a countenance of the most
sinister cast, dressed gaucho fashion, with the wide petticoat breeches
lying loose about his limbs, a striped _poncho_ over his shoulders, and
a gaudy silken kerchief tied turban-like around his temples. But no
gaucho he, nor individual of any honest calling: instead, a criminal of
deepest dye, experienced in every sort of villainy. For this man is
Rufino Valdez, well-known in Assuncion as one of Francia's familiars,
and more than suspected of being one of his most dexterous _assassins_.