Could the hunter-naturalist but know what has really occurred in the
Tovas tribe, and the nature of the party now approaching, he would not
stay an instant longer on the banks of that branch stream; instead,
hasten back home with his child fast as their animals could carry them,
and once at the estancia, make all haste to get away from it, taking
every member of his family along with him. But he has no idea that
anything has happened hostile to him or his, nor does he as yet see the
troop of travellers, whose merry voices are making the woods ring around
them: for, on the moment of his first hearing them, they were at a good
distance, and are some considerable time before coming in sight. At
first, he had no thought of retreating, nor making any effort to place
himself and his child in concealment. And for two reasons: one, because
ever since taking up his abode in the Chaco, under the protection of
Naraguana, he has enjoyed perfect security, as also the consciousness of
it. Therefore, why should he be alarmed now? As a second reason for
his not feeling so, an encounter with men, in the mood of those to whom
he is listening, could hardly be deemed dangerous. It may be but the
Tovas chief and his people, on return to the town they had abandoned;
and, in all likelihood, it is they. So, for a time, thinks he.
But, again, it may not be; and if any other Indians--if a band of
Anguite, or Guaycurus, both at enmity with the Tovas--then would they be
also enemies to him, and his position one of great peril. And now once
more reflecting on the sudden, as unexplained, disappearance of the
latter from their old place of residence--to say the least, a matter of
much mystery--bethinking himself, also, that he is quite _twenty_ miles
from his estancia, and for any chances of retreat, or shifts for safety,
worse off than if he were alone, he at length, and very naturally, feels
an apprehension stealing over him. Indeed, not stealing, nor coming
upon him slowly, but fast gathering, and in full force. At all events,
as he knows nothing of who or what the people approaching may be, it is
an encounter that should, if possible, be avoided. Prudence so
counsels, and it is but a question how this can best be done. Will they
turn heads round, and go galloping back? Or ride in among the bushes,
and there remain under cover till the Indians have passed? If these
should prove to be Tovas, they could discover themselves and join them;
if not, then take the chances of travelling behind them, and getting
back home unobserved.
The former course he is most inclined to; but glancing up the bank, for
he is still on the water's edge, he sees that the sloping path he had
descended, and by which he must return, is exposed to view from the
opposite side of the stream, to a distance of some two hundred yards.
To reach the summit of the slope, and get under cover of the trees
crowning it, would take some time. True, only a minute or two; but that
may be more than he can spare, since the voices seem now very near, and
those he would shun must show themselves almost immediately. And to be
seen retreating would serve no good purpose; instead, do him a damage,
by challenging the hostility of the Indians, if they be not Tovas. Even
so, were he alone, well-horsed as he believes himself to be--and in
reality is--he would risk the attempt, and, like enough, reach his
estancia in safety. But encumbered with Francesca on her diminutive
steed, he knows they would have no chance in a chase across the _pampa_,
with the red Centaurs pursuing. Therefore, not for an instant, or only
one, entertains he thought of flight. In a second he sees it would not
avail them, and decides on the other alternative--concealment. He has
already made a hasty inspection of the ground near by, and sees,
commencing at no great distance off, and running along the water's edge,
a grove of _sumac_ trees which, with their parasites and other plants
twining around their stems and branches, form a complete labyrinth of
leaves. The very shelter he is in search of; and heading his horse
towards it, at the same time telling Francesca to follow, he rides in by
the first opening that offers. Fortunately he has struck upon a _tapir_
path, which makes it easier for them to pass through the underwood, and
they are soon, with their horses, well screened from view. Perhaps,
better would it have been for them had they continued on, without making
any stop, though not certain this, for it might have been all one in the
end. As it is, still in doubt, half under the belief that he may be
retreating from an imaginary danger--running away from friends instead
of foes--as soon as well within the thicket, Halberger reins up again,
at a point where he commands a view of the ford as it enters on the
opposite side of the stream. A little glade gives room for the two
animals to stand side by side, and drawing Francesca's pony close up to
his saddle-flap, he cautions her to keep it there steadily, as also to
be silent herself. The girl needs not such admonition. No simple child
she, accustomed only to the safe ways of cities and civilised life; but
one knowing a great deal of that which is savage; and young though she
is, having experienced trials, vicissitudes and dangers. That there is
danger impending over them now, or the possibility of it, she is quite
as conscious as her father, and equally observant of caution; therefore,
she holds her pony well in hand, patting it on the neck to keep it
quiet.
They have not long to stay before seeing what they half expected to
see--a party of Indians. Just as they have got well fixed in place,
with some leafy branches in front forming a screen over their faces, at
the same time giving them an aperture to peep through, the dusky
cavalcade shows its foremost files issuing out from the bushes on the
opposite side of the stream. Though still distant--at least, a quarter
of a mile--both father and daughter can perceive that they are Indians;
mounted, as a matter of course, for they could not and did not, expect
so see such afoot in the Chaco. But Francesca's eyes are sharper
sighted than those of her father, and at the first glance she makes out
more--not only that it is a party of Indians, but these of the Tovas
tribe. The feathered _manta_ of the young chief, with its bright gaudy
sheen, has caught her eye, and she knows whose shoulders it should be
covering.
"Yes, father," she says, in whisper, as soon as sighting it. "They are
the Tovas! See yonder! one of the two leading--that's Aguara."
"Oh! then, we've nothing to fear," rejoins her father, with a feeling of
relief. "So, Francesca, we may as well ride back out and meet them. I
suppose it is, as I've been conjecturing; the tribe is returning to its
old quarters. I wonder where they've been, and why so long away. But
we shall now learn all about it. And we'll have their company with us,
as far as their _talderia_; possibly all the way home, as, like enough,
Naraguana will come on with us to the estancia. In either case--ha!
what's that. As I live, a white man riding alongside Aguara! Who can
_he_ be?"
Up to this, Halberger has neither touched his horse nor stirred a step;
no more she, both keeping to the spot they had chosen for observation.
And both now alike eagerly scan the face of the man, supposed to be
white.
Again the eyes of the child, or her instincts, are keener and quicker
than those of the parent; or, at all events, she is the first to speak,
announcing a recognition.
"Oh, papa!" she exclaims, still in whispers, "it's that horrid man who
used to come to our house at Assuncion--him mamma so much disliked--the
Senor Rufino."
"Hish!" mutters the father, interrupting both with speech and gesture;
then adds, "keep tight hold of the reins; don't let the pony budge an
inch!"
Well may he thus caution, for what he now sees is that he has good
reason to fear; a man he knows to be his bitter enemy--one who, during
the years of his residence in Paraguay, had repeatedly been the cause of
trouble to him, and done many acts of injury and insult--the last and
latest offered to his young wife. For it was Rufino Valdez who had been
employed by the Dictator previously to approach her on his behalf.
And now Ludwig Halberger beholds the base villain in company with the
Tovas Indians--his own friends, as he had every reason to suppose them--
riding side by side with the son of their chief! What can it mean?
Halberger's first thought is that Valdez may be their prisoner; for he,
of course, knows of the hostility existing between them and the
Paraguayans, and remembers that, in his last interview with Naraguana,
the aged cacique was bitter as ever against the Paraguayan people. But
no; there is not the slightest sign of the white man being guarded,
bound, or escorted. Instead, he is riding unconstrained, side by side
with the young Tovas chief, evidently in amicable relations--the two
engaged in a conversation to all appearance of the most confidential
kind!
Again Halberger asks, speaking within himself, what it can mean? and
again reflecting endeavours to fathom the mystery: for so that strange
juxtaposition appears to him. Can it be that the interrupted treaty of
peace has been renewed, and friendship re-established between Naraguana
and the Paraguayan Dictator? Even now, Valdez may be on a visit to the
Tovas tribe on that very errand--a commissioner to arrange new terms of
intercourse and amity? It certainly appears as if something of the kind
had occurred. And what the Prussian now sees, taken in connection with
the abandonment of the village alike matter of mystery--leads him to
more than half-suspect there has. For again comes up the question, why
should the Tovas chief have gone off without giving him warning? So
suddenly, and not a word! Surely does it seem as if there has been
friendship betrayed, and Naraguana's protection withdrawn. If so, it
will go hard with him, Halberger; for well knows he, that in such a
treaty there would be little chance of his being made an object of
special amnesty. Instead, one of its essential claims would sure be,
the surrendering up himself and his family. But would Naraguana be so
base? No; he cannot believe it, and this is why he is as much surprised
as puzzled at seeing Valdez when he now sees him.
In any case things have a forbidding look, and the man's presence there
bodes no good to him. More like the greatest evil; for it may be death
itself. Even while sitting upon his horse, with these reflections
running through his mind--which they do, not as related, but with the
rapidity of thought itself--he feels a presentiment of that very thing.
Nay, something more than a presentiment, something worse--almost the
certainty that his life is near its end! For as the complete Indian
cohort files forth from among the bushes, and he takes note of how it is
composed--above all observing the very friendly relations between Valdez
and the young chief--he knows it must affect himself to the full danger
of his life. Vividly remembers he the enmity of Francia's _familiar_,
too deep and dire to have been given up or forgotten. He remembers,
too, of Valdez being noted as a skilled _rastrero_, or guide--his
reputed profession. Against such a one the step he has taken to conceal
himself is little likely to serve him. Are not the tracks of his horse,
with those of the pony, imprinted in the soft mud by the water's edge
where they had halted? These will not be passed over by the Indians, or
Valdez, without being seen and considered. Quite recent too! They must
be observed, and as sure will they be followed up to where he and his
child are in hiding. A pity he has not continued along the _tapir_
path, still further and far away! Alas! too late now; the delay may be
fatal.
In a very agony of apprehension thus reflecting, Ludwig Halberger with
shoulders stooped over his saddle-bow and head bent in among the
branches, watches the Indian cavalcade approaching the stream's bank;
the nearer it comes, the more certain he that himself and his child are
in deadliest danger.