For some seconds, Rufino Valdez is in a state of semi-bewilderment, from
his lips proceeding exclamations that tell of surprise, but more
chagrin. Something of weird terror, too, in the expression upon his
sallow, cadaverous face, as the grey dawn dimly lights it up.
"_Mil demonios_!" he mutters, gazing distractedly on the ground. "What
does this mean? Is it possible the _gringo's_ got away? Possible? Ay,
certain. And his animal, too! Yes, I remember we left that, fools as
we were, in our furious haste. It's all clear, and, as I half
anticipated, he's been able to climb on the horse, and's off home!
There by this time, like enough."
With this double adjuration, he resolves upon dismounting, to make
better inspection of the place, and, if possible, assure himself whether
his victim has really survived the murderous attack. But just as he has
drawn one foot out of the stirrup and is balancing on the other, a sound
reaches his ear, causing him to reseat himself in the saddle, and sit
listening. Only a slight noise it was, but one in that place of
peculiar significance, being the hoof-stroke of a horse.
"Good!" he ejaculates in a whisper, "it must be his."
Hearkening a little longer, he hears the sound again, apparently further
off, and as his practised ear tells him, the distance increasing.
"It must be his horse," he reiterates, still continuing to listen. "And
who but he on the animal's back? Going off? Yes; slowly enough. No
wonder at that. Ha! he's come to a halt. What's the best thing for me
to do?"
He sits silently considering, but only for a few seconds; then glancing
around the glade, in which yester eve he had shed innocent blood, at the
same time losing some of his own, he sees another break among the
bushes, where the _tapir_ path goes out again. Faint as the light still
is, it shows him some horse-tracks, apparently quite fresh, leading off
that way.
He stays not for more, but again plying the spur, re-enters the thicket,
not to go back to the ford, but on in the opposite direction. The
_tapir_ path takes him up an acclivity, from the stream's edge to the
level of the higher plain, and against it he urges his horse to as much
speed as the nature of the ground will permit. He has thrown away
caution now, and presses forward without fear, expecting soon to see a
man on horseback, but so badly crippled as to be easily overtaken, and
as easily overcome.
What he does see, on reaching the summit of the slope, is something very
different--two horses instead of one, with a man upon the back of each!
And though one may be wounded and disabled, as he knows him to be, the
other is not so, as he can well see. Instead, a man in full health,
strength, and vigour, one Rufino Valdez fears as much as hates, though
hating him with his whole heart. For it is Gaspar, the gaucho, once his
rival in the affections of a Paraguayan girl, and successful in gaining
them.
That the _vaqueano's_ fear now predominates over his antipathy is
evident from his behaviour. Instead of dashing on after to overtake the
horsemen, who, with backs towards him, are slowly retiring, he shows
only a desire to shun them. True, there would be two to one, and he has
himself but a single arm available--his left, broken and bandaged, being
now in a sling. But then only one of the two would be likely to stand
against him, the other being too far gone for light. Indeed,
Halberger--for Valdez naturally supposes it to be he--sits drooped in
his saddle, as though he had difficulty in keeping to it. Not that he
has any idea of attacking them does the _vaqueano_ take note of this,
nor has he the slightest thought of attempting to overtake them. Even
knew he that the wounded man were about to drop dead, he knows the other
would be more than his match, with both his own arms sound and at their
best, for they have been already locked in deadly strife with those of
the gaucho, who could have taken his life, but generously forebore. Not
for the world would Rufino Valdez again engage in single combat with
Caspar Mendez, and soon as setting eyes on the latter he draws bridle so
abruptly that his horse starts back as if he had trodden upon a
rattlesnake.
Quieting the animal with some whispered words, he places himself behind
a thick bush, and there stays all of a tremble, the only thing stedfast
about him being his gaze, fixed upon the forms of the departing
travellers. So carefully does he screen himself, that from the front
nothing is visible to indicate the presence of anyone there, save the
point of a spear, with dry blood upon the blade, projecting above the
bushes, and just touching the fronds of a palm-tree, its ensanguined hue
in vivid contrast with the green of the leaves, as guilt and death in
the midst of innocence and life!
Not till they have passed almost out of his sight, their heads gradually
going down behind the culms of the tall pampas grass, does Rufino Valdez
breathe freely. Then his nerves becoming braced by the anger which
burns within--a fierce rage, from the old hatred of jealousy,
interrupted by this new and bitter disappointment, the thwarting of a
scheme, so far successful, but still only half accomplished--he gives
utterance to a string of blasphemous anathemas, with threats, in
correspondence.
"_Carajo_!" he cries, winding up with the mildest of his profane
exclamations. "Ride on, senores, and get soon home! While there, be
happy as you best may. Ha, ha! there won't be much merriment in that
nest now, with the young chick out of it--pet bird of the flock; nor
long before the whole brood be called upon to forsake it. Soon as I can
get to Assuncion and back with a dozen of our _quarteleros_, ah! won't
there be a wiping out of old scores then? If that young fool,
Naraguana's son, hadn't shown so chicken-hearted, I might have settled
them now; gone home with captives, too, instead of empty-handed. Well,
it won't be so long to wait. Let me see. Three days will take me to
Assuncion--less if this animal under me wasn't so near worn out; three
more to return with the troop. Say a week in all; at the end of which,
if there be a man named Caspar Mendez in the land of the living, it
won't be he whose head I see out yonder. That will be off his
shoulders, or if on them only to help hold in its place the loop-end of
my _lazo_. But I must make haste. For what if Halberger have
recognised me? I don't think he did or could; 'twas too dark. If he
have, what--ay, what? Of course they'll know that wasn't likely to be
the last of it, and that there's something more to come. They'd be
simpletons not to think so; and thinking it, still greater fools if they
don't take some steps to flee away from this new roost they've been
perching upon. But whither can they? The young Tovas chief is
compromised with them--dead declared as their enemy so long as he keeps
that pretty creature captive in his toldo; and there are others of the
tribe will stand by me, I know. The glass beads and other glistening
baubles will secure the young, while a few golden onzas skilfully
distributed will do the same for the _sagamores_. No fear then, no
failure yet! With the Tovas on my side, there isn't a spot in the Chaco
to shelter them. So, _caballeros_! you can keep on. In a week from
this time, I hope to hold an interview with you, less distant and more
satisfactory to myself."
After delivering this quaint rigmarole, he sits watching them till their
heads finally sink below the sea of grass, the rheas feathers in
Caspar's high crowned hat being the last to disappear, as it were waving
back defiance and to the death!
Soon as they are out of sight, and he no longer fears an encounter with
his old enemy, Valdez turns to the consideration of some other things
which have appeared strange to him. At first, why they are riding so
slowly, for as long as seen they were proceeding in a walking-gait
rarely witnessed upon the pampas, and never where the horseman is a
gaucho; for he gallops if it were but to the stream, within a stone's
throw of his solitary cabin, to fetch a jar of water!
"Nothing in that," he mutters, "now I come to think of it. Only natural
they should be going at snail's pace. _Carrai_! the wonder is the
_gringo_ being able for even that, or go at all. I thought I'd given
him his _quietus_, for surely I sent my spear right through his ribs!
It must have struck button, or buckle, or something, and glinted off.
Mad fool of me, when I had him down, not to make sure of my work! Well,
it's no use blubbering about it now. Next time I'll take better care
how the thing's done."
After a short pause, he resumes his strain of interrogative conjecture
now on another matter, which has also struck him as being strange.
"Why are they going off that way, I wonder? It isn't their direct route
homeward, surely? I don't know the exact spot where the _gringo_ has
established himself; but didn't Aguara say the nearest way to it is
along the river's bank, down to their old _tolderia_? If so, certainly
they're making a round about. Ha! I fancy I know the reason; natural,
too, as the other. The Senor Ludwig must have known they were Tovas who
attacked him, and under the belief that they've gone on to their former
place of abode, dreads a second encounter with them. No wonder he
should, having found them such treacherous allies--enemies instead of
friends. Ha, ha, ha! won't that puzzle him? Of course, he hasn't yet
heard of Naraguana's death--couldn't--they all said so. Well, it's a
bit of good luck for me their going that round. My road lies direct
down the river, and now I may proceed upon it without fear of being
spied by them. That would never do just yet. They shall have sight of
me soon enough--sooner than they'll like it. And this reminds me I
mustn't waste any more time here; it's too precious. Now off, and home
to El Supremo, who'll jump with very joy at the news I have for him."
Giving his horse a touch of the spur, he heads him along the high bank,
still keeping within the skirt of timber, and riding slowly through the
tangle of obstructing bushes; but at length getting out upon the old
trail, where it goes down to the ford, he turns along it, in the
opposite direction, towards the deserted _tolderia_. And now, with
nothing further to obstruct him, he plies the spur vigorously, and keeps
on at full gallop, not looking ahead, however, but with eyes all the
while scanning the plain to his left, apprehensively, as fearing there
to see a tall black hat, with a bunch of ostrich feathers floating above
it.