While waiting for the gaucho to rejoin them by the fire the two youths
are not silent, but converse upon the event which saddens and still
mystifies them. For up till this moment they have not seen anything,
nor can they think of aught to account for the calamity which has
befallen them--the double crime that has been committed. No more can
they conceive who have been the perpetrators; though Cypriano all along
has had his suspicions. And now for the first time he communicates them
to his cousin, saying--
"It's been the work of Tovas Indians."
"Impossible, Cypriano!" exclaims Ludwig in surprise. "Why should they
murder my poor father? What motive could they have had for it?"
"Motive enough; at least one of them had."
"One! who mean you?"
"Aguara."
"Aguara! But why he of all the others? And for what?"
"For what? Simply to get possession of your sister."
Ludwig starts, showing greater astonishment than ever.
"Cypriano!" he exclaims; "what do you mean?"
"Just what I've said, cousin. You're perhaps not aware of what I've
myself known for long; that the chief's son has been fixing his eyes on
Francesca."
"The scoundrel!" cries Ludwig, with increasing indignation, for the
first time apprised of the fact thus made known to him. Unobservant of
such things generally, it had never occurred to him to reflect on what
had long been patent to the jealous eyes of Cypriano. Besides, the
thing seemed so absurd, even preposterous--a red-skinned savage
presuming to look upon his sister in the light of a sweetheart, daring
to love her--that the son of the Prussian naturalist, with all the
prejudices of race, could not be otherwise than incredulous of it.
"Are you sure of that?" he questions, still doubting. "Sure of what
you've said, Cypriano?"
"Quite sure," is the confident rejoinder; "more than once I've observed
Aguara's free behaviour towards my cousin; and once would have thrashed
the impudent redskin, but for uncle interfering. He was afraid it might
get us into trouble with Naraguana."
"But did father himself know of it? I mean about Aguara and Francesca?"
"No. I rather think not. And I disliked telling him."
All this is new light to Ludwig, and turns his thoughts into the same
channel of suspicion where those of Cypriano have been already running.
Still, whatever he may think of Naraguana's son, he cannot bring himself
to believe that Naraguana has been guilty. His father's friend, and
hitherto their protector!
"It cannot be!" he exclaims; "surely it cannot be!"
"It may be for all that, and in my opinion is. Ah! cousin, there's no
telling how an Indian will act. I never knew one who didn't turn
treacherous when it served his purpose. Whether the old chief has been
so or not, I'm quite sure his son has. Take my word for it, Ludwig,
it's the Tovas Indians who've done this deed, and it will be with them
we'll have to deal."
"But whither can they have gone? and why went they off so suddenly and
secretly, without letting father or any of us know. All that certainly
seems strange."
"Not so strange when we think of what's happened since. My idea is,
it's been all a planned thing. Aguara got his father to agree to his
carrying off Francesca; and the old chief, controlled by the young one,
let him take his way. Fearing to face uncle he first went off, taking
the whole tribe along; and they're now, no doubt, residing in some
distant part of the Chaco, where they suppose we'll never go after them.
But Francesca will be there too; and we must follow and find her--ay,
if we have to lay down our lives when she's found. Shall we not,
cousin?"
"Yes; shall and will!" is Ludwig's rejoinder in a tone of determination;
their dialogue getting interrupted by Gaspar coming back to the
camp-fire, and saying--
"Now, _senoritos_! It's high time we had some supper."
On making this announcement the gaucho himself sets about preparing
their evening repast. It requires no great effort of culinary skill;
since the more substantial portion of it has been already cooked, and is
now presented in the shape of a cold shoulder of mutton, with a cake of
corn bread, extracted from a pair of _alparejas_, or saddle-bags. In
the Chaco there are sheep--the Indians themselves breeding them--while
since settling there the hunter-naturalist had not neglected either
pastoral or agricultural pursuits. Hence the meal from which came that
cake of maize-bread.
With these two _pieces de resistance_ nothing remains but to make a cup
of "Paraguay tea," for which Gaspar has provided all the materials,
viz., an iron kettle for boiling water, cups of cocoa-nut shell termed
_mates_--for this is the name of the vessel, not the beverage--and
certain tubes, the _bombillas_, to serve as spoons; the Paraguayan tea
being imbibed, not in the ordinary way, but sucked up through these
_bombillas_. All the above implements, with a little sugar for
sweetening; and, lastly, the _yerba_ itself, has the thoughtful gaucho
brought along. No milk, however; the lacteal fluid not being deemed a
necessary ingredient in the cup which cheers the Paraguayan people,
without intoxicating them.
Gaspar--as all gauchos, skilled in the concoction of it--in a short time
has the three _mates_ brimful of the brew. Then the _bombillas_ are
inserted, and the process of sucking commences; suspended only at
intervals while the more substantial mutton and maize-bread are being
masticated.
Meanwhile, as a measure of security, the camp-fire has been
extinguished, though they still keep their places around its embers.
And while eating, converse; Cypriano imparting to Gaspar the suspicions
he has already communicated to his cousin.
It is no new idea to the gaucho; instead, the very one his own thoughts
have been dwelling upon. For he, too, had long observed the behaviour
of the young Tovas chief towards the daughter of his _dueno_. And what
has now occurred seems to coincide with that--all except the supposed
treachery of Naraguana. A good judge of character, as most gauchos are,
Gaspar cannot think of the aged cacique having turned traitor. Still,
as Ludwig, he is at a loss what to think. For why should the Tovas
chief have made that abrupt departure from his late abiding place? The
reason assigned by Cypriano is not, to his view, satisfactory; though he
cannot imagine any other. So, they finish their suppers and retire to
rest, without having arrived at any certain conclusion, one way or the
other.
With heads rested upon their saddles, and their ponchos wrapped around
them, they seek sleep, Ludwig first finding it; next Cypriano, though he
lies long awake--kept so by torturing thoughts. But tired nature at
length overpowers him, and he too sinks into slumber.
The gaucho alone surrenders not to the drowsy god; but, repelling his
attacks, still lies reflecting. Thus run his reflections--as will be
seen, touching near the truth:
"_Carramba_! I can think of but one man in all the world who had an
interest in the death of my dear master. One there was who'd have given
a good deal to see him dead--that's El Supremo. No doubt he searched
high and low for us, after we gave him the slip. But then, two years
gone by since! One would think it enough to have made him almost forget
us. Forgive, no! that wouldn't be Senor Jose Francia. He never
forgives. Nor is it likely he has forgotten, either, what the _dueno_
did. Crossing him in his vile purpose, was just the sort of thing to
stick in his crop for the remainder of his life; and I shouldn't wonder
if it's his hand has been here. Odd, those tracks of a shod horse; four
times back and forward! And the last of them, by their look, must have
been made as late as yesterday--some time in the early morning, I should
say. Beyond the old _tolderia_, downward, they've gone. I wish I'd
turned a bit that way as we came up, so as to be sure of it. Well, I'll
find that out, when we get back from this pursuit; which I very much
fear will prove a wild goose chase."
For a time he lies without stirring, or moving a muscle, on his back,
with eyes seemingly fixed upon the stars, like an ancient astrologer in
the act of consulting them for the solution of some deep mystery hidden
from mortal ken. Then, as if having just solved it, he gives a sudden
start, exclaiming:
"_Sangre de Crista_! that's the explanation of all, the whole affair;
murder, abduction, everything."
His words, though only muttered, awaken Cypriano, still only
half-asleep.
"What is it, Gaspar?" questions the youth.
"Oh, nothing, _senorito_; only a mosquito that took a fancy to stick its
bill into the bridge of my nose. But I've given Master _Zancudo_ his
quietus; and he won't trouble me again."
Though the gaucho thinks he has at last got the clue to what has been
mystifying them, like all skilled tacticians he intends for a time
keeping it to himself. So, saying no more, he leaves his young
companion to return to his slumbers: which the latter soon does.
Himself now more widely awake than ever, he follows up the train of
thought Cypriano had interrupted.
"It's clear that Francia has at length found out our whereabouts. I
wonder he didn't do so long ago; and have often warned the _dueno_ of
the danger we were in. Of course, Naraguana kept him constantly
assured; and with war to the knife between the Tovas and Paraguayans, no
wonder my poor master was too careless and confident. But something has
happened lately to affect their relations. The Indians moving so
mysteriously away from their old place shows it. And these shod-tracks
tell, almost for sure, that some white man has been on a visit to them,
wherever they are now. Just as sure about this white man being an
emissary from El Supremo. And who would his emissary be? Who sent on
such an errand so likely as _him_?"
The emphasis on the "him" points to some one not yet mentioned, but whom
the gaucho has in his mind. Soon, however, he gives the name, saying:
"The scoundrel who bestrode that horse--and a thorough scoundrel too--is
Rufino Valdez. Assassin, besides! It's he who has murdered my master.
I'd lay my life on it."
After arriving at this conclusion, he adds:
"What a pity I didn't think of this before! If but yesterday morning!
He must have passed along the trail going back, and alone? Ah! the
chance I've let escape me! Such an opportunity for settling old scores
with Senor Rufino! Well, he and I may meet yet; and if we do, one of us
will have to stay on the spot where that encounter takes place, or be
carried from it feet foremost. I think I know which would go that way,
and which the other."
Thus predicating, the gaucho pulls his poncho around his shoulders, and
composes himself for sleep; though it is some time before he succeeds in
procuring it.
But Morpheus coming to his aid, proves too many for the passions which
agitate him; and he at length sinks into a profound slumber, not broken
till the curassows send up their shrill cries--as the crowing of
Chanticleer--to tell that another day is dawning upon the Chaco.