When Gaspar, on first sighting the _biscachera_, poured forth vials of
wrath upon it, he little dreamt that another burrow of similar kind, and
almost at the very same hour, was doing him a service by causing not
only obstruction, but serious damage to the man he regards as his
greatest enemy.
This second warren lay at least a hundred miles from the one they have
succeeded in crossing, in a direction due east from the latter, and on
the straight route for the city of Assuncion.
Let us throw aside circumlocution, and at once give account of the
incident.
On this same day, and, as already said, almost the same hour, when the
trackers are brought up by the _biscachera_, a single horseman is seen
with head turned towards the Paraguay, and making as if to reach this
river; from which he is distant some eighteen or twenty miles. He rides
at a rapid rate; and that he has been doing so for a long continuance of
time, can be told by the lagging gait of his horse, and the sweat
saturating the animal's coat from neck to croup. For all, he slackens
not the pace; instead, seems anxious to increase it, every now and then
digging his spurs deep, and by strokes of a spear shaft he carries in
his hands, urging his roadster onward. Anyone witness to his acting in
this apparently frantic fashion, would suppose him either demented, or
fleeing from pursuers who seek nothing less than his life. But as the
plain over which he rides is smooth, level, and treeless for long
leagues to his rear as also to right and left, and no pursuer nor aught
of living thing visible upon it, the latter, at least, cannot be the
case. And for the former, a glance at the man's face tells that neither
is insanity the cause of his cruel behaviour to his horse. Rufino
Valdez--for he is the hastening horseman--if bad, is by no means mad.
Superfluous to say, what the errand pressing him to such speed. In
soliloquy he has himself declared it: hastening to communicate news
which he knows will be welcome to the Paraguayan tyrant, and afterwards
return to Halberger's _estancia_ with a party of those hireling
soldiers--quaintly termed _cuarteleros_ from their living in barracks,
or _cuartels_.
With this sinister purpose in view, and the expectation of a rich
reward, the _vaqueano_ has given his roadster but little rest since
parting from the Tovas' camp; and the animal is now nigh broken down.
Little recks its rider. Unlike a true gaucho, he cares not what
mischance may befall his steed, so long as it serves his present
necessity. If it but carry him to the Paraguay, it may drop down dead
on the river's bank, for aught he will want, or think of it afterwards.
Thus free from solicitude about his dumb companion, he spurs and flogs
the poor creature to the best speed it is able to make. Not much this;
for every now and then it totters in its steps, and threatens going to
grass, in a way different from what it might wish.
"About twenty miles," the _vaqueano_ mutters to himself, with a glance,
cast inquiringly ahead. "It can't be more than that to the river
itself. Question is, whether I can make it anywheres near Assuncion.
I'm not sure about this trail; evidently only a cattle run. It may lead
me too much above or below. In any case," he adds, "I must bring out
near one of the _guardias_, so thick along the bank, and the soldiers of
the post will ferry me across. From there I'll have a good road to the
town."
So consoling himself, he keeps on; no longer paying much attention to
the doubtful cattle track, but rather taking guidance from the sun.
This going down is directly behind his back, and so tells him the due
course east, as well as west; for it is eastward he wishes to go. Now,
near the horizon, it casts an elongated shadow of himself and his
animal, far to the front; and after this he rides, as though following
in the footsteps of some giant on horseback!
The sun soon after setting, the shadow changes, veering round to his
rear. But it is now made by the moon, which is also low in the sky;
only before his face, instead of behind his back. For it would be the
season of harvest--were such known in the Chaco--and the moon is at her
full, lighting up the _campo_ with a clearness unknown to northern
lands.
Were it otherwise, Rufino Valdez might have halted here, and been forced
to stay in the Chaco for another night. But tempted by the bright
moonlight, and the thought of his journey so near an end, he resolves
differently; and once more pricking his tired, steed with spurs long
since blood-clotted, he again forces it into a gallop.
But the pace is only for a short while sustained. Before going much
further he feels his horse floundering between his legs; while a glance
to the ground shows him he is riding through a _biscachera_!
Absorbed in thought--perhaps perfecting some wicked scheme--he had not
noticed the burrow till now. Now he sees it--holes and heaps all around
him--at the same time hearing the screeches of the owls, as the
frightened birds fly up out of his path.
He is about to draw bridle, when the reins are suddenly jerked from his
grasp--by his horse, which has gone headlong to the ground! At the same
instant he hears a sound, like the cracking of a dead stick snapped
crosswise. It is not that, but the shank of his horse, broken above the
pastern joint! It is the last sound he hears then, or for some time
after; he himself sustaining damage, though of a different kind--the
dislocation of a shoulder-blade--that of the arm already injured--with a
shock which deprives him of his senses.
Long lies he upon that moonlit plain, neither hearing the cries of the
night birds nor seeing the great ratlike quadrupeds that, in their
curiosity, come crowding close to, and go running around him!
And though consciousness at length returns, he remains in that same
place till morning's light--and for the whole of another day and night--
leaving the spot, and upon it his broken-legged horse, himself to limp
slowly away, leaning upon his guilty spear, as one wounded on a
battle-field, but one who has been fighting for a bad cause.
He reaches Assuncion--though not till the third day after--and there
gets his broken bones set. But for Gaspar Mendez, there may have been
luck in that shoulder-blade being put out of joint.