After passing the _biscachera_, the trackers have not proceeded far,
when Caspar again reins up with eyes lowered to the ground. The others
seeing this, also bring their horses to a stand; then watch the gaucho,
who is apparently engaged with a fresh inspection of the trail.
"Have you found anything else?" asks Cypriano.
"No, _senorito_. Instead, I've lost something."
"What?" inquire both, in a breath.
"I don't any longer see the tracks of that shod horse. I mean the big
one we know nothing about. The pony's are here, but as for the other,
they're missing."
All three now join in a search for them, riding slowly along the trail,
and in different directions backward and forward. But after some
minutes thus passed, their search proves fruitless; no shod hoof-print,
save that of the pony, to be seen.
"This accounts for it," mutters Caspar, giving up the quest, and
speaking as to himself.
"Accounts for what?" demands Cypriano, who has overheard him.
"The return tracks we saw on the other side of the camp ground. I mean
the freshest of them, that went over the ford of the stream. Whoever
rode that horse, whether red or white man, has parted from the Indians
at their camping-place, no doubt after staying all night with them. Ha!
there's something at the back of all this; somebody behind Aguara and
his Indians--that very somebody I've been guessing at. He--to a dead
certainty."
The last sentences are not spoken aloud; for as yet he has not confided
his suspicions about Francia and Valdez to his youthful comrades.
"No matter about this shod horse and his back-track," he continues, once
more heading his own animal to the trail. "We've now only to do with
those that have gone forward, and forward let us haste."
While speaking he strikes his ponderous spurs against his horse's ribs,
setting him into a canter, the others starting off at the same pace.
For nearly an hour they continue this rate of speed, the conspicuous
trail enabling them to travel rapidly and without interruption. It
still carries them up the Pilcomayo, though not always along the river's
immediate bank. At intervals it touches the water's edge, at others
parting from it; the deflections due to "bluffs" which here and there
impinge upon the stream, leaving no room for path between it and their
bases.
When nearing one of these, of greater elevation than common, Gaspar
again draws his horse to a halt; though it cannot be the cliff which has
caused him to do so. His eyes are not on it, but turned on a tree,
which stands at some distance from the path they are pursuing, out upon
the open plain. It is one of large size, and light green foliage, the
leaves pinnate, bespeaking it of the order _leguminosae_. It is in fact
one of the numerous species of _mimosas_, or sensitive plants, common on
the plains and mountains of South America, and nowhere in greater
number, or variety, than in the region of the Gran Chaco.
Ludwig and Cypriano have, in the meantime, also drawn up; and turning
towards the tree at which Caspar is gazing, they see its long slender
branches covered with clusters of bright yellow flowers, these evidently
the object of his attention. There is something about them that calls
for his closer scrutiny; since after a glance or two, he turns his
horse's head towards the tree, and rides on to it.
Arrived under its branches, he raises his hand aloft, plucks off a spray
of the flowers, and dismounting, proceeds to examine it with curious
minuteness, as if a botanist endeavouring to determine its genus or
species! But he has no thought of this; for he knows the tree well,
knows it to possess certain strange properties, one of which has been
his reason for riding up to it, and acting as he now does.
The other two have also drawn near; and dismounting, hold their horses
in hand while they watch him with wondering eyes. One of them cries
out--
"What now, Caspar? Why are you gathering those flowers?" It is
Cypriano who speaks, impatiently adding, "Remember, our time is
precious."
"True, master," gravely responds the gaucho; "but however precious it
is, we may soon have to employ it otherwise than in taking up a trail.
If this tree tells truth, we'll have enough on our hands to take care of
ourselves, without thinking of Indians."
"What mean you?" both interrogated together.
"Come hither, _senoritos_, and set your eyes on these flowers!"
Thus requested they comply, leading their horses nearer to the tree.
"Well?" exclaims Cypriano, "I see nothing in them; that is, nothing that
strikes me as being strange."
"But I do," says Ludwig, whose father had given him some instruction in
the science of botany. "I observe that the corollas are well nigh
closed, which they should not be at this hour of the day, if the tree is
in a healthy condition. It's the _uinay_; I know it well. We have
passed several on the way as we started this morning, but I noticed none
with the flowers thus shrivelled up."
"Stand still a while," counsels Gaspar, "and watch them."
They do as desired, and see what greatly surprises them. At least
Cypriano is surprised; for the young Paraguayan, unlike his half-German
cousin, unobservant of Nature generally, has never given a thought to
any of its particular phenomena; and that now presented to his gaze is
one of the strangest. For while they stand watching the _uinay_, its
flowers continue to close their corollas, the petals assuming a shrunk,
withered appearance.
The gaucho's countenance seems to take its cue from them, growing graver
as he stands contemplating the change.
"_Por Dios_!" he at length exclaims, "if that tree be speaking truth,
and I never knew of the _uinay_ telling lies, we'll have a storm upon us
within twenty minutes' time; such a one as will sweep us out of our
saddles, if we can't get under shelter. Ay, sure it's going to be
either a _temporal_ or _tormenta_! And this is not the where to meet
it. Here we'd be smothered in a minute, if not blown up into the sky.
Stay! I think I know of a place near by, where we may take refuge
before it's down upon us. Quick, _muchachos_! Mount, and let us away
from here. A moment lost, and it may be too late; _vamonos_!"
Leaping back into their saddles, all three again go off in a gallop; no
longer upon the Indian trail, but in a somewhat different direction, the
gaucho guiding and leading.