Just about the same time that the party of trackers had turned to take
departure from the barometer-tree, a cavalcade of a very different kind,
and composed of a greater number of individuals, is moving over the
plain, some forty or fifty miles distant. It is the party being
tracked; Aguara and his band of young braves on return to the _tolderia_
of their tribe; the one now become their permanent place of abode.
More than one change has taken place in the Indian cohort since it
passed over the same ground going downward. In number it is still the
same; but one of them does not sit erect upon his horse; instead, lies
bent across the animal's back, like a sack of corn. There he is fast
tied to keep him from tailing off, for he could do nothing to prevent
this--being dead! He it was who came forth from the _sumac_ grove
wounded by Halberger's bullet, and the wound has proved fatal; this
accounting for the pieces of _sipos_ seen at their camping-place.
Another change in the composition of the party is, that the white man,
Valdez, is no longer with it. Just as Gaspar had conjectured, from
seeing the return tracks of his horse, he had parted company with the
Indians at their first encampment, on the night after the murder.
Another and very different individual, has taken his place at the head
of the troop. The daughter of the murdered man who now rides by the
side of the young Tovas chief!
Though a captive, she is not bound. They have no fear of her attempting
to escape; nor does she even think of it. Though ever so well mounted,
she knows such an attempt would be idle, and on her diminutive roadster,
which she still rides, utterly hopeless. Therefore, since the moment of
being made captive, no thought of escaping by flight had even entered
her mind.
With her long yellow hair hanging dishevelled over her shoulders, her
cheeks white as lilies, and an expression of utter woe in her eyes, she
sits her saddle seemingly regardless of where she is going, or whether
she fall off and get trampled under the hoofs of the horses coming
behind. It alone, her pony might wander at will; but alongside Aguara's
horse it keeps pace with the latter, its meek, submissive look, seeming
to tell of its being as much a prisoner as its mistress.
Beyond the bereavement she has suffered by her father's death--for she
saw him struck down, and believes him to be dead--no ill-treatment has
been offered her: not even insult. Instead, the young cacique has been
making efforts to gain her good will! He pretends innocence of any
intent to take her father's life, laying it all on the shoulders of
Valdez. Giving reasons too, not without some significance, and an air
of probability. For was not the _vaqueano_ an old enemy of her father,
while they were resident in Paraguay? The young Tovas chief has learnt
this from Valdez himself, and does not fail to speak of it to his
prisoner. Further, he pretends it was on account of this very crime the
_vaqueano_ has committed, that he parted company with them--in short,
fled, fearing punishment had he accompanied them back to their town.
In this manner the wily Indian does all he can to mislead his captive,
as they journey along together.
Captive, he does not call her; in this also feigning pretence. He tells
her that the reason for their not taking her direct to the _estancia_
is, because of a party of Guaycurus, their enemies, being out on the war
path, and it was to discover the whereabouts of these he and his
followers were out scouting, when the sad mischance, as he flippantly
terms it, arose. That having learnt where the hostile Indians were, he
had needs return at once and report to the warriors of his tribe; thus
the excuse for his not seeing her to her home. They could not leave her
alone in the wilderness, and therefore of necessity she was going with
them to their town; afterwards to be taken back to the _estancia_--to
her mother. With such false tales, cunningly conceived, does he
endeavour to beguile the ears of his captive.
For all that they are not believed; scarcely listened to. She, to whom
they are told, has reasons for discrediting them. Though but a child in
years, Francesca Halberger is not childish in understanding. The
strange experiences and perils through which she, and all related to
her, had passed, have given her the discernment of a more mature age;
and well comprehends she her present situation, with other misfortunes
that have led to it. She is not ignorant of the young chief's
partiality for herself; more than once made manifest to her in signs
unmistakable--by acts as well as words. Besides, what he is not aware
of, she had overheard part of the speech which passed between him and
the _vaqueano_, as the latter was entering the _sumac_ grove, to do that
deed which has left her without a father. Instead, therefore, of
Aguara's words deceiving her into a false confidence, they but
strengthen the feeling of repulsion she has all along had for him.
Whether listening or not, she makes no reply to what he says, nor even
deigns to look at him. Sitting listless, dejected, with her eyes
habitually bent upon the ground, she rides on as one who has utterly
abandoned herself to despair. Too sad, too terribly afflicted with what
is past, she appears to have no thoughts about the future, no hopes.
Or, if at intervals one arises in her mind, it rests not on him now by
her side, but her father. For as yet she knows not that Naraguana is
dead.
If somewhat changed the _personnel_ of the Indian troop, much more is it
altered in the general aspect and behaviour of those who compose it--a
very contrast to what was exhibited on their way downward. No longer
mirthful, making the welkin ring with their jests and loud laughter;
instead, there is silence upon their lips, sadness in their hearts, and
gloom--even fear--on their faces. For they are carrying home one of
their number a corpse, and dread telling the tale of it. What will the
elders say, when they hear what has occurred? What do?
The feeling among Aguara's followers may be learnt from a dialogue,
carried on between two of them who ride in the rear of the troop. They
have been speaking of their paleface captive, and extolling her charms,
one of them saying how much their young cacique is to be envied his good
luck, in possession of such a charming creature.
"After all, it may bring him into trouble," suggests the more sage of
the speakers, adding, "ay, and ourselves as well--every one of us."
"How that," inquires the other.
"Well; you know, if Naraguana had been living, he would never have
allowed this."
"But Naraguana is not living, and who is to gainsay the will of Aguara?
He's now our chief, and can do as he likes with this captive girl, or
any other. Can't he?"
"No; that he can't. You forget the elders. Besides, you don't seem to
remember the strong friendship that existed between our old cacique and
him the _vaqueano_ has killed. I've heard say that Naraguana, just
before his death, in his last words, left a command we should all stand
by the palefaced stranger, her father, and protect him and his against
every enemy, as long as they remained in the Chaco. Strange protection
we've given him! Instead, help to the man who has been his murderer!
And now returning home, with his daughter a captive! What will our
people think of all this? Some of them, I know, were as much the white
man's friend almost as Naraguana himself. Besides, they won't like the
old cacique's dying injunction having been thus disregarded. I tell
you, there'll be trouble when we get back."
"No fear. Our young chief is too popular and powerful. He'll not find
any one to oppose his will; which, as I take it, is to make this little
paleface his wife, and our queen. Well, I can't help envying him; she's
such a sweet thing. But won't the Tovas maidens go mad with jealousy!
I know one--that's Nacena--"
The dialogue is interrupted by a shout heard from one who rides near the
front of the troop. It is a cry as of alarm, and is so understood by
all; at the same time all comprehending that the cause is something seen
afar off.
In an instant every individual of the party springs up from his sitting
posture, and stands erect upon the back of his horse, gazing out over
the plain. The corpse alone lies still; the captive girl also keeping
her seat, to all seeming heedless of what has startled them, and caring
not what new misfortune may be in store for her. Her cup of sorrow is
already full, and she recks not if it run over.