As the darkness, due to the storm, has now been succeeded by the more
natural darkness of night, the trackers, for this day, cannot proceed
further, were they ever so eager. Besides, there is another bar to
their continuing; one still more directly obstructive, even forbidding
their exit from the cave. This, the _arroyo_, which now in full flood
fills the ravine up to the cliff's base, there leaving no path for
either man or horse. That by which they approached is covered beyond
fording depth, with a current so swift as to sweep the strongest animal
from its feet, even were it an elephant. And to attempt reaching the
opposite side by swimming, would only result in their getting carried
down to be drowned to a certainty, or have the life crushed out of them
on the rocks below.
Gaspar knowing all this, does not dream of making any such rash
experiment. On the contrary, as he has signified, he designs them to
remain all night in the cavern. Indeed, there is no alternative, as he
observes, explaining how egress is forbidden, and assuring them that
they are, in point of fact, as much prisoners as though the doors of a
jail were shut and locked upon them.
Their imprisonment, however, need not last till the morning; so far as
the flood is concerned. And this he also makes known to them, himself
aware that the waters in the _arroyo_, will subside as rapidly as they
had risen. It is one of those short rivulets, whose floods are over
almost as soon as the rain which causes them. Looking out again near
the hour of midnight, they see his prediction verified. The late
swollen and fast-rushing stream has become reduced to nearly its normal
dimensions, and runs past in gentle ripple, while the moon shining full
upon it, shows not a flake of foam.
They could even now pass out of the cave, and on up the cliff where they
came down, if they desired to do so. More, they might with such a clear
moon, return to the river's bank and continue on along the trail they
had forsaken. A trail so plain as it, could be followed in a light far
more faint; at least, so think they. So believing, Cypriano, as ever
impatient to get on, is greatly inclined to this course, and chafes at
the irksomeness of delay. But Gaspar objects, giving his reasons.
"If we were to go on now," he says, "it wouldn't better us a bit. All
we'd gain by it would be the league or so from this to the river. Once
there, and attempting to travel up its bank, we'd find scores of little
creeks that run into it, in full freshet, and have to swim our horses
across them. That would only lose time, instead of gaining it. Now, by
daybreak, they'll all be down again, when we can travel straight on
without being delayed by so many stoppages. I tell you, Senor Cypriano,
if we start now, it'll be only to find the old saying true, `More haste,
worse speed.'"
He to whom this speech is addressed perceives the application of the
adage, and admitting it, yields the point.
"Besides," adds the gaucho, by way of clinching his argument, "we've got
to spend part of the night somewhere, and have some sleep. If we keep
on without that, it may end in our breaking dead down, which would be
worse than being a little behind time. We all stand in need of rest
now. Speaking for myself, I want it badly; and I'm sure so does Master
Ludwig and you too, _senorito_! If we were to leave the cave, and seek
for it anywhere outside, we'd find the ground soaking wet, and, like
enough, every one of us get laid up with a spell of rheumatics. Here
we'll be as snug as a _biscacha_ in its hole; and, I take it, will sleep
undisturbed by the squalling of any more cats."
As Cypriano makes no further opposition, it is decided that they remain
in the cave till morning.
The little incident as above, with the conversation which accompanies
it, does not take place immediately after the tiger had been disposed
of; for they have eaten supper since. By good luck, some sticks were
found in the cave, half-burnt faggots, the remains of a fire no doubt
left by a party of Indian hunters, who had also spent a night there.
With these they were enabled to boil their kettle, and make a _mate_ of
their favourite _yerba_ tea; while the "knuckle" of mutton and some
cakes of corn bread still left, needed no cooking. It is after all this
was over, and they had been some time conversing on the many strange
incidents which occurred to them throughout the day, that they became
aware of the flood having fallen, and escape from their rock-bound
prison possible. Then succeeded the discussion recorded.
At its termination, as nothing more can be done, and all feeling
fatigued, to go to rest is naturally the next move. Their horses have
already been attended to by the removal of the riding gear, while some
rough grass found growing against the cliff, near the cave's entrance
outside, has been cut and carried in to them.
A slight grooming given to the animals, and it but remains to make their
own beds. This done, by simply spreading their _jergas_ and
_caronillas_ along the flinty stalagmites, each having his own _recado_
for a pillow. Their ponchos, long since pulled apart, and the dust
cuffed out of them, are to serve for what they really are--blankets; a
purpose to which at night they are put by all gauchos and most
Argentinos--as much as they are used during day time for cloak or
greatcoat.
Each wrapping himself up in his own, all conversation ceases, and sleep
is sought with closed eyes. This night it is found by them in a
succession somewhat changed. As on that preceding, Ludwig is first
asleep; but almost instantly after it is Gaspar, not Cypriano, who
surrenders to the drowsy god; filling the hollow cavity with his
snoring, loud as that often heard to proceed from the nostrils of a
tapir. He well knows they are safe within that rock-bound chamber;
besides that he is tired dead down with the day's exertion; hence his so
soon becoming oblivious.
Cypriano is the last to yield. But he, too, at length gives way, and
all is silent within the cavern, save the "crump-crump" of the horses
munching their coarse provender, with now and then a hoof striking the
hard rock. But louder than all is that raucous reverberation sent up by
the slumbering gaucho.