Long before daylight penetrates the interior of the cavern, or shows its
first streak on the sky outside, the trackers are up and active.
A hasty breakfast is prepared; but, as the mutton bone is now quite
bare, they have to fall back on another kind of flesh-meat, which the
provident Caspar has brought along. This is _charqui_, or as it is
called by English-speaking people "jerked beef;" in all likelihood a
sailor's pseudonym, due to some slight resemblance, between the English
word "jerked," and the Guarani Indian one _charqui_, as pronounced by
South American people.
_Charqui_ is simply beef cut into long, thin strips, then hung over a
rope or rail, and exposed to a hot sun--in the absence of this, to a
fire--till the juices are thoroughly dried out of it. Thus prepared, it
will keep for weeks, indeed months.
The reason for so preserving it, is the scarcity of salt, which in the
districts where _charqui_ prevails, is difficult to be got at, and, in
consequence, dear. Most of the beef imported from the La Plata, under
the name of "jerked beef," is not _charqui_, but simply meat cured with
salt. Beef is preserved by a similar process throughout most parts of
Spanish America, as in Mexico, and California, and for the same reason;
but in these countries it is termed _tasajo_, and sometimes _cecina_.
_Charqui_ is by no means a dainty viand; not nice either to the nose or
palate. Those portions of it which have not had sufficient sun in the
drying process, become tainted, and the odour is anything but agreeable.
For all, it serves a purpose in those countries where salt is a scarce
commodity; and cooked--as all Spanish Americans cook it--with a
plentiful seasoning of onions, garlic, and chili, the "gamey" flavour
ceases to be perceptible. Above all, it is a boon to the traveller who
has a long journey to make through the uninhabited wilderness, with no
inns nor post-houses at which he may replenish his spent stock of
provisions. Being dry, firm, and light, it can be conveniently carried
in haversack, or saddle-bags.
By Caspar's foresight, there is a packet of it in Ludwig's _alparejas_,
where all the other provisions are stowed; and a piece cut from one of
the strips, about the length of a Bologna sausage, makes breakfast for
all three. Of the Paraguay tea they have a good store, the _yerba_
being a commodity which packs in small space.
Their morning meal is dismissed with slight ceremony; and soon as eaten,
they recaparison their horses; then leading them out of the cavern,
mount, and are off. As the _arroyo_ has long since shrunk to its
ordinary level, and the path along the base of the bluff is dry as when
trodden by them in their rush for shelter from the storm, they have no
difficulty in getting out. So on they ride up the steep acclivity to
the cliff's crest; which last is on a level with the pampa itself.
But on reaching it, a sight meets their eyes--it is now daylight--
causing a surprise to Ludwig and Cypriano; but to Gaspar something
more--something akin to dismay. For the sage gaucho mentally sees
further than either of his less experienced companions; and that now
observed by him gives token of a new trouble in store for them. The
plain is no longer a green grassy savanna, as when they galloped across
it on the afternoon preceding, but a smooth expanse, dark brown in
colour, its surface glittering under the red rays of the rising sun,
whose disc is as yet but half visible above the horizon!
"_Santos Dios_!" exclaims the gaucho, as he sits in his saddle,
contemplating the transformation, to him no mystery. "I thought it
would be so."
"How very strange!" remarks Ludwig.
"Not at all strange, _senorito_; but just as it should be, and as we
might have expected."
"But what has caused it?"
"Oh, cousin," answered Cypriano, who now comprehends all. "Can't you
see? I do."
"See what?"
"Why, that the dust has settled down over the plain; and the rain coming
after, has converted it into mud."
"Quite right, Senor Cypriano," interposes Gaspar; "but that isn't the
worst of it."
Both turn their eyes upon him, wondering what worse he can allude to.
Cypriano interrogates:--
"Is it some new danger, Gaspar?"
"Not exactly a danger, but almost as bad; a likelihood of our being
again delayed."
"But how?"
"We'll no longer have track or trace to guide us, if this abominable
sludge extend to the river; as I daresay it does. There we'll find the
trail blind as an owl at noontide. As you see, the thing's nearly an
inch thick all over the ground. 'Twould smother up the wheel-ruts of a
loaded _carreta_."
His words, clearly understood by both his young companions, cause them
renewed uneasiness. For they can reason, that if the trail be
obliterated, their chances of being able to follow the route taken by
the abductors will be reduced to simple guessing; and what hope would
there be searching that way over the limitless wilderness of the Chaco?
"Well?" says Gaspar, after they had remained for some moments gazing
over the cheerless expanse which extends to the very verge of their
vision, "it won't serve any good purpose, our loitering here. We may as
well push on to the river, and there learn the worst--if worst it's to
be. _Vamonos_!"
With this, the Spanish synonym for "Come along!" the gaucho gives his
horse a dig in the ribs, with spur rowels of six inches diameter, and
starts off at a swinging pace, the others after.
And now side by side go all three, splashing and spattering through the
mortar-like mud, which, flung up in flakes by their horses' hoofs, is
scattered afar in every direction.
Half an hour of quick cantering brings them back upon the Pilcomayo's
bank; not where they had parted from it, but higher up, near the mouth
of the _arroyo_. For Gaspar did not deem it necessary to return to that
prophetic tree, whose forecast has proved so unfailing. To have gone
back thither would have been a roundabout of several miles, since they
had made a cross-cut to reach the cavern; and as on the way they had
seen nothing of the Indian trail, it must needs have continued up the
river.
But now, having reached this, they cannot tell; for here, as on all the
plain over which they have passed, is spread the same coating of
half-dried dirt, fast becoming drier and firmer as the ascending
tropical sun, with strengthened intensity, pours his hot beams upon it.
It has smothered up the Indian's trail as completely as it snow several
inches deep lay upon it. No track there, no sign to show, that either
horses or men ever passed up the Pilcomayo's bank.
"_Caspita_!" exclaims the gaucho, in spiteful tone. "It is as I
anticipated; blind as an old mule with a _tapojo_ over its eyes. May
the fiends take that _tormenta_!"