As they make towards the tree, which has erst served others than
themselves as a guide to the crossing-place, the nature of the ground
hinders their going at great speed. Being soft and somewhat boggy, they
are compelled to creep slowly and cautiously over it.
But at length they get upon a sort of ridge slightly elevated above the
general level, though still unsafe for fast travelling. Along this,
however, they can ride abreast, and without fear of breaking through.
As they proceed onward, Gaspar gives them some further information about
the ford they are making for.
"We can easily wade it," he says, "if this awkward and ill-timed
dust-storm hasn't changed it, as everything else. When poor dear master
and I went across--that would be about six months ago--the water wasn't
quite up to our stirrups; but, like as not, last night's downpour has
raised it too, and we'll have a swim for it. Well, that won't matter
much. There, at all events, we can get the horses out; as the bank
slopes off gently. So there'll be no fear of our being stuck or sent
floundering in the stream. A regular Indian road, crosses the _riacho_
there, and has worn a rut running down to the channel on both sides."
His hearers are pleased at this intelligence; Cypriano signifying so by
the laconic rejoinder--
"_Esta bueno_."
Then follows an interval of silence; after which Gaspar, as if some new
thought had occurred to him, suddenly exclaims--
"_Santos Dios_! I'd forgotten that."
"Forgotten what?" both inquire, with a surprised, but not apprehensive
look; for the gaucho's words were not in this tone.
"Something," he answers, "which we ought to find at this very
crossing-place. A bit of good luck it's being here."
"And what do you expect from it?" questions Cypriano.
"I expect to learn whether we're still on the right track, or have
strayed away from it. We've been going by guesswork long enough; but,
if I don't greatly mistake we'll there see something to tell us whether
our guesses have been good or bad. If the redskins have come up the
river at all, it's pretty sure they also have crossed the _riacho_ at
this very ford, and we should there see some traces of them. Sure to
find them on the sloping banks, as we did by the _arroyo_. That will
count a score in our favour."
By the time he has ceased speaking, they have reached the _quebracha_;
and, soon as under its shadow, Gaspar again reins up, telling the others
to do the same. It is not that he has any business with the beacon
tree, as with that which served them for a barometer; but simply,
because they are once more within sight of the stream--out of view since
they left its bank below. The ford is also before their eyes, visible
over the tops of some low bordering bushes.
But what has now brought the gaucho to a stop is neither the stream, nor
its crossing-place; but a flock of large birds wading about in the
water, at the point where he knows the ford to be. Long-legged
creatures they are, standing as on stilts, and full five feet high,
snow-white in colour, all but their huge beaks, which are jet black,
with a band of naked skin around their necks, and a sort of pouch like a
pelican's, this being of a bright scarlet. For they are _garzones
soldados_, or "soldier-cranes," so-called from their red throats bearing
a fancied resemblance to the facings on the collar of a soldier's coat,
in the uniform of the Argentine States.
"_Bueno_!" is the pleased exclamation which proceeds from the gaucho's
lips, as he sits contemplating the cranes. "We sha'n't have any
swimming to do here; the rain don't seem to have deepened the ford so
much as a single inch. You see those long-legged gentry; it barely wets
their feet. So much the better, since it ensures us against getting our
own wetted, with our baggage to the boot. Stay!" he adds, speaking as
if from some sudden resolve, "let's watch the birds a bit. I've a
reason."
Thus cautioned, the others hold their horses at rest, all with their
eyes fixed upon the soldier-cranes; which still unconscious of intruders
in such close proximity, continue the occupation in which they were
engaged when first seen--that of fishing.
Every now and then one darts its long bayonet-like beak into the water,
invariably drawing it out with a fish between the mandibles; this, after
a short convulsive struggle, and a flutter or two of its tail fins,
disappearing down the crane's capacious throat.
"Having their breakfast," observes the gaucho, "or, I should rather call
it dinner," he adds, with a glance upward to the sky. "And the height
of that sun reminds me of its being high time for us to do something in
the same line, if I hadn't been already reminded of it by a hollow I
feel here." He places his spread palm over the pit of his stomach, and
then continues, "So we may as well dine now; though, sad to say, we
haven't a morsel to make a meal upon but that juiceless _charqui.
Santissima_! what am I thinking about? I verily believe my brains have
got bemuddled, like everything else. Nothing but _charqui_, indeed!
Ha! we'll dine more daintily, if I know what's what. Here, _senoritos_!
back your horses behind those bushes. Quick, gently."
While speaking, he turns his own out of the path, and rides crouchingly
to the rear of the bushes indicated, thus putting a screen between
himself and the soldier-cranes.
Following his example, the others do likewise, but without the slightest
idea of what he is going to be after next.