"_Hijos mios_; we can't do better than head due westward. That will
bring us out of the _salitral_, somewhere. Luckily there's a sun in the
sky to hold us to a straight course. If we hadn't that for a guide, we
might go zig-zagging all about, and be obliged to spend a night amidst
the saltpetre; perhaps three or four of them. To do so would be to risk
our lives; possibly lose them. The thirst of itself would kill us, for
there's never drinkable water in a _salitral_. However, with the sun
behind our backs, and we'll take care to keep it so, there won't be much
danger of our getting bewildered. We must make haste, though. Once it
mounts above our heads, I defy Old Nick himself to tell east from west.
So let's put on the best speed we can take out of the legs of our
animals."
With this admonition, and a word to his horse, the gaucho goes off at a
gallop; the others starting simultaneously at the same pace, and all
three riding side by side. For on the smooth, open surface of the
_salitral_ there is no need for travelling single file. Over it a
thousand horsemen--or ten thousand for that matter--might march abreast,
with wide spaces between.
Proceeding onward, they leave behind them three distinct traces of a
somewhat rare and original kind--the reverse of what would be made by
travellers passing over ground thinly covered with snow, where the trail
would be darker than the surrounding surface. Theirs, on the contrary,
is lighter coloured--in point of fact, quite white, from the saltpetre
tossed to the top by the hooves of their galloping horses.
The gaucho every now and then casts a glance over his shoulder, to
assure himself of the sun's disc being true behind their backs; and in
this manner they press on, still keeping up the pace at which they had
started.
They have made something more than ten miles from the point where they
entered upon the _salitral_; and Gaspar begins to look inquiringly
ahead, in the hope of sighting a tree, ridge, rock, or other land-mark
to tell where the _travesia_ terminates. His attention thus occupied,
he for awhile forgets what has hitherto been engaging it--the position
of the sun.
And when next he turns to observe the great luminary, it is only to see
that it is no longer there--at least no longer visible. A mass of dark
cloud has drifted across its disc, completely obscuring it. In fact, it
was the sudden darkening of the sky, and, as a consequence, the shadow
coming over the plain before his face, which prompted him to turn
round--recalling the necessity of caution as to their course.
"_Santos Dios_!" he cries out, his own brow becoming shadowed as the
sky; "our luck has left us, and--"
"And what?" asks Cypriano, seeing that the gaucho hesitates, as if
reluctant to say why fortune has so suddenly forsaken them. "There's a
cloud come over the sun; has that anything to do with it?"
"Everything, senorito. If that cloud don't pass off again, we're as
good as lost. And," he adds, with eyes still turned to the east, his
glance showing him to feel the gravest apprehension, "I am pretty sure
it won't pass off--for the rest of this day at all events. _Mira_!
It's moving along the horizon--still rising up and spreading out!"
The others also perceive this, they too, having halted, and faced to
eastward.
"_Santissima_!" continues the gaucho in the same serious tone, "_we're
lost as it is now_!"
"But how lost?" inquires Ludwig, who, with his more limited experience
of pampas life, is puzzled to understand what the gaucho means. "In
what way?"
"Just because there's _no may_. That's the very thing we've lost,
senorito. Look around! Now, can you tell east from west, or north from
south? No, not a single point of the compass. If we only knew one,
that would be enough. But we don't, and, therefore, as I've said, we're
lost--dead, downright lost; and, for anything beyond this, we'll have to
go a groping. At a crawl, too, like three blind cats."
"Nothing of the sort!" breaks in Cypriano, who, a little apart from the
other two, has been for the last few seconds to all appearance holding
communion with himself. "Nothing of the sort," he repeats riding
towards them with a cheerful expression. "We'll neither need to go
groping, Gaspar, nor yet at a crawl. Possibly, we may have to slacken
the pace a bit; but that's all."
Both Ludwig and the gaucho, but especially the latter, sit regarding him
with puzzled looks. For what can he mean? Certainly something which
promises to release them from their dilemma, as can be told by his
smiling countenance and confident bearing. In fine, he is asked to
explain himself, and answering, says:--
"Look back along our trail. Don't you see that it runs straight?"
"We do," replies Gaspar, speaking for both. "In a dead right line,
thank the sun for that; and I only wish we could have had it to direct
us a little longer, instead of leaving us in the lurch as it has done.
But go on, senorito! I oughtn't to have interrupted you."
"Well," proceeds the young Paraguayan, "there's no reason why we
shouldn't still travel in that same right line--since we can."
"Ha!" ejaculates the gaucho, who has now caught the other's meaning, "I
see the whole thing. Bravo, Senor Cypriano! You've beaten me in the
craft of the pampas. But I'm not jealous--no. Only proud to think my
own pupil has shown himself worthy of his teacher. _Gracias a Dios_!"
During all this dialogue, Ludwig is silent, seated in his saddle, a very
picture of astonishment, alike wondering at what his cousin can mean,
and the burst of joyous enthusiasm it has elicited from the gaucho's
lips. His wonder is brought to an end, however, by Cypriano turning
round to him, and giving the explanation in detail.
"Don't you see, _sobrino mio_, that one of us can stay by the end of the
trail we've already made, or two for that matter, while the third rides
forward. The others can call after to keep him in a straight line and
to the course. The three of us following one another, and the last
giving the directions from our trail behind, we can't possibly go
astray. Thanks to that white stuff, our back-tracks can be seen without
difficulty, and to a sufficient distance for our purpose."
Long before Cypriano has reached the end of his explanatory discourse,
Ludwig, of quick wit too, catches his meaning, and with an enthusiasm
equalling that of the gaucho, cries out:--
"_Viva, sobrino mio_! You're a genius!"
Not a moment more is lost or spent upon that spot; Ludwig being the one
chosen to lead off, the gaucho following, with a long space between
them, while the rear is brought up by Cypriano himself; who for this go,
and not Gaspar, acts as guide and director.