Just as the last glimmer of twilight is taking departure from the plain,
the three who had sought concealment under the roosting-place of macaws,
slip quietly out of the copse, and ride away from it, leaving the noisy
birds, now silent, behind them.
There is yet light enough to enable them to take bearings by the hill,
which, as they have rightly conjectured, rises over the Tovas town; and,
heading direct towards it, after a couple of hours spent in riding at a
brisk pace, they arrive at the rocky steep forming a periphery to its
base. As there is now a clear moonlight, caution dictates their again
getting under cover; which they do by drawing their horses close in to
the adjacent cliff, whose shadow sufficiently conceals them. But it is
not intended to stay long there. At their last halting-place they had
considered everything, and decided upon the steps to be taken; so far as
they can, from what is known to them. If the circumstances change, or
turn out different from what they are expecting, they must be guided in
their action accordingly.
Still in the belief of Naraguana being alive, Ludwig is again of the
opinion that they should push on to the town without further delay. The
place cannot now be far-off; for at the hill's base they have struck a
broad and much-travelled trail denoting the proximity of a settlement.
Cypriano is undecided, but Gaspar, as before, goes strongly against
proceeding directly onward.
"You speak of delay, Senor Ludwig," he says; "but in this case, the old
adage, `More haste less speed,' might be true, as it often is. Besides,
what would we gain by entering their town now? It isn't likely we
should accomplish anything to-night. You forget the hour it is--nigh
unto midnight. And as the custom of most Chaco Indians is early to bed
and early to rise, we'd no doubt find every redskin of them asleep, with
only their dogs to receive us. _Carrai_! A nice reception that would
be! Like as not some scores of half-famished curs to fall upon us--
perhaps drag us out of our saddles. Whereas, in the morning all would
be different, with the people up to protect us from such an assault.
But whether we enter at night, or by day, I still stick to the belief,
that it will be better to do so by stealth; at least, one of us should
first slip in that way, and learn how the land lies. In any case, we
ought to have a squint at this Sacred Town, before trusting ourselves
within its walls--if walls it have. From the look of things here, I
fancy it lies on the other side of this hill. By climbing the hill now,
and staying on its top till daybreak, we'll get a god view of the town,
which will, no doubt, be right under us. We can see all through the
streets, and what's going on in them. That will give us a hint of how
to act afterwards, and if things look favourable, we might then ride
boldly in; which, after all, may be the best way of introducing
ourselves--only it should be done in the daylight."
Cypriano sees that the gaucho's reasoning is correct; and Ludwig also
acknowledging it to be so, it is finally decided that they ascend the
hill, and remain upon its summit for the rest of that night.
But now comes a question not hitherto asked, or thought of. How is the
ascent to be made, and where is there a path practicable for making it?
Not only is it steep, but its sides are thickly overgrown with trees,
and between their trunks a dense tangle of underwood.
"It must be on its summit, they have their burying-ground," observes
Gaspar, gazing upward. "Yes; Naraguana spoke of its being on the top of
a hill, and there's no other hill near. If that be the case, and they
carry their dead up, there'll sure be some sort of a road for their
funeral processions. That would likely be on the other side, straight
up from the town. But I warrant there's a trail starts from this side
too, and runs right over the hill. Let's ride along a bit, and see if
there be."
The gaucho's conjecture is correct, as they soon discover. Before they
have ridden three score lengths of their horses, keeping close along the
base of the hill, they perceive an opening in the timber which skirts
it, marked by certain insignia denoting the entrance to a
much-frequented path. For though narrow, it shows well trampled and
trodden. Diverging abruptly from the broad road running on round the
hill, it strikes in under a tall cotton tree, a _ceiba_, this
conspicuous from being bent over, as if half-blown down. The path
enters between its trunk and a gigantic _pita_ plant (_agave_), whose
stiff spinous leaves almost bar up the entrance as with an iron gate.
"That's the way we've got to go," says Gaspar, pointing to it, at the
same time setting his horse's head in the direction of the _ceiba_; then
adding, as he nods towards the _pita_ plant; "have a care of your heads,
_hijos mios_! Look out for this queer customer on the left, or you may
get your soft cheeks scratched a bit."
On delivering the admonition he ducks his own head, and passing under
the thorny leaves of the _agave_, commences the ascent of the hill.
Cypriano and Ludwig do likewise; and all three are soon climbing the
steep, one behind the other, now in silence, the only sounds heard being
the hoof-strokes of the horses, with their hard breathing as they strain
up the acclivity.
A quarter of an hour's tough climbing carries them up the wooded slope,
and out upon the open summit, where they have a spectacle before their
eyes peculiar, as it is original. As already said, the hill is
table-topped, and being also dome-shaped the level surface is circular,
having a diameter of some three or four hundred yards. Nothing strange
in this, however, since hills of the kind, termed _mesas_, are common
throughout most parts of Spanish America, and not rare in the Gran
Chaco. All three are familiar with such eminences. But what they are
not familiar with--and indeed none of them have ever seen before--are
some scores of queer-looking structures standing all over the summit,
with alley-like spaces between! Scaffolds they appear, each having two
stages, one above the other, such as might be used in the erection of a
two-storey house!
And scaffolds they are, though not employed in any building purposes;
instead, for that of burial. They are the tombs on which are deposited
the bodies of the Tovas dead; or those of them that during life were
dignitaries in the tribe.
On this elevated cemetery the moon is shining brightly, though
obliquely, throwing the shadows of the scaffolds aslant, so that each
has its counterpart on the smooth turf by its side, dark as itself, but
magnified in the moonlight. Gaspar and his companions can see that
these singular mausoleums are altogether constructed of timber, the
supporting posts being trunks of the _Cocoyol_ palm, the lower staging
of strong canes, the _cana brava_, laid side by side, while the upper
one, or roof, is a thatch of the leaves of another species of palm--the
_cuberta_.
After contemplating them for an instant, Gaspar says: "This is the
burying-ground Naraguana spoke to me about, beyond a doubt. And not
such a bad sort of place either to take one's final rest in, after
life's worries are over. I shouldn't much object to being laid out in
that style myself. Only I'd need friends to live after me, and keep the
structure in repair; otherwise the frail thing might some day come
tumbling down, and my poor bones along with it."
At the conclusion of this quaint speech, he gives the rein to his horse,
and moves on among the tombs, making for the opposite side of the
cemetery, the others following in silence. For from the brow of the
hill on its westward side, they expect to look down upon the Indian
town.
"It must be on t'other side," observes the gaucho, as they proceed. "I
remember the old chief saying the _tolderia_ was west of the hill."
When half-way across he again reins up, halting his horse alongside one
of the scaffolds, conspicuous among the rest by its larger size, as also
a certain freshness about the timbers of which it is constructed; some
chips scattered around the supports, where these have been chopped and
barked, telling of recent erection. It is not this, however, has
prompted Gaspar to make stop beside it; but simply that he there sees a
place suitable for the stalling of their horses. There is no need to
take the animals on to the other side, but better leave them there, and
themselves go forward afoot.
Thus reflecting, all three dismount, and attach their horses to the
corner posts of the scaffold, each choosing one for his own. Then, with
cautious steps, they continue to the outer edge of the circle, and
pushing through some trees that skirt it, look to the plain below. Sure
enough, there is the thing they expected to see--an Indian town or
_tolderia_. A large lake lies beyond, on whose tranquil surface the
moon makes a mirror, as if it were glass. But their eyes rest only upon
the town, their ears bent to catch any sound that may come up from it.
It is not long till sounds do ascend, the barking of dogs, with now and
then the lowing of cattle, and neighing of horses; but no human voice,
nothing to tell that the place is inhabited by man. For there is no
smoke from the houses, no lights anywhere, everybody seeming to be
asleep.
Nothing strange in all this; nor do they looking down from the hill
think it so. Instead, things are just as they should be and as Caspar
anticipated they would. For it is now the midnight hour, and since red
men must have rest as well as white ones, the Tovas have all retired to
their beds or hammocks.
So concluding, and satisfied with what they see--reflecting further that
nothing more can be done till morning--the gaucho and his companions go
back to their horses, with the intention of taking off the saddles, and
otherwise disposing of them for the night.
It was at first proposed to keep them tied to the scaffold-posts, but on
a second inspection of the place, Gaspar sees it is not the best one
either for their animals or themselves to pass the night in. Should
they go to rest under the scaffold, while asleep, their horses turning
restive might pull down the posts, and bring rattling about their ears
the bones of some dead _cacique_! Besides, the ground underneath is not
nice to repose upon; being without herbage and trampled all over, some
parts seeming freshly turned up. The gaucho would prefer a patch of
soft grass to lay his limbs along, and this very thing he has noticed
while they were out on the brow of the eminence overlooking the town.
Here a grand fig-tree had attracted his attention, under its branches
seeming the most proper place for them to encamp. Its far-spreading and
umbrageous boughs drooping back to the ground and there taking root--as
the Indian _banyan_ of which it is the New World representative--
enclosed a large space underneath. It would not only give them a
shelter from the dews of the night, but concealment from the eyes of
anyone who might chance to be passing that way.
With these manifest advantages in favour of the ground under the
fig-tree as a camping-place, and the disadvantages of that beneath the
scaffold, the latter is without further ado forsaken, and the former
taken possession of.
As no camp-fire can be safely kindled, nor food cooked, they must go to
sleep supperless.
Fortunately none of them is a-hungered, all having made a hearty meal
while within the _macaw's_ grove. There they had polished off the grand
"drumsticks" of the ostrich, by good luck already roasted. So caring
not for supper, after having disposed of their horses by tying them to
branches of the fig-tree, they stretch themselves along the ground, and
seek repose, which on this night they all need, as much as on any other
since starting upon their long-protracted expedition.
Still, they do not intend to be all asleep at the same time. In such a
place, with the danger of being found in it, that would never do. One
of the three must remain awake and on watch; so it is arranged that they
take the duty of sentinel in turns. As the present hour appears to be
the one calling for keenest vigilance, Caspar volunteers for the first
turn of guard; and the other two wrapping their ponchos around them, and
resting their heads upon their _recados_, with a mutual _Buenas noches_!
become silent, if not asleep.