Midnight's hour is past, the moon has gone down, and in the Indian town
there is darkness and silence. Every one is asleep, or seems to be;
since no light shines either in _toldo_ or tent, neither can a human
figure be seen in the streets, or anywhere around.
At some distance from the houses, however, among thickly-standing trees,
and close into the base of the hill, is the quaint dwelling-place of
Shebotha--half cave, half hut--and inside this flickers a faint light,
from a dip candle of crude beeswax, with a wick of the fibre of the
_pita_ plant. By its red flame, mingled with much smoke, a collection
of curious objects is dimly discernible; not articles of furniture, for
these are few, but things appertaining to the craft in which Shebotha is
supposed to have skill--demonology. There are the bones and skins of
monkeys, with those of snakes, lizards, and other reptiles; teeth of the
alligator and jaguar; the proboscis-like snouts of the _tapir_ and
_tamanoir_, or great ant-bear, with a variety of other like oddities,
furnished by the indigenous creatures of the Chaco in every department
of the zoological world--birds, quadrupeds, insects, reptiles, and
fishes.
This motley conglomeration is for the most part arranged against the
inner wall of the hut, and opposite the entrance, so as to be observable
by any one looking in at the door, or even passing by it. For its
purpose is to impress the superstitious victims of Shebotha's craft with
a belief in her witching ways. And to give this a more terrifying and
supernatural character, a human skull, representing a death's head, with
a pair of tibia for crossbones underneath, is fixed centrally and
prominently against the wall.
The same light that so faintly illuminates this paraphernalia of
repulsive objects, also shines upon one that is pleasing--this the
figure of a young girl, with a face wonderfully fair. For she is
Francesca Halberger.
At the hour spoken of she is the sole occupant of the hut; its owner,
Shebotha, being abroad. For it is the self-same hour and instant when
the sorceress has the rosary of teeth snatched so rudely from her neck.
She is seated on the edge of a _catre_, or cane bedstead, of the pallet
kind, her head buried in her hands, through the white fingers of which
her long golden tresses fall in rich profusion, scattered over and
mingling with the fur of the great pampas wolf which serves as a sort of
mattress for the bed.
The candle has burnt down into the socket of its rude stick, but at
intervals flares up, with a crackling, sputtering noise; as it it does
so, showing upon her features that same sad look as when she was being
carried hither, a captive; only that her face is now paler, and the
expression upon it telling of a despair deeper and more settled. She
has slept but little from the day of her entrance under Shebotha's roof,
and no great deal since she last lay on her own bed at home. What sleep
she now gets is only in short snatches; when tired nature can no longer
continue the struggle with thoughts all the while torturing her. No
wonder at sweet slumber being thus long denied her, with such memories
to keep her awake! In fancy, ever before her seems the face of her
father with that look of agony she last saw upon it, as he lay upon the
ground, weltering in his gore. And in fancy also, she beholds the
ruffian, Valdez, standing above the prostrate form, waving over it his
blood-stained spear, a very demon exultant!
But her painful thoughts are not all of the past. She has doubts and
fears also for the future, dark as she reflects on her own situation,
and what will be done to her; but still darker when she thinks of those
left behind and far away. What will become of her dear mother and
brother? What of him--dear, ah! perhaps dearer than either--her
handsome cousin? For Cypriano's affection for her is fully
reciprocated.
Not strange then the sadness overspreading her features, nor the weight
of woe in her heart; as she dwells on the fate that may be his and
theirs. For she knows they are all in danger--great and certain danger;
has known it ever since seeing Valdez, the _vaqueano_, consorting with
the Tovas Indians, and on friendly terms with their chief. Oft had she
asked herself the question whither he went afterwards! Did he return to
Paraguay, or go direct to the _estancia_, there to complete his
diabolical work--begun by murder, to end in the same with other crimes?
In any case he would not likely leave them unharmed, as the captive girl
too truly apprehends.
With such terrible thoughts to agitate her breast, no wonder she should
be awake while everyone around seems slumbering. But on this night, and
at this hour, something besides hinders her from seeking repose; that
being the absence of Shebotha, which, for certain reasons, makes her
more than ordinarily apprehensive. In truth, she is greatly alarmed by
it. Never before has the sorceress been out of her _toldo_ to stay for
any continued time; above all, never during the hours of night. Why
should she be absent now, and so long?
While asking herself these questions, the captive has not the slightest
intention to take advantage of Shebotha's absence, and make trial to
escape. Well knows she that would be idle, and she could not get away
if she tried. For though the owner of the hut is off watch, there is
one on it--a man sitting, or squatted, just outside the door. No red
man, but one with a white skin; himself a prisoner, and who possibly
once, as she, felt distressed by his captivity. It may have been this
very feeling which has made him what he now is--a witless idiot,
resigned to his fate. In any case, he seems to be contented as
Shebotha's slave; and, perhaps ignorant of there being any better,
serves her with a fidelity worthy of a better mistress. No watch-dog at
that _toldo's_ door were more to be trusted than he.
She inside has no intention, nor ever had, of tempting him to be untrue
to his trust. Even could he be induced to let her pass out, what
purpose would it serve? She could not make her way home; and he is not
the sort of man to see her safe through more than two hundred miles of
wilderness. The idea is too hopeless to be entertained, and she does
not for an instant entertain it.
The thoughts that now occupy her mind are not of how she may escape from
her captivity, but dwelling upon a theme altogether different. She is
thinking who will be the next one to darken the door of the hut; fearing
it may be neither Shebotha herself, nor yet her slave, but the man who
is master of both--Aguara!
True, the young _cacique_ has not as yet offered her either outrage or
insult; instead still approaches her with courtesy, and a pretence of
friendship. For all, something--it may be instinct--admonishes her that
he is acting under a mask, which he may at any moment cast aside,
revealing the monster, as she believes him to be. And with sufficient
reason, recalling that tragedy which deprived her of a father; and sure,
despite all his protestations, that Aguara played a willing part in it.
While thus apprehensively reflecting, she hears footsteps, as of some
one approaching the place. The sound causes her to start to her feet,
and stand listening, with a heightened expression of fear upon her face.
For, although the footfall is distant, and only distinguishable as such
by the rustle it makes among the dead leaves, she can tell it is not
that of Shebotha, with whose halting gait and shuffling step her ear has
grown familiar. Whose, then? Who would be coming to the hut at that
time of night--now morning--save Shebotha herself? None but she, and
those of her belonging, dare do so either by night or by day? For the
_toldo_ of the sorceress is a sort of sanctuary, tabooed to the people
of the tribe, and no one may enter or approach its sacred precincts,
without having her permission, or being bidden by her. Yes; one may,
and can--Aguara.
Still darker shows the fear upon the face of the captive girl, as she
thinks of this special privilege accorded to the _cacique_, of which she
has been made aware. It must be he who is drawing near, and with him a
danger she has long vaguely apprehended.
For some seconds she remains intently listening, her young heart pulsing
audibly within her breast. It beats easier as the footfall draws
nigher, and she can tell it is not that of a man. The tread is too
light and elastic. It cannot be Aguara who approaches.
She is still surer of its not being he, as the footsteps, having come
close up to the hut, cease to be heard, and in their place a different
sound enters through the open door--a feminine voice speaking in soft,
dulcet tones.
The speech is not addressed to the captive herself, but to him who
watches outside. After an interchange of ordinary salutation, and an
inquiry by the watcher as to what is wanted--this evidently in tone of
surprise--the soft voice responds, "I want to speak with the little pale
free."
"You cannot. Shebotha forbids it. No one may enter here without her
permission."
"But I have more than her permission--her commands. She has sent me
with a message to the paleface. At this moment Mam Shebotha has a
matter elsewhere, and could not come herself."
"You may be speaking the truth, but how am I to know?" questions the
man, as he regards the intruder with an incredulous stare. "I don't go
so far as to say you are telling a lie. All I say is, that the thing
isn't at all likely. Mam Shebotha's not the sort to trust her affairs
to such a _chiquitita_ as you."
"You know me, don't you?"
"Oh, yes; you are Kaolin's sister--her they call the belle of the tribe;
your name's Nacena."
"It is so; and surely you'll believe me? The sister of Kaolin would not
speak false. You cannot suppose I am deceiving you?"
"Ah!" he rejoins, with his words heaving a sigh, "it is often those who
are most beautiful who most deceive."
Possibly the memory of some such deception, an experience of times long
past, has been awakened within him. It embitters his speech as he
continues--
"I can't--I won't believe you--though you are Kaolin's sister, and ever
so fair to look upon."
"But you will, when you look upon this."
She draws out the string of teeth snatched from the neck of the
sorceress, and holds it up to his eyes, adding--
"That I bring from Shebotha herself. She gave it me to show you as a
sign that I have her permission to speak with the paleface--nay, her
command, as I've said. Now!"
At sight of the hideous symbol, which he instantly recognises, his
incredulity is at an end. For he knows how jealously the sorceress
guards this token, and that no one could have obtained it from her
without some special purpose, or to do a service to herself. What it
may be he questions not, nor longer forbids entrance to the hut, but
nods towards the door, as much as to say--
"You can go in."