ADVENTURE WITH A TIGER.
Two years more have passed away, four years in all, since we first set
foot in the Silver West. What happy, blithesome years they had been, too!
Every day had brought its duties, every duty its pleasures as well. During
all this time we could not look back with regret to one unpleasant hour.
Sometimes we had endured some crosses as well, but we brothers bore them,
I believe, without a murmur, and Moncrieff without one complaining word.
'Boys,' he would say, quietly, 'nobody gets it all his own way in this
world. We must just learn to take the thick wi' the thin.'
Moncrieff was somewhat of a proverbial philosopher; but had he been
entrusted with the task of selecting proverbs that should smooth one's
path in life, I feel sure they would have been good ones.
Strath Coila New, as we called the now green valley in which our little
colony had been founded, had improved to a wonderful extent in so brief a
time. The settlers had completed their houses long ago; they, like
ourselves, had laid out their fields and farms and planted their
vineyards; the hedges were green and flowering; the poplar-trees and
willows had sprung skywards as if influenced by magic--the magic of a
virgin soil; the fields were green with waving grain and succulent
lucerne; the vines needed the help of man to aid them in supporting their
wondrous wealth of grapes; fruit grew everywhere; birds sang everywhere,
and to their music were added sounds even sweeter still to our ears--the
lowing of herds of sleek fat cattle, the bleating armies of sheep, the
home-like noise of poultry and satisfied grunting of lazy pigs. The latter
sometimes fed on peaches that would have brought tears of joy to the eyes
of many an English market gardener.
Our villa was complete now; wings and tower, and terraced lawns leading
down to the lake, close beside which Dugald had erected a boat-house that
was in itself like a little fairy palace. Dugald had always a turn for the
romantic, and nothing would suit him by way of a boat except a gondola.
What an amount of time and taste he had bestowed on it too! and how the
Gaucho carpenters had worked and slaved to please him and make it
complete! But there it was at last, a thing of beauty, in all
conscience--prows and bows, cushioned seats, and oars, and awnings, all
complete.
It was his greatest pleasure to take auntie, Aileen, and old Jenny out to
skim the lake in this gondola, and sit for long happy hours reading or
fishing.
Even Bombazo used to form an item in these pleasant little excursions. He
certainly was no use with an oar, but it was the 'bravo' captain's delight
to dress as a troubadour and sit twanging the light guitar under the
awnings, while Aileen and auntie plied the oars.
Dugald was still our mighty hunter, the fearless Nimrod of hill and strath
and glen. But he was amply supported in all his adventures by Archie, who
had wonderfully changed for the better. He was brown and hard now, an
excellent horseman, and crack shot with either the revolver or rifle.
Between the two of them, though ably assisted by a Gaucho or two, they had
fitted up the ancient ruined monastery far away among the hills as a kind
of shooting-box, and here they spent many a day, and many a night as
well. Archie had long since become acclimatized to all kinds of
creepies--they no longer possessed any terrors for him.
The ruin, as I have before hinted, must have, at some bygone period,
belonged to the Jesuits; but so blown up with sand was it when Dugald took
possession that the work of restoration to something like its pristine
form had been a task of no little difficulty. The building stood on a
slight eminence, and at one side grew a huge ombu-tree. It was under this
that the only inhabitable room lay. This room had two windows, one on each
side, facing each other, one looking east, the other west. Neither glass
nor frames were in these windows, and probably had not existed even in the
Jesuits' time. The room was cooler without any such civilized
arrangements.
It was a lonesome, eerie place at the very best, and that weird looking
ombu-tree, spreading its dark arms above the grey old walls, did not
detract from the air of gloom that surrounded it. Sometimes Archie said
laughingly that the tree was like a funeral pall. Well, the half-caste
Indians of the _estancias_ used to give this ruin a wide berth; they had
nasty stories to tell about it, stories that had been handed down through
generations. There were few indeed of even the Gauchos who would have
cared to remain here after night-fall, much less sleep within its walls.
But when Dugald's big lamp stood lighted on the table, when a fire of wood
burned on the low hearth, and a plentiful repast, with bowls of steaming
fragrant _mate_, stood before the young men, then the room looked far from
uncomfortable.
There was at each side a hammock hung, which our two hunters slept in on
nights when they had remained too long on the hill, or wanted to be early
at the chase in the morning.
'Whose turn is it to light the fire to-night?' said Dugald, one winter
evening, as the two jogged along together on their mules towards the ruin.
'I think it is mine, cousin. Anyhow, if you feel lazy I'll make it so.'
'No, I'm not lazy, but I want to take home a bird or two to-morrow that
auntie's very soul loveth, so if you go on and get supper ready I shall go
round the red dune and try to find them.'
'You won't be long?'
'I sha'n't be over an hour.'
Archie rode on, humming a tune to himself. Arrived at the ruin, he cast
the mule loose, knowing he would not wander far away, and would find juicy
nourishment among the more tender of the cacti sprouts.
Having lit a roaring fire, and seen it burn up, Archie spread asunder some
of the ashes, and placed thereon a huge pie-dish--not an empty one--to
warm. Meanwhile he hung a kettle of water on the hook above the fire, and,
taking up a book, sat down by the window to read by the light of the
setting sun until the water should boil.
A whole half-hour passed away. The kettle had rattled its lid, and Archie
had hooked it up a few links, so that the water should not be wasted. It
was very still and quiet up here to-night, and very lonesome too. The sun
had just gone down, and all the western sky was aglow with clouds, whose
ever-changing beauty it was a pleasure to watch. Archie was beginning to
wish that Dugald would come, when he was startled at hearing a strange and
piercing cry far down below him in the cactus jungle. It was a cry that
made his flesh quiver and his very spine feel cold. It came from no human
lips, and yet it was not even the scream of a terror-struck mule. Next
minute the mystery was unravelled, and Dugald's favourite mule came
galloping towards the ruin, pursued by an enormous tiger, as the jaguar is
called here.
[Illustration: On the same Limb of the Tree]
Just as he had reached the ruin the awful beast had made his spring. His
talons drew blood, but the next moment he was rolling on the ground with
one eye apparently knocked out, and the foam around his fang-filled mouth
mixed with blood; and the mule was over the hills and safe, while the
jaguar was venting his fume and fury on Archie's rugs, which, with his
gun, he had left out there.
There is no occasion to deny that the young man was almost petrified with
fear, but this did not last long: he must seek for safety somehow,
somewhere. To leave the ruin seems certain death, to remain is impossible.
Look, the tiger even already has scented him; he utters another fearful
yell, and makes direct for the window. The tree! the tree! Something seems
to utter those words in his ear as he springs from the open window. The
jaguar has entered the room as Archie, with a strength he never knew he
possessed, catches a lower limb and hoists himself up into the tree. He
hears yell after yell; now first in the ruin, next at the tree foot, and
then in the tree itself. Archie creeps higher and higher up, till the
branches can no longer bear him, and after him creeps death in the most
awful form imaginable. Already the brute is so close that he sees his
glaring eye and hears his awful scenting and snuffling. Archie is
fascinated by that tiger's face so near him--on the same limb of the tree,
he himself far out towards the point. This must be fascination. He feels
like one in a strange dream, for as the time goes by and the tiger springs
not, he takes to speculating almost calmly on his fate, and wondering
where the beast will seize him first, and if it will be very painful; if
he will hear his own bones crash, and so faint and forget everything. What
fangs the tiger has! How broad the head, and terribly fierce the grin! But
how the blood trickles from the wound in the skull! He can hear it
pattering on the dead leaves far beneath.
Why doesn't the tiger spring and have it over? Why does--but look, look,
the brute has let go the branch and fallen down, down with a crash, and
Archie hears the dull thud of the body on the ground.
Dead--to all intents and purposes. The good mule's hoof had cloven the
skull.
'Archie! Archie! where on earth are you? Oh, Archie!'
It is Dugald's voice. The last words are almost a shriek.
Then away goes fear from Archie's heart, and joy unspeakable takes its
place.
'Up here, Dugald,' he shouts, 'safe and sound.'
I leave the reader to guess whether Dugald was glad or not to see his
cousin drop intact from the ombu-tree, or whether or not they enjoyed
their pie and _mate_ that evening after this terrible adventure.
'I wonder,' said Archie, later on, and just as they were preparing for
hammock, 'I wonder, Dugald, if that tiger has a wife. I hope she won't
come prowling round after her dead lord in the middle of the night.'
'Well, anyhow, Archie, we'll have our rifles ready, and Dash will give us
ample warning, you know. So good-night.'
'Good-night. Don't be astonished if you hear me scream in my sleep. I feel
sure I'll dream I'm up in that dark ombu-tree, and perhaps in the clutches
of that fearsome tiger.'
* * * * *
About a month after the above related adventure the young men had another
at that very ruin, which, if not quite so stirring, was at all events far
more mysterious.
It happened soon after a wild storm, a kind of semi-pampero, had swept
over the glen with much thunder and lightning and heavy rains. It had
cleared the atmosphere, however, which previously had been hazy and close.
It had cooled it as well, so that one afternoon, Dugald, addressing
Archie, said,
'What do you say to an early morning among the birds to-morrow, cousin?'
'Oh, I'm ready, Dugald, if you are,' was the reply.
'Well, then, off you trot to the kitchen, and get food ready, and I'll see
to the shooting tackle and the mules.'
When Dugald ran over to say good-night to Moncrieff and Aileen before they
started, he met old Jenny in the door.
'Dear laddie,' she said, when she heard he was bound for the hills, 'I
hope nae ill will come over ye; but I wot I had an unco' ugly dream last
night. Put your trust in Providence, laddie. And ye winna forget to say
your prayers, will ye?'
'That we won't, mother. Ta, ta!'
Moncrieff saw Dugald to his own gate. With them went Wolf, the largest
bloodhound-mastiff.
'Dreams,' said Moncrieff, 'may be neither here nor there; but you'll be
none the worse for taking Wolf.'
'Thank you,' said Dugald; 'he shall come, and welcome.'
The sun had quite set before they reached the ruin, but there was a
beautiful after-glow in the west--a golden haze beneath, with a kind of
crimson blush over it higher up. When they were on a level with the ruin,
the two windows of which, as already stated, were opposite to each other,
Archie said, musingly,
'Look, Dugald, what a strange and beautiful light is streaming through the
windows!'
'Yes,' replied Dugald, 'but there is something solemn, even ghostly, about
it. Don't you think so?'
'True; there always is something ghostly about an empty ruin, I think. Are
you superstitious?'
'No; but--see. What was that? Why, there is some one there! Look to your
rifle, Archie. It was an Indian, I am certain.'
What had they seen? Why, only the head and shoulders of a passing figure
in the orange light of the two windows. It had appeared but one
moment--next it was gone. Rifles in left hand, revolvers in right, they
cautiously approached the ruin and entered. Never a soul was here. They
went out again, and looked around; they even searched the ombu-tree, but
all in vain.
'Our eyes must have deceived us,' said Dugald.
'I think,' said Archie, 'I have a theory that might explain the mystery.'
'What is it, then?'
'Well, that was no living figure we saw.'
'What! You don't mean to say, Archie, it was a ghost?'
'No, but a branch of that ghostly ombu-tree moved by a passing wind
between us and the light.'
As he spoke they rounded the farthest off gable of the ruin, and there
both stopped as suddenly as if shot. Close beside the wall, with some rude
digging tools lying near, was a newly-opened grave!
'This is indeed strange,' said Dugald, remembering old Jenny's warning and
dream; 'I cannot make it out.'
'Nor can I. However, we must make the best of it.'
By the time supper was finished they had almost forgotten all about it.
Only before lying down that night--
'I say, Archie,' said Dugald, 'why didn't we think of it?'
'Think of what?'
'Why, of putting Wolf the mastiff on the track. If there have been Indians
here he would have found them out.'
'It will not be too late to-morrow, perhaps.'
Dugald lay awake till it must have been long past midnight. He tried to
sleep, but failed, though he could tell from his regular breathing that
nothing was disturbing Archie's repose. It was a beautiful night outside,
and the light from a full moon streamed in at one window and fell on the
form of good Wolf, who was curled up on the floor; the other window was
shaded by the branches of the ombu-tree. No matter how calm it might be in
the valley below, away up here there was always a light breeze blowing,
and to-night the whispering in the tree at times resembled the sound of
human voices. So thought Dugald. Several times he started and listened,
and once he felt almost sure he heard footsteps as of people moving
outside. Then again all sounds--if sounds there had been--ceased, and
nothing was audible save the sighing wind in the ombu-tree. Oh, that
strange waving ombu-tree! He wondered if it really had some dark secret to
whisper to him, and had chosen this silent hour of night to reveal it.
Hark, that was a sound this time! The mournful but piercing cry of a
night-bird. 'Chee-hee-ee! chee-hee-ee!' It was repeated farther up the
hill. But could the dog be deceived? Scarcely; and growling low as if in
anger, Wolf had arisen and stood pointing towards the ombu-shaded window.
With one accord both Dugald and Archie, seizing their revolvers and
jumping from their hammocks, ran out just in time to see a tall figure
cross a patch of moonlit sward and disappear in the cactus jungle.
Both fired in the direction, but of course aimlessly, and it was with the
greatest difficulty they succeeded in keeping the great dog from following
into the bush.
They were disturbed no more that night; and daylight quite banished their
fears, though it could not dispel the mystery of the newly-dug grave.
Indeed, they could even afford to joke a little over the matter now.
'There is something in it, depend upon that,' said Dugald, as the two
stood together looking into the hole.
'There doesn't seem to be,' said Archie, quizzingly.
'And I mean to probe it to the bottom.'
'Suppose you commence now, Dugald. Believe me, there is no time like the
present. Here are the tools. They look quite antediluvian. Do you think
now that it really was a flesh-and-blood Indian we saw here; or was it the
ghost of some murdered priest? And has he been digging down here to
excavate his own old bones, or have a peep to see that they are safe?'
'Archie,' said Dugald, at last, as if he had not listened to a word of his
companion's previous remarks, 'Archie, we won't go shooting to-day.'
'No?'
'No, we will go home instead, and bring Moncrieff and my brothers here. I
begin to think this is no grave after all.'
'Indeed, Dugald, and why?'
'Why, simply for this reason: Yambo has told me a wonderful blood-curdling
story of two hermit priests who lived here, and who had found treasure
among the hills, and were eventually murdered and buried in this very
ruin. According to the tradition the slaughtering Indians were themselves
afterwards killed, and since then strange appearances have taken place
from time to time, and until we made a shooting-box of the ruin no Gauchos
could be found bold enough to go inside it, nor would any Indian come
within half a mile of the place. That they have got more courageous now we
had ample evidence last night.'
'And you think that--'
'I think that Indians are not far away, and that--but come, let us saddle
our mules and be off.'
It was high time, for at that very moment over a dozen pairs of fierce
eyes were watching them from the cactus jungle. Spears were even poised
ready for an attack, and only perhaps the sight of that ferocious-looking
dog restrained them.
No one could come more speedily to a conclusion than Moncrieff. He hardly
waited to hear Dugald's story before he had summoned Yambo, and bade him
get ready with five trusty Gauchos to accompany them to the hills.
'Guns, senor?'
'Ay, guns, Yambo, and the other dog. We may have to draw a trigger or two.
Sharp is the word, Yambo!'
In two hours more, and just as the winter's sun was at its highest, we all
reached the cactus near the old monastic ruin. Here a spear flew close
past Moncrieff's head. A quick, fierce glance of anger shot from the eyes
of this buirdly Scot. He called a dog, and in a moment more disappeared in
the jungle. A minute after there was the sharp ring of a revolver, a
shriek, a second shot, and all was still. Presently Moncrieff rode back,
looking grim, but calm and self-possessed.
There was no one near the ruin when we advanced, but the Indians had been
here. The grave was a grave no longer in shape, but a huge hole.
'Set to work, Yambo, with your men. They have saved us trouble. Dugald and
Archie and Donald, take three men and the dogs and scour the bush round
here. Then place sentinels about, and post yourselves on top of the red
dune.'
Yambo and his men set to work in earnest, and laboured untiringly for
hours and hours, but without finding anything. A halt was called at last
for rest and refreshment; then the work was commenced with greater heart
than ever.
I had ridden away to the red dune to carry food to my brothers and the
dogs and the sentinels.
The day was beginning already to draw to a close. The sky all above was
blue and clear, but along the horizon lay a bank of grey rolling clouds,
that soon would be changed to crimson and gold by the rays of the setting
sun. Hawks were poised high in the air, and flocks of kites were slowly
winging their way to the eastward.
From our position on the summit of the red dune we had a most extended
view on all sides. We could even see the tall waving poplars of our own
_estancias_, and away westward a vast rolling prairie of pampa land,
bounded by the distant _sierras_. My eyes were directed to one level and
snow-white patch in the plain, which might have been about three square
miles in extent, when suddenly out from behind some dunes that lay beyond
rode a party of horsemen. We could tell at a glance they were Indians, and
that they were coming as fast as fleet horses could carry them, straight
for the hill on which we stood. There was not a moment to lose, so,
leaping to the back of my mule, I hurried away to warn our party.