The canoe carrying the two men continued slowly to descend the course of
the river--the negro felicitating himself on his escape from the claws
of the jaguars; while the thoughts of the Indian were dwelling with
regret upon his want of success.
Clara, however, did not enjoy an unalloyed satisfaction. The jaguars
had fled, it was true, but in what direction? It was evident they had
gone down stream, and might be encountered below.
This thought troubling Clara, he inquired of his companion if there was
any probability of their again falling in with this dangerous enemy.
"Probable enough," responded Costal, "and more than probable. If we
descend below the cascade, we shall be almost certain of seeing the
jaguars there. The carcass of a fine young colt is not to be met with
every day; and these brutes can reason like a man. They know well
though that the current will carry the floating body over the fall, and
that, below, it will be rendered up to them again. I do not say it will
then be whole; for I have seen the trunks of great trees broken into
fragments from being carried over that very cascade."
"Then you really think the jaguars may be waiting below?"
"No doubt but they will be there. If I don't mistake, you shall hear
their roar before ten minutes have passed, and it will come from the
bottom of the cascade, just where our business is now taking us."
"But they may feel inclined to take revenue on us for having driven them
from the carcass?"
"And if they should, what care I? Not a straw. _Vamos_! friend Clara,
we've given too much thought to these animals. Fortunately we have not
lost much; and now to our affair. The young moon will be up in a trice,
and I must invoke Tlaloc, the god of the waters, to bestow some gold on
the Caciques of Tehuantepec."
The two men had by this time arrived at the place from which the canoe
had been taken; and here both disembarked, Costal carefully refastening
the craft to the trunk of the willow. Then leaving his companion, he
walked off down the bank alone.
"Do not go far away!" said Clara, entreatingly, still troubled with the
fear of the jaguars.
"Bah!" exclaimed Costal, "I leave my gun with you!"
"Oh, indeed!" murmured the negro; "what signifies that? one bullet for
four tigers!"
Without vouchsafing any reply to this last speech, the Indian advanced a
little farther along the bank, and then came to a pause. A large tree
grew upon the edge of the stream, its branches extending outwards. Into
this he climbed; and then stretching out his arms over the water, he
commenced chaunting a lugubrious measure--a species of Indian
invocation, of which Clara could hear the words, but without in the
least comprehending their signification.
There was something in the wild melody of the Indian's voice to cause
his companion a certain mysterious dread; and this was increased by
additional notes of an equally mournful character that came pealing up
the ravine, mingling with the hoarse roaring of the cascade. It was the
scream of the jaguar; though it actually appeared as if some demon was
answering to the invocations of the Indian. The lugubrious chaunt of
the pagan, and the coincident scream of the tiger, formed a kind of
infernal accompaniment, well calculated to strike awe into the mind of
one of Clara's superstitious race; and as he stood upon the bank he
fancied he saw fiery eyes glaring upon him through the leaves, and the
Siren with the dishevelled hair rising above the surface of the water.
A double chill passed through his black skin, from the soles of his feet
to the roots of his kinky hair.
At this moment Costal returned to him.
"Are you ready?" inquired the Indian.
"For what?"
"To accompany me to the cascade--there to invoke the Siren, and ask if
she may be seen."
"What! down there, where the tigers are roaring?"
"Oh, a fig for them! Remember, Clara, it is gold _we_ seek; and,
believe me, if fortunate in our application, the Siren will tell us
where it is to be found. Gold in masses!"
"Enough!" cried Clara, overcome by the rich prospect. "I am with you,"
continued he--"lead on! From this hour I am the slave of the Siren who
can show us the _placers_ of gold!"
The Indian took up his hat and carbine, both of which he had laid aside
while chaunting his invocation; and, throwing the gun over his shoulder,
started down stream. Clara followed close at his heels--his spirit
alternately possessed with cupidity and fear.
As they advanced, the banks rose higher above the surface of the stream,
and the channel became the bottom of a deep, narrow ravine, where the
water rushed foaming among rocks. The great trees growing on each side
stretched towards one another, until their branches interlocked, forming
a dark sombre tunnel underneath. At the lower end of this, the stream,
once more bursting forth into light, leaped vertically at one bound
through a space of two hundred feet sheer, falling into the bottom of a
deep gorge, with a noise louder than the roar of the mighty ocean.
Just where the foaming flood broke over the crest of the rocks, grew two
enormous cypresses of the kind known to the Mexicans as _ahuehuetes_, or
"lords of the water." They stood on opposite sides of the stream, with
their long arms extended towards each other. Thickly loaded with
llianas, and profusely festooned with the silvery Spanish moss, which,
drooping downwards, every now and then dipped into the foaming arch of
the cascade, these two great trees looked like the ancient genii of the
waters.
At this point the two men made a halt. Although they were now very near
to the place where the jaguars were supposed to be, Clara had become
more regardless of the danger. His fear, both of wild beasts and evil
spirits, had yielded to his thirst for gold, which had been gradually
growing stronger.
"Now, Clara!" said Costal, turning a severe look upon his comrade;
"listen attentively to the instructions I am about to give you. If the
Siren should appear to you, and you should exhibit, either by look or
gesture, the slightest symptoms of fear, you are a lost man!"
"All right!" replied the negro. "The hope of being shown a mine of gold
gives me courage to risk even my neck in a halter, if need be. Never
fear, Costal. Speak on--I am ready to listen."
As the negro pronounced these words, his countenance to all appearance
expressed as much firmness as that of Costal himself. The Indian, thus
assured, seated himself upon the very edge of the precipice, overlooking
the gorge into which the waters were precipitated, while Clara, without
invitation, sat down by his side.