THE PURSUIT.
We will return to Curumilla. The night was gloomy--the darkness
profound. Urging their horses on with voice and gesture, the fugitives
made the best of their way towards a forest which, if they could but
reach, they would be safe.
A leaden silence brooded over the desert. They galloped on without
uttering a word--without looking behind them. All at once the neighing
of a horse fell upon their ears like the gloomy alarm call of a clarion.
"We are lost!" Curumilla exclaimed.
"What is to be done?" Rosario asked anxiously.
"Stop," he at length cried.
The young girl left everything to her guide. The Indian requested her
to dismount.
"Have confidence in me," he said; "whatever a man can do I will
undertake, to save you."
"I know you will!" she replied gratefully.
Curumilla lifted her up in his arms, and carried her with as much
facility as if she had been a child.
"Why do you carry me thus?" she asked.
"We must leave no sign," he replied shortly.
He placed her on the ground with great precaution at the foot of a tree.
"This tree is hollow, my sister will conceal herself in it; she will
not stir till I return."
"Oh! you will not abandon me," she said.
"I am going to make a false track, I shall soon return."
The poor girl hesitated, she was frightened. Curumilla divined what she
felt. "It is our only chance of safety," he said, mournfully, "if my
sister is not willing, I can remain."
Rosario was not one of the weak, puling daughters of our great European
cities, who wither before they bloom. Her resolution was formed with
the rapidity of lightning; she bore up against the fear which had taken
possession of her mind, and replied in a firm voice--
"I will do what my brother desires."
"Good!" the Indian said. "Let my sister conceal herself, then."
He cautiously removed the cactus and creepers which surrounded the
lower part of the tree, and exposed a cavity, into which the young girl
crept, all trembling, like a poor sparrow in the eyrie of an eagle. As
soon as Rosario was comfortably placed in the hollow of the tree, the
Indian restored the plants to their primitive state, and completely
concealed her hiding place with this transparent curtain. Then he
regained the horses, mounted his own, led the other, and galloped off.
He galloped thus for many minutes without relaxing his speed, and when
he thought himself sufficiently far from the place where Doña Rosario
was concealed, he dismounted, listened for an instant, untied the
sheep skins from the horses' feet and set off again with the speed of
an arrow. He soon heard the galloping of horses behind him; at first
distant, but rapidly drawing near and at last becoming distinct.
Curumilla had a ray of hope, for his manoeuvre had succeeded. He still
pressed on his horse, and leaving his heavy wooden stirrups, with their
sharp angles, to beat against the sides of the still galloping animal,
he stuck his long lance into the ground, threw his weight upon it, and
raising himself by the strength of his wrists, sprang lightly to the
ground, whilst the two abandoned horses held on their furious course.
Curumilla glided in among the bushes, and made the best of his way back
towards Rosario, persuaded that the horsemen would be misled by the
false track.
Antinahuel had sent out his mosotones in all directions, in order to
discover the traces of the fugitives, but himself had remained in the
village. Antinahuel was too experienced a warrior to allow himself
to be misled. His scouts returned, one after another, without having
discovered anything. The last two that returned brought with them two
stray horses bathed in steam. These were the two horses abandoned by
Curumilla.
"Will she escape us then?" the Linda asked.
"My sister," the Toqui replied, coolly, with a sinister smile, "when
Antinahuel pursues an enemy, he does not escape."
"And yet----" she said.
"Patience," he replied; "they had a chance; their horses gave them a
great advantage over me; but, thanks to my precautions, I have forced
them to abandon their horses, which alone could have saved them. Within
an hour they will be in our hands."
"To horse, then; and let us delay no longer," Doña Maria exclaimed
impatiently.
"To horse, then, be it!" replied the chief.
This time no false route was pursued; they followed in a straight line
the track by which the prisoners had escaped.
In the meantime Curumilla had rejoined Rosario.
"Well?" she asked, in a voice half choked by fear.
"In a few moments we shall be taken," the chief replied mournfully.
"What! have we no hope left?"
"None! We are surrounded on all sides."
"Oh, my Maker! What have I done?" the poor girl sobbed.
Curumilla reclined upon the ground; he had taken his weapons from his
belt, and placed them beside him; and with the stoical fatalism of the
Indian when he knows that he cannot escape a destiny that threatens
him, he waited impassively, his arms crossed upon his breast, the
arrival of the enemy. They heard the tramp of the horses drawing nearer
and nearer. In a quarter of an hour all would be over.
"Let my sister prepare," Curumilla said coolly: "Antinahuel approaches."
"Poor man," said Rosario; "why did you endeavour to save me?"
"The young blue-eyed maiden is the friend of my pale brothers; I would
lay down my life for her."
"You must not die, chief," she said, in her soft clear tones; "you
shall not!"
"Why not? I do not dread torture; my sister shall see how a chief can
die."
"Listen to me. You have heard the threats of that woman; my life is in
no danger."
He replied by a gesture of assent.
"But," she continued, "if you remain with me, if you are taken, they
will kill you."
"Yes," he remarked, coolly.
"Then who will inform my friends of my fate? If you die, chief, what
can they do to deliver me?"
"That is true; they can do nothing."
"You must live, then, chief, for my sake."
"Does my sister wish it?"
"I insist upon it."
"Good!" said the Indian. "I will go, then; but let not my sister be
cast down."
At this moment the noise of the approaching cavalcade resounded with
a loudness that announced they were close at hand. The chief gathered
up his arms, replaced them in his belt, and, after bestowing a last
sign of encouragement upon Rosario, he glided among the high grass and
disappeared. Antinahuel and the Linda were within ten paces of her.
"Here I am," she said, in a firm voice; "do with me what you please."
Her persecutors, struck with such an exhibition of courage, pulled up
their horses in astonishment. The courageous girl had saved Curumilla.