THE ESTANCIA OF SAN JULIAN.
The bomberos, accompanied by Mercedes, buried themselves in the desert.
Their journey lasted four hours, and brought them to the banks of the
Rio Negro, to one of the charming oases created by the river mud, and
covered with clumps of willows, nopals, palms, chirimoyas, lemon trees,
and flowering jessamines, in whose branches thousands of birds of the
most varying colour and note gaily warbled.
Pedrito seized Mercedes in his robust arms, lifted her from the front
of his saddle and laid her gently on the turf. The horses began quietly
nibbling the young tree shoots.
"Tell us, how did you find our sister?" Juan said.
The elder brother, as if he had not heard, made no reply, and with
his eyes fixed on the girl, he listened to a voice that spoke within
him; he fancied he saw again the living portrait of his mother, and
said to himself, "The same look, at once gentle and tender! The smile
full of kindness! Poor mother, poor sister! Mercedes," he added in a
louder voice, "do you remember your grown-up brothers, who loved you so
dearly?"
"Come, come," Pepe exclaimed, stamping his foot angrily, "that is not
fair, brother! You keep our bills in the water like a lot of ducks, and
confiscate the girl's kind looks. If she is really our deeply-regretted
Mercedes, speak; ¡caray! we have as much right to embrace her as you
have, and are all longing to do so."
"You are right," Pedrito answered; "forgive me, brothers, but joy
rendered me egotistic. Yes, it is our dear little sister, so embrace
her."
The bomberos did not wait for the invitation to be repeated, and
without asking the slightest explanation from Pedrito, disputed with
each other as to who should devour her with caresses. The maiden,
who was deeply affected, and whom the Indians had not accustomed to
such happiness, yielded to the intoxication of joy. While they were
indulging in these transports, Pedrito had lit a fire and prepared a
substantial meal, composed of fruit and a leg of guanaco. They sat down
and ate with good appetites. Pedrito recounted his adventures at the
tree of Gualichu, without omitting a single detail. His story occupied
a long time, for it was at times interrupted by the young men, who
laughed most heartily at the tragi-comical incidents of the scene
between the matchi and Gualichu.
"Do you know," Lopez said to him, "that you have been a god?"
"A god who ran a greater risk of becoming immortal than he cared for,"
Pedrito replied; "for I feel that I love life since I have found the
child again. Well, here she is, and he will be a clever fellow who
takes her from us again. Still, we cannot keep her with us and let her
share our precarious existence."
"That is true," the other brothers said.
"What is to be done?" Pepe muttered sadly.
"Our poor sister would die," said Pedrito; "we cannot make a female
bombero of her, drag her after us into danger, or leave her alone."
"I shall never be alone when with you, my kind brothers."
"Our life is at the mercy of an Indian bullet. The fear that you may
fall again into the hands of the Aucas or the Puelches troubles me; and
if you remained with us and shared our dangers, I should turn a coward,
and not have the courage to perform my duties as bombero."
"During the ten years we have been prowling about the Pampas," Pepe
remarked, "we have broken with all our old acquaintances."
"Suppose, though," Lopez observed, "we find her a safe shelter? I have
an idea."
"Out with it."
"You remember the capataz of the Estancia de San Julian, what is his
name?"
"Don Blas Salazar."
"The very man," Lopez continued; "I fancy we have saved his life and
his master's ere now, and that both owe us a candle as thick as my arm
in gratitude."
"Don Valentine and his capataz," Juan said, "would have yielded their
skins to that demon of a Pincheira, who wished to flay them alive, had
it not been for our rifles."
"That is our affair. Lopez is right."
"Don Valentino passes for a good-hearted man."
"He has, I think, a daughter whom he tenderly loves, and will
understand the difficulty we are in."
"Yes," said Pepe, "but we cannot go to Carmen."
"Let us ride to the Estancia, then; it will only take us a couple of
hours."
"We will be off," said Pedrito; "Juan and Lopez will remain here,
while Pepe and I escort the chica. Kiss your brothers, Mercedes. Now
then, Pepe; you two keep good watch and expect us at sunset."
Mercedes waved a parting farewell to her brothers, and, escorted by
Pepe and Pedro, started at a gallop for San Julian.
At about three o'clock they perceived, fifty yards from them, the
estancia, which Don Valentine and his daughter had reached hardly two
hours before.
The Estancia of San Julian, undoubtedly the richest and strongest
position on the entire Patagonian coast, stood on a peninsula six miles
in circumference, covered with wood and pastures, on which upwards of
two thousand head of cattle grazed at liberty. Surrounded by the sea,
which forms a natural fortification, the strip of land, twenty feet in
width at the most, was guarded by a battery of five heavy guns. The
house, which was surrounded by lofty parapeted and bastioned walls,
was a species of fortress, capable of sustaining a regular siege,
thanks to eight guns, which, planted on the four bastions, defended the
approaches. It was composed of a large main building with a terraced
roof, having ten windows on the frontage, and with two wings. A large
flight of steps, protected by a double curiously-worked balustrade,
protected by a verandah, gave access to the rooms, which were furnished
with the simple and picturesque luxury peculiar to the Spanish farms of
America.
Between the house and the wall, in which there was, opposite the steps,
a cedar gate five inches thick, and lined with strong iron plates,
extended a large English garden, well wooded and beautifully laid out.
The space left free behind the farm was occupied by the corrals in
which the cattle were shut up at night, and an immense courtyard in
which the annual slaughtering took place.
This white house was gay and pleasant, and could be seen for some
distance off, half-hidden by the branches which crowned it with
foliage. From the first floor windows there was a view on one side of
the sea, on the other of the Rio Negro, which ran capriciously through
the plain like a silver thread, and was lost in the azure distance of
the horizon.
Ever since the last war with the Indians, ten years back, and during
which the estancia was all but surprised by the Aucas, a _mirador_ had
been built on the roof of the main building, where a sentry stood day
and night, ordered to watch and announce the approach of strangers
upon a buffalo horn. In addition, the isthmus battery was guarded by
six men, ready to discharge the guns at the slightest alarm. Hence,
when the bomberos were still some distance from the Estancia, their
coming had been signalled, and Don Blas Salazar, accompanied by Patito,
was standing behind the battery in order to challenge them when they
came within hail.
The bomberos were aware of the orders, which are common to all the
Spanish establishments, especially on the borders, where people are
exposed to the continual depredations of the Indians. On coming within
twenty paces of the battery, the two men stopped and waited.
"Who goes there?" a voice shouted.
"Friends?" Pedrito answered.
"Who are you?"
"Bomberos."
"Good; what do you want?"
"To speak to the Señor Capataz, Don Blas Salazar."
"Why," Blas himself exclaimed, "it is Pedrito."
"Yes, yes, Don Blas," Pedrito said, "and I recognized you at once, but
duty is duty. This is my brother Pepe, at your service."
"As he has been before, Don Blas, by your leave," Pepe said,
insinuatingly.
"That is true, lower the drawbridge."
The bomberos entered, and the bridge was immediately pulled up after
them.
"¡Caray! What a pleasant surprise, my friends," the capataz said, "we
see you most remarkably seldom. Come to my house, and while we drain a
cup, you will tell me what brings you here, and it must be a serious
matter, if I know you."
"Very serious indeed," Pedrito answered.
"Patito," said Blas, "you stay here; I am going to the estancia."
The capataz mounted his horse, and drew up alongside Pedrito.
"May I ask, caballero, without indiscretion, who that girl dressed in
the Indian fashion is? She is white, is she not?"
"She is our sister, capataz."
"Your sister, Don Pedro! Are you joking?"
"Heaven forbid?"
"I was not aware you had a sister, so forgive me, for I am not a
sorcerer."
The horsemen had arrived at their destination. The capataz dismounted,
the bomberos followed his example, and followed him into a spacious
ground floor room, where an elderly, healthy-looking woman was busy
peeling Indian corn. It was Don Blas's mother, and Don Valentine's
nurse. She greeted the newcomers with a good-humoured smile, offered
them seats, and went to fetch a jug of chicha, which she placed before
them.
"To your health, señores," said the capataz, after filling the pewter
cups to the brim. "The sun is confoundedly hot, and travellers will
find this refreshing."
"Thanks," said Pedrito, who had emptied his glass.
"Come, what have you to tell me? Speak freely; unless," Blas added, "my
mother is in your way. If so, the worthy woman would go into the next
room."
"No," Pedro said, eagerly; "no! The señora, on the contrary, must
remain, for what we have to say everybody may hear, and especially your
mother; we have come here on the subject of our sister."
"I do not wish to offend you, Don Pedro," the capataz interrupted him,
"but you did wrong in keeping the young lady with you, for she cannot
share all the perils of your diabolical life, can she, mother?"
The old lady gave a nod of assent, and the brothers exchanged a hopeful
glance.
"You can do what you please, of course," Don Blas continued;
"everybody is at liberty to arrange his life as he pleases, provided
that it be honestly. But now to business."
"Your remark, Don Blas," Pedrito said, "overwhelms us with joy. You are
a man of good counsel and good heart."
And without farther delay, he told Mercedes' singular story. Toward its
close Doña Salazar left the room, unnoticed by her son or the bomberos.
"You are a worthy man, Don Pedro," Don Blas exclaimed. "Yes, deuce take
me if you are not, though the bomberos generally are considered sorry
fellows. You have judged me rightly, and I thank you for thinking of
me."
"Then you consent?" Pepe asked.
"One moment, sapristi! Let me conclude," the capataz said, as he filled
the glasses again, "here's to your health, and that of the señorita.
I am only a poor fellow, and a bachelor in the bargain, hence my
protection would compromise a young lady's reputation, for tongues
are wicked here as elsewhere, and though I live with my mother, an
excellent woman, a wicked word is soon uttered. Señores, a girl's
reputation is like an egg; once cracked it cannot be mended. You
understand?"
"What is to be done?" Pedrito muttered with discouragement.
"Patience, compadre! I am nothing myself, but, canario, Don Valentine
Cardoso, my master, is kind, he is fond of me, and has a charming
daughter; I will plead your sister's cause to him."
"The cause is already gained, my friend," said Don Valentine, whom Doña
Salazar had informed of the bomberos' wishes.
Doña Concha, who accompanied her father, had been greatly affected
by the story of Mercedes' misfortunes; a good action had tempted her
heart, and she begged her father to take charge of the bomberos'
sister, who would be a companion for her. Pepe and Pedrito knew not how
to express their gratitude to Señor Cardoso.
"My friends," the latter said, "I am only too happy to discharge my
debt to you. We have an old account outstanding between us. Eh, Blas!
And if my daughter still has a father, she owes it to you."
"Oh, señor!" the two young men protested.
"My daughter, Conchita, will have a sister, and I two daughters instead
of one. Do you wish it so, Conchita?"
"I thank you, father," as she repeatedly kissed Mercedes. "My dear
girl," she added, "kiss your brothers and follow me to my apartments;
I will myself give you the articles of clothing you most require, and
enable you to get rid of this heathen costume at once."
Mercedes threw herself into her brother's arms with tears.
"Come, come, little maid," Doña Concha said, as she drew her away, "do
not cry thus, you will see them again, wipe your eyes, for I mean you
to be happy, do you understand? Come, smile at once, my darling, and
follow me."
The sentinel's horn at this moment announced that a stranger was asking
admission to the estancia.
"Thanks, once again, Don Valentine," Pedrito said, "we go away with
minds at rest."
"Good-bye, till we meet again, my friends."
Pedrito and Pepe, light both in body and mind, left the estancia, and
crossed on their passage a horseman, who was coming up to the steps at
a sharp trot.
"That is strange," said Pedrito, "where have I seen that man? I do not
know, but I feel certain I have met him before."
"Do you know Don Torribio Carvajal?" the capataz asked.
"I am not aware if that is the Caballero's name, who he is, or where
I have seen him; still, I am certain that we met a very little while
ago."
"Ah!"
"Good-bye, Don Blas, and thank you," the bomberos said, as they shook
his hand.