DON TORRIBIO'S HOUSE.
Don Sylvio D'Arenal, so soon as his sword slipped from his grasp,
and he fell by the side of the capataz, gave no signs of life. The
masked men, despising Blas Salazar, went up to Doña Concha's betrothed
husband. The pallid hues of death clouded his handsome, noble face;
his teeth were clenched under his half-parted lips; the blood flowed
profusely from his wounds, and his closed hand still clutched the hilt
of his sword, which had been broken in the fight.
"_¡Caspita!_" one of the bandits remarked, "Here is a young gentleman
who is very ill; what will the master say?"
"What would you have him say, Señor Panchito?" another objected. "He
defended himself like a maddened panther; it is his own fault; he ought
to have been more polite to us. We have lost four men."
"A fine loss, on my word--those scamps!" Panchito said, with a shrug of
his shoulders; "I should have preferred his killing six and being in a
better condition himself."
"Hang it," the bandit muttered, "that is kind towards us."
"Present parties excepted," Panchito added with a laugh; "but quick,
bind up his wounds and let us be off. This is not a proper place for
us, and besides the master is waiting for us."
Don Sylvio's wounds were bathed and bound up somehow or another; and,
without troubling themselves whether he was dead or alive, they laid
him across the horse of Panchito, the leader of this expedition. The
dead remained on the spot as a prey for the wild beasts. The other
masked men set out at a gallop, and at the expiration of two hours
halted in front of the Cave of the Cougars, where Nocobotha and
Pincheira were waiting for them.
"Well," the former shouted to them as soon as he saw them.
"The job is done," Panchito answered laconically, as he got off his
horse, and laid Don Sylvio on a bed of leaves.
"Is he dead?" Nocobotha asked, turning pale.
"Not much better," the gaucho answered, with a shake of his head.
"Villain!" the Indian shouted, beside him with, fury, "Is that the way
in which my orders are executed? Did I not command you to bring him to
me alive?"
"Hum!" said Panchito. "I should like to see you try it. Armed only with
a sword, he fought like ten men for more than twenty minutes. He killed
four of ours, and perhaps we should not have been here now if his
weapon had not broken."
"You are cowards," the master said, with a smile of contempt.
He went up to Don Sylvio's body.
"Is he dead?" Pincheira asked him.
"No," Nocobotha replied.
"All the worse."
"On the contrary, I would give a great deal to see him recover."
"Nonsense," the Chilian officer said; "what do we care for this man's
life. Was he not your personal enemy?"
"That is the very reason why I should not like him to die."
"I do not understand you."
"My friend," Nocobotha said, "I have devoted my life to the
accomplishment of an idea to which I have sacrificed my hatreds and
friendships."
"Why in that case lay a trap for your rival?"
"My rival? No, it is not he whom I have attacked."
"Who then?"
"The richest and most influential man in the colony; the man who may
thwart my plans; a powerful adversary, a Spaniard, but not a rival.
Nothing permanent is founded on corpses. I would have willingly killed
him in battle, but I do not wish to make a martyr of him."
"Nonsense," Pincheira said, "one more or one less, what matter?"
"Brute," Nocobotha thought, "he has not understood a word I said."
Two gauchos, aided by Panchito, incessantly rubbed with rum the temples
and chest of Don Sylvio, whose features retained the rigidity of death.
The Indian chief drew his knife from his girdle, wiped the blade, and
placed it to the wounded man's lips. It seemed to him as if it were
slightly tarnished. He at once kneeled down by the side of Don Sylvio,
raised the cuff of his left coat sleeve, and pricked the vein with
the sharp point of his knife. Gradually a black dot appeared on the
wound, and became enlarged to the size of a pea. This drop hesitated,
trembled, and at length ran down the arm, pushed on by a second drop,
that made room for a third; then the blood became less black and less
thick, and a long vermilion jet gushed forth, which announced life.
Nocobotha could not repress a cry of joy: Don Sylvio was saved!
Almost immediately the young man gave a deep sigh.
"Continue the rubbing," the chief said to the gauchos.
He bound up Don Sylvio's arm, rose, and made a sign to Pincheira to
follow him to another part of the cave.
"Heaven has granted my prayer," the great chief said, "and I thank it
for having spared me a crime."
"If you are satisfied," the Chilian remarked, in surprise, "I have no
objection to offer."
"That is not all. Don Sylvio's wounds, though numerous, are not
serious; his lethargy is the result of the loss of the blood and
the speed with which he was brought here. He will regain his senses
presently."
"Good."
"He must not see me."
"What next?"
"Or recognize you."
"That is difficult."
"It is important."
"I will try my best."
"I am about to leave you. You will have Don Sylvio conveyed to Carmen."
"To your house?"
"Yes; it is the safest spot," Nocobotha said, as he drew from his
pocket a paper folded after a peculiar fashion; "but he must not know,
under any pretext, that I gave the orders, nor where he is; and, above
all, he must not go out."
"Is that all?"
"Yes; and you will answer to me for his safety."
"On your order I will deliver him to you alive or dead."
"Alive, I tell you; his life is precious to me."
"Well," Pincheira replied, "since you are so anxious about your
prisoner, not a hair of his head shall be touched."
"Thank you, and good-bye, Pincheira."
The chief mounted a magnificent mustang, and disappeared in the
windings of the road. Pincheira returned to the wounded man with a look
of ill temper, and twisting his moustache. He was dissatisfied with
Nocobotha's orders; but, as he possessed only one virtue, respect for
his word, he resigned himself.
"How is he?" he asked Panchito, in a whisper.
"Not so bad, captain; it is astonishing what good the bleeding did him.
He has already opened his eyes twice, and has even attempted to speak."
"In that case there is no time to be lost. Bind the fellow's eyes and
to prevent his tearing the bandage off, fasten his hands to his side;
act gently if you can manage it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, captain."
"In ten minutes we start."
Don Sylvio, who had gradually regained his senses, asked himself into
what hands he had fallen. His presence of mind had also returned, and
he offered no resistance when the gauchos carried out the orders of the
Chilian officer. These precautions revealed to him that his life would
not be taken.
"Captain, what is to be done now?" Panchito said.
"Carry him to the boat tied up down there; and do not shake him,
scoundrels, or I will blow out what little brains you possess."
"¡Caray!" the gaucho said with a grimace.
"Yes," Pincheira said, with a shrug of his shoulders, "that will teach
you to kill people thoroughly another time."
Pincheira had not understood why Nocobotha so eagerly desired that Don
Sylvio should live; and in his turn Panchito did not understand why
Pincheira regretted that he was not dead. The gaucho opened his dull
eyes in amazement on hearing the chief's last remark, but hastened to
obey.
Don Sylvio was carried down to the boat by Pincheira, Panchito, and
another gaucho, while the rest of the party, who took charge of
the horses, returned to Carmen by land. The voyage in the boat was
performed in silence, and three hours after the start the prisoner
was lying on a bed in Don Torribio Carvajal's house. Then the gag was
removed and his hands were untied; but a masked and silent man stood on
the threshold of the door, like a statue, and never once took his eyes
off him.
Don Sylvio, worn out by the emotions of the day, and weakened by
the loss of blood, and trusting to chance to get him out of his
incomprehensible position, took that investigating glance around which
is peculiar to prisoners, and fell into a heavy sleep, which lasted
several hours and restored to his mind all its calmness and original
lucidity.
However, he was treated with the utmost respect, and his slightest
caprices were satisfied. In fact, his situation was endurable, and,
after all, was not without a certain amount of originality. Hence the
young man, feeling reassured, bravely made up his mind to wait for
better times. On the third day of his captivity his wounds were almost
cicatrized. He got up to try his strength, and, perhaps, to reconnoitre
the chance of escaping, for what can people do in prison, save think
about getting out of it? A warm and cheering sunbeam entered through
the crack of the closed shutter, and traced long white stripes on the
ceiling of his room. This sunbeam revived his spirits, and he took
several steps under the inevitable eye of the dumb and masked watchman.
All at once a formidable noise broke out in the vicinity, and a
discharge of cannon made the windows rattle.
"What is that?" he asked the masked man.
The latter shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.
The sharp crack of musketry fire was mingled with the boom of the guns.
The dumb man closed the window. Don Sylvio walked up to him.
"My friend," he said to him, in a gentle voice, "what is going on
outside?"
The jailer obstinately remained silent.
"In Heaven's name speak!"
The noise seemed to draw nearer, and hurried footsteps were mingled
with the shouts. The man in the mask drew his machete from its sheath
and his pistol from his belt, and ran to the door, which was suddenly
burst open. Another masked bandit evidently suffering from great
terror, dashed into the room.
"Look out!" he shouted. "We are lost!"
At these words four men, also masked and armed to the teeth, appeared
in the doorway.
"Back!" the jailer cried; "no one enters here without the password."
"There it is," said one of the newcomers, and he laid him stark dead
with a pistol shot. The four men passed over his body and securely tied
his companion, who had sought refuge in a corner, and was trembling
all over. One of them then walked up to the prisoner, who comprehended
nothing of this scene.
"You are free caballero!" he said to him. "Come, make haste to fly far
from this house."
"Who are you?" the young man asked.
"No matter; follow us."
"No; unless I know who you are."
"Do you wish to see Doña Concha again?" the speaker whispered in his
ear.
"I will follow you," Don Sylvio answered with a blush.
"Señor, take these weapons, which you will perhaps require, as all is
not finished yet."
"Weapons!" the young man exclaimed. "Oh! You are friends."
They went out.
"What?" Don Sylvio said, as he entered the courtyard, "I am in Carmen."
"Were you not aware of it?"
"No."
"Those saddled horses fastened to the rings are ours. Can you sit a
horse?"
"I hope so."
"You must."
"Mount, then, and let us be off."
As they turned into the street, a dozen horsemen dashed up toward them,
at a distance of about five and twenty paces.
"Here is the enemy," the stranger said in a firm voice; "take your
bridle in your teeth, and let us charge."
The four men ranged themselves in a single line, and rushed at the
newcomers. They discharged firearms and drew their sabres.
"Caray!" Pincheira, who commanded the twelve horseman, shouted, "My
prisoner is escaping from me."
The Chilian officer darted in pursuit of Don Sylvio, who fired two
shots at him without relaxing his speed. Pinchiera's horse rolled on
the ground, dragging down its rider, who got up again, greatly shaken
by his fall; but Don Sylvio and his comrades were already far away.
"Oh, I shall find them again!" he shouted, mad with rage.
The fugitives had reached the river's bank, where a boat was waiting
for them.
"We shall separate here, señor," the stranger said to Don Sylvio, as he
removed his mask.
"Pedrito!" he exclaimed.
"Myself!" the bombero answered. "This boat will take you to the
Estancia of San Julian. Start without delay, and," he added, as he
stooped down to Don Sylvio's ear, and handed him a folded paper, "read
this, and, perhaps, you will soon be able to come to our assistance.
Good-bye, señor."
"One word, Pedrito. Who is the man that held me prisoner?"
"Don Torribio Carvajal."
"Thank you."
"Or, if you prefer it, Nocobotha, the great Chief of the Aucas."
"Which of the two?"
"They are the same."
"I will remember," Don Sylvio said, as he leaped into the boat.
The skiff glided over the water with the speed of an arrow, owing
to the vigour of the rowers, and soon disappeared in the gathering
darkness.
Three persons who remained on the bank looked anxiously after the
movements of the boat. They were Pedrito, Mercedes, and Doña Concha.