THE TOLDO OF THE GREAT TOQUI.
Don Antonio Valverde, delighted at the succour the president of the
Argentine Republic sent him, rode at a gallop by the side of the new
colonel, Don Torribio. They soon reached a barrier, guarded by a large
body of gauchos and armed colonists.
"We must go out here," Don Torribio said to the governor, "but, as the
night is dark, and we have one or two leagues to ride, it would be
imprudent to venture alone upon a plain traversed by vagabond Indians."
"That is true," Don Antonio interrupted him.
"The governor must not risk his life lightly; suppose you were made
prisoner, for instance, what a blow it would be for the colony."
"You speak most sensibly, Don Torribio."
"Let us take an escort."
"Of how many men?"
"Ten will be enough."
"We will take twenty, for we may come across a hundred Indians."
"Twenty, then, if you wish it, Don Antonio," the other answered with a
sardonic smile.
On the governor's arrival the defenders of the fort had got under arms.
Don Torribio detailed twenty horsemen, who, by his orders formed up
behind him.
"Are we ready to start, governor?"
"Let us be off."
The escort, having the two colonels at its head, started in the
direction of the plain, Torribio delighted Don Antonio Valverde for
three quarters of an hour by the rolling fire of his witty remarks,
when he was interrupted by him.
"Pardon me, colonel," the governor said anxiously, "but does it not
appear singular to you that we have as yet met nobody?"
"Not the least in the world, señor," Torribio answered; "of course they
know what road to take, and they are awaiting my return."
"That is possible," the governor said, after a moment's reflection.
"In that case we shall have another league to ride. Let us go on, then."
Don Torribio's vein of humour was exhausted. At times his eye examined
the space around him, while Don Antonio remained silent. All at once
the distant neighing of a horse reached their ears.
"What's that?" Torribio asked.
"Probably the men we are seeking."
"In any case let us be prudent. Wait for me; I will go ahead as scout."
He galloped forward and disappeared in the gloom. When a certain
distance off, he dismounted and put his ears to the ground.
"_¡Demonios!_" he muttered, as he got up and leapt on to his horse
again; "we are pursued. Can that Satan of a Pedrito have recognized me?"
"What's the matter?" the governor asked. "Nothing," Torribio replied,
laying his left hand on his arm. "Don Antonio Valverde, surrender; you
are my prisoner."
"Are you mad, Don Torribio?"
"No longer call me Don Torribio, señor," the young man said in a hollow
voice; "I am Nocobotha, the great chief of the Patagonian natives."
"Treachery!" the governor shouted; "Help, gauchos, defend me!"
"It is useless, colonel, for those men belong to me."
"I will not surrender," the governor continued "Don Torribio, or
whoever you may be, you are a coward."
He freed himself from the young man's grasp by a bound of his horse,
and drew his sabre. The rapid gallop of several horses came nearer
every moment.
"Can that be help arriving for me?" the governor said, as he cocked a
pistol.
"Yes, but too late," the Indian chief answered coldly.
By his orders, the gauchos surrounded the commandant, who killed two
of them. From this moment the fight in the dark became frightful. Don
Antonio, seeing that his life was lost, wished, at least, to die as a
soldier should die, and fought desperately.
The sound of the galloping horses constantly drew nearer.
Nocobotha saw that it was time to finish, and with a pistol shot killed
the governor's horse. Don Antonio rolled on the sand, but, jumping
up suddenly, he dealt his adversary a sabre stroke, which the latter
parried by leaping on one side.
"A man such as I am does not surrender to dogs like you," Don Antonio
exclaimed, as he blew out his own brains.
This explosion was followed by a sharp discharge of musketry, and
a squadron of horsemen rushed like a whirlwind on the gauchos. The
contest hardly lasted a moment. At a whistle from Nocobotha the gauchos
turned round and fled separately over the dark plain. Eight corpses
strewed the ground.
"Too late!" Pedrito said to Major Bloomfield, who had started in
pursuit of Don Torribio so soon as the bombero warned him of the peril
into which the Indian had led the governor.
"Yes," said the major, sorrowfully, "he was a good soldier; but how are
we to catch the traitors up, and know what we have to depend on?"
"They are already in the Indian camp."
Pedrito leapt from his horse, cut with his machete a branch of resinous
fir, which he made into a torch, and by its light examined the bodies
stretched on the ground.
"Here he is!" the bombero exclaimed; "His skull is fearfully fractured;
his hand grasps a pistol; but his face still retains an expression of
haughty defiance."
A silent tear rolled down Major Bloomfield's bronzed face.
"Why was my old friend fated thus to die in an ambuscade when his
fortress is besieged?" the Englishman murmured.
"God is the Master," Pedrito remarked, philosophically.
"He has performed his duty, so let us perform ours."
They raised the body of Don Antonio Valverde, and then the whole
squadron returned to Carmen.
Nocobotha, however, we must remark, had only wished to make the colonel
prisoner in order to treat with the colonists, and shed as little blood
as possible, and he bitterly regretted the governor's death. While the
gauchos were rejoicing at the success of the trap, Nocobotha, gloomy
and dissatisfied, returned to his camp.
Mercedes and Doña Concha, on seeing the toldo of the great chief
unoccupied, could not repress a sigh of satisfaction. They had the
time to recover from their emotion in his absence, and prepare for
the interview which Concha desired to have with him. They had removed
their Indian garb in all haste, and resumed their Spanish attire. By an
accident that favoured the plans of Don Sylvio's betrothed wife, she
was lovelier and more seductive than usual; her pallor had a touching
and irresistible grace about it, and her eyes flashed eager flames of
love or hatred.
When Nocobotha arrived in front of the toldo, the matchi walked up to
him.
"What do you want?" the chief asked.
"My father will pardon me," the sorcerer answered, humbly. "This night
two women have entered the camp."
"What do I care?" the chief interrupted him, impatiently.
"These women, though dressed in the Indian fashion, are white," the
matchi said, laying a stress on the last word.
"They are doubtless wives of the gauchos."
"No," the sorcerer said; "their hands are too white, and their feet too
small. Besides, one of them is the white slave of the tree of Gualichu."
"Ah! and who made them prisoners?"
"No one; they arrived alone."
"Alone?"
"I accompanied them through the camp, and protected them against the
curiosity of the warriors."
"You acted well."
"I introduced them into my father's toldo."
"Are they there now?"
"For the last hour."
"I thank my brother."
Nocobotha took off one of his bracelets, and threw it to the matchi,
who bowed down to the ground.
The chief, suffering from indescribable agitation, rushed toward his
toldo, the curtain of which he raised with a feverish hand, and he
could not restrain a cry of delight and astonishment on hearing Doña
Concha's voice.
The maiden greeted him with one of those strange and charming smiles of
which women alone possess the secret.
"What is the meaning of this?" the chief asked, with a graceful bow.
Doña Concha involuntarily admired the young man; his splendid Indian
costume flashing in the light, heightened his masculine and proud
attitude, and his head was haughtily erect. He was very handsome, and
born to command.
"By what name shall I address you, caballero?" she said to him, as she
pointed to a seat of carved copal wood by her side.
"That depends, señorita. If you address the Spaniard, call me Don
Torribio; if you have come to speak to the Indian, my brothers call me
Nocobotha."
"We shall see," she said.
During a momentary silence, the two speakers examined each other aside.
Doña Concha did not know how to begin, and the chief himself was
seeking the motive for such a visit.
"Did you really wish to see me?" Nocobotha at length began.
"Who else?" she replied.
"The happiness of seeing you here appears to me a dream, and I fear
lest I should awake from it."
This remark reminded her of Don Valentine Cardoso's guest, and did not
agree with the ornaments of an Indian chief and the interior of a toldo.
"Good gracious!" Doña Concha said lightly, "You are not far removed
from believing me a witch or a fairy, so I will break my wand."
"For all that you will not be the less an enchantress," Nocobotha
interrupted her with a smile.
"The sorcerer is this child's brother, who revealed to me your real
name, and the spot where I might find you. You must give Pedrito all
the credit."
"I shall not forget it when an opportunity offers," he answered with a
frown, which did not escape Doña Concha's notice; "but let us return
to yourself, señorita. Would it be an indiscretion to ask you to what
extraordinary circumstance I owe the favour of a visit which I did not
anticipate, but which overwhelms me with joy?"
"Oh! A very simple cause," she replied, giving him a fiery look.
"I am listening, madam."
"Perhaps you wish to make me undergo an examination?"
"Oh! I trust that you do not think what you are saying."
"Don Torribio, we live in such unhappy times, that a person can never
be sure of addressing a friend."
"I am yours, madam."
"I hope so, and even believe it, hence I will speak to you in the most
perfect confidence. A girl of my age, and especially of my rank, does
not take a step so singular, without very serious motives."
"I am convinced of that."
"What can make a woman lay aside her instinctive modesty, and cause
her to disdain even her reputation? What feeling inspires her with
masculine courage? Is it not love, Don Torribio --love? Do you
understand me?"
"Yes, madam," he answered with emotion.
"Well, I have said it, it is a question of my heart and of
yours--perhaps--Don Torribio. At our last interview, my father
announced rather suddenly, both to you and me, my approaching marriage
with Don Sylvio d'Arenal. I had thought you loved me--"
"Señorita!"
"But at that moment I became certain of it; I saw your sudden pallor,
your voice was troubled."
"Still!--"
"I am a woman, Don Torribio; we women guess a man's love before a man
himself does so."
The Indian chief gazed at her with an undefinable expression.
"A few days later," she continued, "Don Sylvio fell into an
ambuscade--why did you do that, Don Torribio?"
"I wished to avenge myself on a rival, but I did not order his death."
"I knew it."
Nocobotha did not understand her.
"You had no rival--you had scarce left the house ere I confessed to my
father that I did not love Don Sylvio, and would not marry him."
"O Heavens!" the young man exclaimed sorrowfully.
"Reassure yourself, the misfortune is repaired; Don Sylvio is not dead."
"Who told you so?"
"I know it, I know it so well that Don Sylvio, torn from Pincheira's
hands by my orders, is at this moment at the Estancia de San Julian,
whence he will shortly set out for Buenos Aires."
"Can I--"
"That is not all. I made my father understand toward whom my heart
turned, and whose love it confided in, and my father, who has never
been able to refuse me anything, permitted me to go and join the man
whom I prefer."
She gave Don Torribio a glance full of love, looked down and blushed. A
thousand contradictory feelings were contending in Nocobotha's heart,
for he did not dare believe that which rendered him so happy; a doubt
remained, a cruel doubt--suppose she were trifling with him?
"What!" he said, "You love me?"
"My presence here,--" she stammered.
"Happiness renders me confused, so forgive me."
"If I did not love you," she answered, "Sylvio is free and I could
marry him."
"Oh women! Adorable creatures, who will ever sound the depths of your
heart! Who can divine the sorrow or joy you conceal in a glance or in a
smile? Yes, señorita, yes, I love you, and I wish to tell you so on my
knees."
And the great chief of the Patagonian nations threw himself at Doña
Concha's feet; he pressed her hands and covered them with burning
kisses. The maiden, who held her head erect, while he lay thus
prostrate before her, had a ferocious delight in her eyes; she had
repeated the eternal allegory of the lion that surrenders its claws
to the scissors of love. This man, so powerful and formidable, was
conquered, and henceforth she was sure of her vengeance.
"What shall I tell my father?" she said in a voice gentle as a caress.
The lion rose with flashing eyes and radiant brow.
"Madam," he answered with supreme majesty, "tell Don Valentine Cardoso
that within a month I shall place a crown on your beloved forehead."