Читать книгу Gaspar the Gaucho: A Story of the Gran Chaco - Reid Mayne - Страница 10

Over the broad undulating plain which extends between Halberger’s house and the deserted tolderia of the Tovas, a horseman is seen proceeding in the direction of the latter. He is a man about middle age, of hale, active appearance, in no way past his prime. Of medium size, or rather above it, his figure though robust is well proportioned, with strong sinewy arms and limbs lithe as a panther’s, while his countenance, notwithstanding the somewhat embrowned skin, has a pleasant, honest expression, evincing good nature as a habitually amiable temper, at the same time that his features show firmness and decision. A keenly glancing eye, coal-black, bespeaks for him both courage and intelligence; while the way in which he sits his horse, tells that he is not new to the saddle; instead, seeming part of it. His garb is peculiar, though not to the country which claims him as a native. Draping down from his shoulders and spreading over the hips of his horse is a garment of woollen fabric, woven in stripes of gaudy colours, alternating white, yellow, and red, of no fit or fashion, but simply kept on by having his head thrust through a slit in its centre. It is a poncho– the universal wrap or cloak of every one who dwells upon the banks of the La Plata or Parana. Under is another garment, of white cotton stuff, somewhat resembling Zouave breeches, and called calzoneras, these reaching a little below his knees; while his feet and ankles are encased in boots of his own manufacture, seamless, since each was originally the skin of a horse’s leg, the hoof serving as heel, with the shank shortened and gathered into a pucker for the toe. Tanned and bleached to the whiteness of a wedding glove, with some ornamental stitching and broidery, it furnishes a foot gear, alike comfortable and becoming. Spurs, with grand rowels, several inches in diameter, attached to the heels of these horse-hide boots, give them some resemblance to the greaves and ankle armour of mediaeval times.

All this has he whose dress we are describing; while surmounting his head is a broad-brimmed hat with high-peaked crown and plume of rheas feathers – underneath all a kerchief of gaudy colour, which draping down over the nape of his neck protects it from the fervid rays of the Chaco sun. It is a costume imposing and picturesque; while the caparison of his horse is in keeping with it. The saddle, called recado, is furnished with several coverings, one upon another, the topmost, coronilla, being of bright-coloured cloth elaborately quilted; while the bridle of plaited horse-hair is studded with silver joints, from which depend rings and tassels, the same ornamenting the breast-piece and neck straps attaching the martingale, in short, the complete equipment of a gaucho. And a gaucho he is – Gaspar, the hero of our tale.

It has been already said, that he is in the service of Ludwig Halberger. So is he, and has been ever since the hunter-naturalist settled in Paraguay; in the capacity of steward, or as there called mayor-domo; a term of very different signification from the major-domo or house-steward of European countries, with dress and duties differing as well. No black coat, or white cravat, wears he of Spanish America, no spotless stockings, or soft slipper shoes. Instead, a costume more resembling that of a Cavalier, or Freebooter; while the services he is called upon to perform require him to be not only a first-class horseman, but able to throw the lazo, catch a wild cow or colt, and tame the latter – in short, take a hand at anything. And at almost anything Gaspar can; for he is man-of-all-work to the hunter-naturalist, as well as his man of confidence.

Why he is riding away from the estancia at such an hour – for it is afternoon – may be guessed from what has gone before. For it is on that same day, when Halberger and his daughter started off to visit the Indian village; and as these had not returned soon as promised, the anxiety of the wife, rendered keen by the presentiment which had oppressed her at their parting, became at length unbearable; and to relieve it Gaspar has been despatched in quest of them.

No better man in all the pampas region, or South America itself, could have been sent on such an errand. His skill as a tracker is not excelled by any other gaucho in the Argentine States, from which he originally came; while in general intelligence, combined with courage, no one there, or elsewhere, could well be his superior. As the Señora said her last words to him at parting, and listened to his in return, she felt reassured. Gaspar was not the man to make delay, or come back without the missing one. On this day, however, he deviates from his usual habit, at the same time from the route he ought to take – that leading direct to the Indian village, whither he knows his master and young mistress to have gone. For while riding along going at a gentle canter, a cock “ostrich” starts up before his horse, and soon after the hen, the two trotting away over the plain to one side. It so chances that but the day before his master had given him instructions to catch a male ostrich for some purpose of natural history – the first he should come across. And here was one, a splendid bird, in full flowing plumage. This, with an observation made, that the ostriches seem less shy than is usual with these wary creatures, and are moving away but slowly, decides him to take after and have a try at capturing the cock. Unloosing his bolas from the saddle-bow, where he habitually carries this weapon, and spurring his horse to a gallop, off after them he goes.

Magnificently mounted, for a gaucho would not be otherwise, he succeeds in his intent, after a run of a mile or so, getting close enough to the birds to operate upon them with his bolas. Winding these around his head and launching them, he has the satisfaction of seeing the cock ostrich go down upon the grass, its legs lapped together tight as if he had hard spliced them.

Riding on up to the great bird, now hoppled and without any chance to get away from him, he makes things more sure by drawing out his knife and cutting the creature’s throat. Then releasing the bolas, he returns them to the place from which he had taken them – on the horn of his recado. This done, he stands over the dead rhea, thus reflecting: —

“I wonder what particular part of this beauty – it is a beauty, by the way, and I don’t remember ever having met with a finer bird of the breed – but if I only knew which one with identical parts the master wants, it would save me some trouble in the way of packing, and my horse no little of a load. Just possible the dueño only cares for the tail-feathers, or the head and beak, or it may be but the legs. Well, as I can’t tell which, there’s but one way to make sure about it – that is, to take the entire carcase along with me. So, go it must.”

Saying this, he lays hold of a leg, and drags the ostrich nearer to his horse, which all the time stands tranquilly by: for a gaucho’s steed is trained to keep its place, without need of any one having care of it.

“Carramba!” he exclaims, raising the bird from the ground, “what a weight the thing is! Heavy as a quarter of beef! Now I think on’t, it might have been better if I’d let the beast alone, and kept on without getting myself into all this bother. Nay, I’m sure it would have been wiser. What will the Señora say, when she knows of my thus dallying – trifling with the commands she gave me? Bah! she won’t know anything about it – and needn’t. She will, though, if I stand dallying here. I mustn’t a minute longer. So up, Señor Avertruz, and lie there.”

At which, he hoists the ostrich – by the gauchos called “avertruz” – to the croup of his recado; where, after a rapid manipulation of cords, the bird is made fast, beyond all danger of dropping off.

This done, he springs upon his horse’s back, and then looks out to see which direction he should now take. A thing not so easily determined; for in the chase after it, the ostrich had made more than one double; and, although tolerably familiar with the topography of that plain, the gaucho is for the time no little confused as to his whereabouts. Nor strange he should be; since the palm-groves scattered over it are all so much alike, and there is no high hill, nor any great eminence, to guide him. Ridges there are, running this way and that; but all only gentle undulations, with no bold projection, or other land-mark that he can remember.

He begins to think he is really strayed, lost; and, believing so, is angry with himself for having turned out of his path – as the path of his duty. Angry at the ostrich, too, that tempted him.

“Avertruz, maldito!” he exclaims, terms in the gaucho vernacular synonymous with “ostrich, be hanged!” adding, as he continues to gaze hopelessly around, “I wish I’d let the long-legged brute go its way. Like as not, it’ll hinder me going mine, till too late. And if so, there’ll be a pretty tale to tell! Santissima! whatever am I to do? I don’t even know the way back to the house; though that wouldn’t be any good if I did. I daren’t go there without taking some news with me. Well; there’s only one thing I can do; ride about, and quarter the pampa, till I see something that’ll set me back upon my road.”

In conformity with this intention, he once more puts his horse in motion, and strikes off over the plain; but he does not go altogether without a guide, the sun somewhat helping him. He knows that his way to the Indian village is westward, and as the bright luminary is now beginning to descend, it points out that direction, so taking his bearings by it, he rides on. Not far, however, before catching sight of another object, which enables him to steer his course with greater precision. This a tree, a grand vegetable giant of the species called ombu, known to every gaucho – beloved, almost held sacred by him, as affording shade to his sun-exposed and solitary dwelling. The one Gaspar now sees has no house under its wide-spreading branches; but he has himself been under them more than once while out on a hunt, and smoked his cigarrito in their shade. As his eye lights upon it, a satisfied expression comes over his features, for he knows that the tree is on the top of a little loma, or hill, about half-way between the estancia and the Indian town, and nearly in the direct route.

He needs nothing more to guide him now; but instead of riding towards the tree, he rather turns his back upon it, and starts off in a different direction. This because he had already passed the ombu before coming across the ostrich.

Soon again he is back upon the path from which he had strayed, and proceeds along it without further interruption, riding at a rapid pace to make up for the lost time.

Still, he is far from being satisfied with himself. Although he may have done that which will be gratifying to his master, there is a possibility of its displeasing his mistress. Most certainly will it do this, should he not find the missing ones, and have to go home without them. But he has no great fear of that; indeed, is not even uneasy. Why should he be? He knows his master’s proclivities, and believes that he has come across some curious and rare specimens, which take time to collect or examine, and this it is which has been retarding his return. Thus reflecting, he continues on, every moment expecting to meet them. But as there is neither road nor any regular path between the two places, he needs to keep scanning the plain, lest on their return he may pass them unobserved.

But he sees nothing of them till reaching the tolderia, and there only the hoof-marks of his master’s horse, with those of his young mistress’s pony, both conspicuous in the dust-covered ground by the doors of the toldos. But on neither does he dwell, for he, too, as were the others, is greatly surprised to find the place deserted – indeed alarmed, and for a time sits in his saddle as one half-dazed.

Only a short while, for he is not the man to give way to long irresolution, and recovering himself, he rides rapidly about, from toldo to toldo, all over the town, at the same time shouting and calling out his master’s name.

For answer, he only has the echoes of his own voice, now and then varied with the howl of a wolf, which, prowling around like himself no doubt wonders, as he, at the place being abandoned.

After a hurried examination of the houses, and seeing there is no one within them, just as Halberger had done, he strikes off on the trail of the departed inhabitants; and with the sun still high enough to light up every track on it, he perceives those made by the dueño’s horse, and the more diminutive hoof-prints alongside them.

On he goes following them up, and in a gallop, for they are so fresh and clear he has no need to ride slowly. On in the same gait for a stretch of ten miles, which brings him to the tributary stream at the crossing-place. He rides down to the water’s edge, there to be sorely puzzled at what he sees – some scores of other horse-tracks recently made, but turning hither and thither in crowded confusion.

It calls for all his skill as a rastrero, with some considerable time, to unwind the tangled skein. But he at length succeeds, so far as to discover that the whole horse troop, to whomsoever belonging, have recrossed the ford; and crossing it himself, he sees they have gone back up the Pilcomayo river. Among them is one showing a shod hoof; but he knows that has not been made by his master’s horse, the bar being larger and broader, with the claw more deeply indented. Besides, he sees not the pony’s tracks – though they are or were there – and have been trodden out by the ruck of the other animals trampling after.

The gaucho here turns back; though he intends following the trail further, when he has made a more careful examination of the sign on the other side of the stream; and recrossing, he again sets to scrutinising it. This soon leading him to the place where Halberger entered the sumac grove. Now the gaucho, entering it also, and following the slot along the tapir path, at a distance of some three hundred yards from the crossing, comes out into an open glade, lit up by the last rays of the setting sun, which fall slantingly through the trees standing around. There a sight meets his eye, causing the blood at one moment to run cold through his veins, in the next hot as boiling lava; while from his lips issue exclamations of mingled astonishment and indignation. What he sees is a horse, saddled and with the bridle also on, standing with neck bent down, and head drooped till the nostrils almost touch the earth. But between them and the ground is a figure extended at full stretch; the body of a man to all appearance dead; which at a glance the gaucho knows to be that of his master!