Читать книгу Gaspar the Gaucho: A Story of the Gran Chaco - Reid Mayne - Страница 9

Just as the young cacique has yielded to the tempter, surrendering his last scruple of conscience, his horse dips hoof in the stream, that of the Paraguayan plunging into it at the same time. Knowing the ford well, and that it is shallow, with a firm bottom, they ride boldly on; their followers straggled out behind, these innocent of the foul conspiracy being hatched so near; still keeping up their rollicky mirth, and flinging about jeux d’esprit as the spray drops are tossed from the fetlocks of their wading horses.

It is a popular though erroneous belief, that the red men of America are of austere and taciturn habit. The older ones may be at times, but even these not always. Instead, as a rule they are given to jocularity and fun; the youth brimful of it as the street boys of any European city. At least one half of their diurnal hours is spent by them in play and pastimes; for from those of the north we have borrowed both Polo and La Crosse; while horse-racing is as much their sport as ours; and archery more.

Not strange, then, that the jeunesse dorée of the Tovas, escorting their youthful cacique, and seeing him occupied with the paleface who has been on a visit to their town, take no heed of what passes between these two, but abandon themselves to merriment along the march. No more is it strange that Aguara, engrossed with the subject of conversation between him and the vaqueano, leaves them free to their frollicking.

Nothing occurs to change the behaviour either of the two who are in front, or those following, until the horses of the former have forded the stream, and stepped out on the bank beyond. Then the Paraguayan, as said, a skilled tracker and cunning as a fox, chancing to lower his eyes to the ground, observes upon it several hoof-marks of a horse. These at once fix his attention; for not only are they fresh – to all appearance made but the moment before – but the horse that made them must have been shod.

While in the act of verifying this observation, other hoof-prints come under his eye, also shod, but much smaller, being the tracks of a pony. Recent too, evidently made at the same time as the horse’s. He has no need to point them out to the young Indian, who, trained to such craft from infancy upward, has noted them soon as he, and with equally quick intuitiveness is endeavouring to interpret their significance.

Succeeding in this: for both the horse’s track and that of the pony are known to, and almost instantly recognised by him. He has not lived two years in proximity to the estancia of Ludwig Halberger, all the while in friendly intercourse with the naturalist and his family, without taking note of everything; and can tell the particular track of every horse in its stables. Above all is he familiar with the diminutive hoof-marks of Francesca’s pretty pony, which he has more than once trailed across the campo, in the hope of having a word with its rider. Perceiving them now, and so recently made, he gives out an ejaculation of pleased surprise; then looks around, as though expecting to see the pony itself, with its young mistress upon its back. There is no one in sight, however, save the vaqueano and his own followers; the latter behind, halted by command, some of them still in the water, so that they may not ride over the shod-tracks, and obliterate them.

All this while Halberger and his child are within twenty paces of the spot, and seated in their saddles, as when they first drew up side by side. Screened by the trees, they see the Indians, themselves unobserved, while they can distinctly hear every word said. Only two of the party speak aloud, the young cacique and his paleface companion; their speech, of course, relating to the newly-discovered “sign.”

After dismounting, and for a few seconds examining it, Valdez leaps back into his saddle with a show of haste, as if he would at once start off upon the trail of horse and pony.

“There have been only the two here – that’s plain,” he says. “Father and daughter, you think? What a pity we didn’t get up in time to bid ‘good-day’ to them! ’Twould have simplified matters much. You’d then have had your young chick to carry to the cage you intend for it, without the mother bird to make any bother or fluttering in your face; while I might have executed my commission sooner than expected.”

“Carramba!” he continues after a short while spent in considering. “They can’t have gone very far as yet. You say it’s quite twenty miles to the place where the gringo has his headquarters. If so, and they’ve not been in a great hurry to get home – which like enough the girl would, since her dear Cypriano don’t appear to be along – we may come up with them by putting on speed. Let us after them at once! What say you?”

The young Indian, passive in the hands of the older and more hardened sinner, makes neither objection nor protest. Instead, stung by the allusion to “dear Cypriano,” he is anxious as the other to come up with the pony and its rider. So, without another word, he springs back upon his horse, declaring his readiness to ride on.

With eyes directed downward, they keep along the return tracks; having already observed that these come no farther than the ford, and turn back by the water’s edge —

“Aha!” exclaims the vaqueano, pulling up again ere he has proceeded three lengths of his horse; “they’ve left the trail here, and turned off up stream! That wouldn’t be their route home, would it?”

“No,” answers Aguara. “Their nearest way’s along the river, down as far as our old tolderia. After that – ”

“Sh!” interrupts the Paraguayan, leaning over, and speaking in a cautious whisper, “Did you not hear something? Like the chinking of a bitt curb? I shouldn’t wonder if they’re in among those bushes. Suppose you stay here and keep watch along the bank, while I go and beat up that bit of cover?”

“Just as it please you,” assents the young cacique, unresistingly.

“Give me two or three of your fellows along. Not that I have any fear to encounter the gringo alone – poor weak creature, still wearing his green spectacles, I suppose. Far from it. But still there’s no harm in having help, should he attempt to give trouble. Besides, I’ll want some one to look after the muchachita!”

“Take as many as you wish.”

“Oh! two will be sufficient; that pair nearest us.”

He points to the foremost file of the troop, two who are a little older than their friends, as also of more hardened and sinister aspect. For, short as has been his stay among them, the subtle emissary has taken the measure of many members of the tribe; and knows something of the two he thus designates. His gold has made them his friends and allies; in short, gained them over to him as good for anything he may call upon them to do.

Aguara having signified assent, a gesture brings them up; and, at a whispered word from the vaqueano himself, they fall in behind him.

Heading his horse for the sumac thicket he is soon at its edge, there seeing what rejoices him – the tracks of both horse and pony passing into it. He has reached the spot where Halberger turned in along the tapir path. Parting the leaves with a long spear – for he is so armed – he rides in also, the two Indians after. And just as the tails of their horses disappear among the leaves, Aguara, who has kept his place, hears another horse neighing within the thicket at a point farther off. Then there is a quick trampling of hooves, followed by a hurried rush, and the swishing of bent branches, as the vaqueano and his two aides dash on through the sumacs.

The young cacique and his followers continuing to listen, soon after hear shouts – the voices of men in angry exclamation – mingling with them the shriller treble of a girl’s. Then a shot, quick followed by a second, and a third; after which only the girl’s voice is heard, but now in lamentation. Soon, however, it is hushed, and all over – everything silent as before.

The young Tovas chief sits upon his horse with heart audibly beating. He has no doubt – cannot have – as to who were the pursued ones; no more, that they have been overtaken. But with what result? Has the vaqueano killed both father and daughter? Or were the shots fired by Halberger, killing Valdez himself and the two who went with him? No; that cannot be; else why should the girl’s lamenting cries be heard afterwards? But then again, why have they ceased so suddenly?

While thus anxiously conjecturing, he again hears the trampling of horses among the trees; this time evidently in return towards him. And soon after sees the horses themselves, with their riders – four of them. Three are the same as late left him, but looking differently. The Paraguayan has one arm hanging down by his side, to all appearance broken, with blood dripping from the tips of his fingers; while the steel blade of his spear, borne in the other, is alike reddened. And there is blood elsewhere – streaming down the breast of one of the young Indians who seems to have difficulty in keeping upon his horse’s back. The fourth individual in the returning cavalcade is a young girl, with a cloth tied over her head, as if to hinder her from crying out; seated upon the back of a pony, this led by the Indian who is still unhurt.

At a glance, Aguara sees it is Francesca Halberger, though he needs not seeing her to know that. For he had already recognised her voice – well knew it, even in its wailing.

“Her father – what of him?” he asks, addressing Valdez, soon as the latter is up to him, and speaking in undertone.

“No matter what,” rejoins the ruffian, with a demoniac leer. “The father is my affair, and he has come very near making it an ugly one for me. Look at this!” he continues, indicating the left arm which hangs loose by his side. “And at that!” he adds, glancing up to the point of his spear.

“Blood on both, as you see. So, Señor Aguara, you may draw your deductions. Your affair is yonder,” he nods towards the muffled figure on the pony’s back; “and you can now choose between taking her home to her mother – her handsome cousin as well – or carrying her to your home, as the queen that is to be of the Tovas.”

The young cacique is not slow in deciding which course to pursue. The allusion to the “handsome cousin” again excites his jealousy and his ire. Its influence is irresistible, as sinister; and when he and his followers take departure from that spot – which they do almost on the instant – it is to recross the stream, and head their horses homeward – Francesca Halberger carried captive along with them.