by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
A SILENT FELLOW-TRAVELLER.
Another sun is rising over the Chaco, and its rays, red as thereflection from a fire, begin to glitter through the stems of thepalm-trees that grow in scattered topes upon the plains bordering thePilcomayo. But ere the bright orb has mounted above their crowns, twohorsemen are seen to ride out of the _sumac_ grove, in which LudwigHalberger vainly endeavoured to conceal himself from the assassin Valdezand his savage confederates.
It is not where any of these entered the thicket that the horsemen arecoming out, but at a point some half-mile further up the branch stream,and on its higher bank, where it reaches the general level of the upperplain. Here the _sumac_ trees cover the whole slope from the water'sedge to the crest of the bordering ridge, on this ending abruptly.Though they stand thinly, and there is room enough for two horsemen toride abreast, these are not doing so, but one ahead, and leading theother's horse by a raw-hide rope attached to the bitt ring.
In this manner they have ascended the slope, and have now the greatplain before them; treeless, save here and there a tope of palms or ascattering of willows around some spot where there is water; but thetaller timber is behind them, and soon as they arrive at its edge, heriding ahead reins up his horse, the other stopping at the same time.
There is still a belt of bushes between them and the open ground, ofstunted growth, but high enough to hinder their view. To see over them,the leading horseman stands up in his stirrups, and looks out upon theplain, his glances directed all around it. These, earnestlyinterrogative, tell of apprehension, as of an enemy he might expect tobe there, in short, making a reconnaissance to see if the "coast beclear."
That he judges it so is evinced by his settling back into his saddle,and moving on across the belt of bushes; but again, on the skirt of thisand before issuing out of it, he draws bridle, and once more makes asurvey of the plain.
By this time, the sun having mounted higher in the heavens, shines fullupon his face, showing it of dark complexion, darker from theapprehension now clouding it; but of honest cast, and one which wouldotherwise be cheerful, since it is the face of Caspar, the gaucho.
Who the other is cannot be easily told, even with the bright sun beamingupon him; for his hat, broad-brimmed, is slouched over his forehead,concealing most part of his countenance. The head itself, oddly, almostcomically, inclined to one side, droops down till the chin nigh toucheshis breast. Moreover, an ample cloak, which covers him from neck toankles, renders his figure as unrecognisable as his face. With hishorse following that of the gaucho, who leads him at long halter'sreach, he, too, has halted in the outer selvedge of the scrub; stillmaintaining the same relative position to the other as when they rodeout from the _sumacs_, and without speaking word or making gesture. Infact, he stirs not at all, except such motion as is due to the movementof his horse; but beyond that he neither raises head nor hand, not evento guide the animal, leaving it to be lead unresistingly.
Were the gaucho of warlike habits, and accustomed to making predatoryexpeditions, he might be taken as returning from one with a captive,whom he is conducting to some safe place of imprisonment. For just likethis his silent companion appears, either fast strapped to his ownsaddle, or who, conquered and completely subdued, has resigned allthoughts of resistance and hopes of escape. But Caspar is essentially aman of peace, which makes it improbable that he, behind, is hisprisoner.
Whatever the relationship between them, the gaucho for the present paysno attention to the other horseman, neither speaks to nor turns his eyetoward him; for these are now all upon the plain, scanning it from sideto side, and all round as far as he can command view of it. He is nothimself silent, however, though the words to which he gives utteranceare spoken in a low tone, and by way of soliloquy, thus:--
"'Twill never do to go back by the river's bank. Whoever the devilsthat have done this dastardly thing, they may be still prowling about,and to meet them would be for me to get served the same as they'veserved him, that's sure; so I'd best take another route, though it be abit round the corner. Let me see. I think I know a way that shouldlead tolerably straight to the estancia without touching the river orgoing anywheres near it. I mustn't even travel within sight of it. Ifthe Tovas have had any hand in this ugly business--and, by the Virgin, Ibelieve they have, however hard it is to think so--some of them maystill be near, and possibly a party gone back to their old _tolderia_.I'll have to give that a wide berth anyhow; so to get across this openstretch without being seen, if there be anyone on it to see me, willneed manoeuvring. As it is, there don't appear to be a soul, that's sofar satisfactory."
Again he sweeps the grassy expanse with searching glance, his facebrightening up as he observes a flock of ostriches on one side, on theother a herd of deer--the birds stalking leisurely along, the beaststranquilly browsing. Were there Indians upon the plain, it would not beso. Instead, either one or the other would show excitement. Thebehaviour of the dumb creatures imparting to him a certain feeling ofconfidence, he says, continuing the soliloquy:--
"I think I may venture it. Nay, I must; and there's no help for't. Wehave to get home somehow--and soon. Ah! the Senora! poor lady! Whatwill she be thinking by this time? And what when we get back? _Valgame Dios_! I don't know how I shall ever be able to break it to her, orin what way! It will sure drive her out of her senses, and not muchwonder, either. To lose one of them were enough, but both, and--Well,no use dwelling on it now; besides, there's no time to be lost. I muststart off at once; and, maybe, as I'm riding on, I'll think of some planto communicate the sad news to the Senora, without giving her too suddena shock. _Pobrecita_!"
At the pitying exclamation he gives a last interrogative glance over theplain; then, with a word to his horse, and a touch of the spur, he movesout into the open, and on; the other animal following, as before, itsrider maintaining the same distance and preserving the self-sameattitude, silent and gestureless as ever!