by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
A RUSH FOR SHELTER.
It is scarce necessary to say, that the storm that over took the Indianparty was the same of which the barometer-tree had given warning toGaspar and his young companions. But although many a long leagueseparated the Indians from those following upon their trail, and itwould take the latter at least another day to reach the spot where theformer had met the _tormenta_, both were beset by it within less thanhalf-an-hour of the same time. The Indians first, of course, since itcame from the quarter towards which all were travelling, and thereforein the teeth of pursuers as pursued.
But the trackers were not called upon to sustain its shock, as thosethey were tracking up. Instead of its coming upon them in an exposedsituation, before its first puffs became felt they were safe out ofharm's way, having found shelter within the interior of a cavern. Itwas this Gaspar alluded to when saying, he knew of a place that wouldgive them an asylum. For the gaucho had been twice over this groundbefore--once on a hunting excursion in the company of his late master;and once at an earlier period of his life on an expedition of lesspleasant remembrance, when, as a captive himself, he was carried up thePilcomayo by a party of Guaycuru Indians, from whom he was fortunate inmaking escape.
His knowledge of the cave's locality, however, was not obtained duringhis former and forced visit to the district they are now traversing; butin that made along with the hunter-naturalist; who, partly out ofcuriosity, but more for geological investigation, had entered andexplored it.
"It's by the bank of a little _arroyo_ that runs into the Pilcomayo,some three or four miles above the big river. And, as I take it, notmuch further from where we are now. But we must make a cross-cut toreach it in the quickest time."
This Gaspar says as they part from the barometer-tree. Following outhis intention he heads his horse towards the open plain, and forsakesthe Indian trail, the others following his lead.
They now go in full gallop, fast as their horses can carry them; forthey have no longer any doubts about the coming on of a _tormenta_. Theforecast given them by the flowers of the _uinay_ is gradually beingmade good by what they see--a dun yellowish cloud rising against thehorizon ahead. The gaucho well understands the sign, soon as he seesthis recognising it as the dreaded dust-storm.
It approaches them just as it had done the Indians. First theatmosphere becoming close and hot as the interior of an oven; thensuddenly changing to cold, with gusts of wind, and the sky darkening asthough the sun were eclipsed.
But, unlike the others, they are not exposed to the full fury of theblast; neither are they in danger of being blinded by the sulphureousdust, nor pelted with sticks and stones. Before the storm has thusdeveloped itself they reach the crest of the cliff overhanging the_arroyo_; and urging their horses down a sloping path remembered byGaspar, they get upon the edge of the stream itself. Then, turning upit, and pressing on for another hundred yards, they arrive at thecavern's mouth, just as the first puff of the chilly wind sweeps downthe deep rut-like valley through which the _arroyo_ runs.
"In time!" exclaims the gaucho. "Thanks to the Virgin, we're in time!with not a second to spare," he adds, dismounting, and leading his horseinto the arching entrance, the others doing the same.
Once inside, however, they do not give way to inaction; for Gaspar wellknows they are not yet out of danger.
"Come, _muchachos_," he cries to them, soon as they have disposed oftheir animals, "there's something more to be done before we can callourselves safe. A _tormenta's_ not a thing to be trifled with. Thereisn't corner or cranny in this cave the dust wouldn't reach to. Itcould find its way into a corked bottle, I believe. _Carramba_! thereit comes!"
The last words are spoken as a whiff of icy wind, now blowing furiouslydown the ravine, turns into the cavern's mouth, bringing with it bothdust and dry leaves.
For a moment the gaucho stands in the entrance gazing out; the othersdoing likewise. Little can they see; for the darkness is now almostopaque, save at intervals, when the ravine is lit up by jets of forkedand sheet lightning. But much do they hear; the loud bellowing of wind,the roaring of thunder, and the almost continuous crashing of trees,whose branches break off as though they were but brittle glass. And thestream which courses past close to the cave's mouth, now a tiny mulct,will soon be a raging, foaming torrent, as Gaspar well knows.
They stay not to see that, nor aught else. They have other work beforethem--the something of which the gaucho spoke, and to which he nowhastily turns, crying out--
"Your ponchos, my lads! Get them, quick! We must close up the entrancewith them, otherwise we'll stand a good chance of being smothered._Vaya_!"
Neither needs urging to haste. Young as they are, they too have hadexperience of a _tormenta_. More than once they have witnessed it,remembering how in their house, near Assuncion, it drove the dustthrough the keyholes of me doors, finding its way into every crack andcrevice, making ridges across the floor, just as snow in northernlands--of which, however, they know nothing, save from what they haveread, or been told by one who will tell them of such things no more.
In a few seconds' time, three ponchos--for each possesses one--aresnatched from the cantles of their saddles, and as speedily spreadacross the entrance of the cave--just covering it, with not an inch tospare. With like speed and dexterity, they join them together, in arough but firm stitching done by the nimble fingers of the gaucho--histhread a strip of thong, and for needle the sharp terminal spine of the_pita_ plant--one of which he finds growing near by. They attach themat top by their knife blades stuck into seams of the stratified rock,and at bottom by stones laid along the border; these heavy enough tokeep them in place against the strongest gust of wind.
All this done, they breathe freely, now feeling secure; and after a lastlook at the screen to assure himself of its being reliable, the gauchoturns to his companions, quietly remarking, "Now, _muchachos_, I fancywe need have no more fear of Mr Tormenta."