by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER FORTY TWO.
PICKING UP PEARLS.
From their new point of departure, the trackers have no difficulty aboutthe direction; this traced out for them, as plain as if a row offinger-posts, twenty yards apart, were set across the _salitral_. Forat least a league ahead they can distinguish the white list, where thesaline efflorescence has been turned up, and scattered about by thehoofs of the Indian horses.
They can tell by the trail that over this portion of their route theparty they are in pursuit of has not ridden in any compact or regularorder, but straggled over a wide space; so that, here and there, thetracks of single horses show separate and apart. In the neighbourhoodof an enemy the Indians of the Chaco usually march under some sort offormation; and Gaspar, knowing this, draws the deduction that those whohave latest passed over the _salitral_ must have been confident that noenemy was near--either in front or following them. Possibly, also,their experience of the _tormenta_, which must have been somethingterrible on that exposed plain, had rendered them careless as to theirmode of marching.
Whatever the cause, they now, taking up their trail, do not pause tospeculate upon it, nor make any delay. On the contrary, as hounds thathave several times lost the scent, hitherto faint, but once morerecovered, and now fresher and stronger than ever, they press on withardour not only renewed, but heightened.
All at once, however, a shout from Cypriano interrupts the rapidity oftheir progress--in short, bringing them to a halt--he himself suddenlyreigning up as he gives utterance to it. Gaspar and Ludwig turnsimultaneously towards him for an explanation. While their glanceshitherto have been straying far forward, he has been giving hishabitually to the ground more immediately under his horse's head, and toboth sides of the broad trail; his object being to ascertain if amongthe many tracks of the Indians' horses, those of Francesca's pony arestill to be seen.
And sure enough he sees the diminutive hoof-marks plainly imprinted--notat one particular place, but every here and there as they go gallopingalong. It is not this, however, which elicited his cry, and caused himto come so abruptly to a stop. Instead, something which equallyinterests, while more surely proclaiming the late presence of the girl,in that place, with the certainty of her being carried along a captive.He has caught sight of an object which lies glistening among the whitepowder of the _salitre_--whitish itself, but of a more lustrous sheen.Pearls--a string of them, as it proves upon closer inspection! At aglance he recognises an ornament well-known to him, as worn by hisgirlish cousin; Ludwig also, soon as he sees it, crying out:--
"It's sister's necklet!"
Gaspar, too, remembers it; for pearls are precious things in the eyes ofa gaucho, whose hat often carries a band of such, termed the _toquilla_.
Cypriano, flinging himself from his saddle, picks the necklace up, andholds it out for examination. It is in no way injured, the string stillunbroken, and has no doubt dropped to the ground by the clasp comingundone. But there are no traces of a struggle having taken place, norsign that any halt had been made on that spot. Instead, the pony'stracks, there distinctly visible, tell of the animal having passedstraight on without stop or stay. In all likelihood, the catch had gotloosened at the last halting-place in that conflict with the storm, buthad held on till here.
Thus concluding, and Cypriano remounting, they continue onward along thetrail, the finding of the pearls having a pleasant effect upon theirspirits. For it seems a good omen, as if promising that they may yetfind the one who had worn them, as also be able to deliver her fromcaptivity.
Exhilarated by the hope, they canter briskly on; and for several leaguesmeet nothing more to interrupt them; since that which next fixes theirattention, instead of staying, but lures them onward--the tops of talltrees, whose rounded crowns and radiating fronds tell that they arepalms.
It still lacks an hour of sunset, when these begin to show over thebrown waste, and from this the trackers know they are nearing the end ofthe _travesia_. Cheered by the sight, they spur their horses toincreased speed, and are soon on the edge of the _salitral_; beyond,seeing a plain where the herbage is green, as though no dust-storm hadflown over it. Nor had there, for the _tormenta_, like cyclones andhurricanes, is often local, its blast having a well-defined border.
Riding out upon this tract--more pleasant for a traveller--they make amomentary halt, but still remaining in their saddles, as they gazeinquiringly over it.
And here Cypriano, recalling a remark which Gaspar had made at theirlast camping-place, asks an explanation of it. The gaucho had expresseda belief, that from something he remembered, they would not have muchfurther to go before arriving at their journey's end.
"Why did you say that?" now questions the young Paraguayan.
"Because I've heard the old _cacique_, Naraguana, speak of a place wherethey buried their dead. Strange my not thinking of that sooner; but mybrains have been so muddled with what's happened, and the hurry we'vebeen in all along, I've forgotten a good many things. He said they hada town there too, where they sometimes went to live, but oftener to die.I warrant me that's the very place they're in now; and, from what Iunderstood him to say, it can't be very far t'other side this_salitral_. He spoke of a hill rising above the town, which could beseen a long way off: a curious hill, shaped something like a wash-basinturned bottom upwards. Now, if we could only sight that hill."
At this he ceases speaking, and elevates his eyes, with an interrogativeglance which takes in all the plain ahead, up to the horizon's verge.Only for a few seconds is he silent, when his voice is again heard, thistime in grave, but gleeful, exclamation:--
"_Por todos Santos_! there's the hill itself!"
The others looking out behold a dome-shaped eminence, with a flat,table-like top recognisable from the quaint description Gaspar has justgiven of it, though little more than its summit is visible above theplain--for they are still several miles distant from it.
"We must go no nearer to it now," observes the gaucho, adding, in a toneof apprehension, "we may be too near already. _Caspita_! Just look atthat!"
The last observation refers to the sun, which, suddenly shooting outfrom the clouds hitherto obscuring it, again shows itself in the sky.Not now, however, as in the early morning hours, behind their backs, butright in front of them, and low down, threatening soon to set.
"_Vayate_!" he continues to ejaculate in a tone of mock scorn,apostrophising the great luminary, "no thanks to you now, showingyourself when you're not needed. Instead, I'd thank you more if you'dkept your face hid a bit longer. Better for us if you had."
"Why better?" asks Cypriano, who, as well as Ludwig, has been listeningwith some surprise to the singular monologue. "What harm can the sun dous now more than ever?"
"Because now, more than ever, he's shining inopportunely, both as totime and place."
"In what way?"
"In a way to show us to eyes we don't want to see us just yet. Look atthat hill yonder. Supposing now, just by chance, any of the Indiansshould be idling upon it, or they have a vidette up there. Bah! what amI babbling about? He couldn't see us if they had; not here, unlessthrough a telescope, and I don't think the Tovas are so far civilised asto have that implement among their chattels. For all, we're not safe onthis exposed spot, and the sooner we're off it the better. Some of themmay be out scouting in this direction. Come, let us get under cover,and keep so till night's darkness gives us a still safer screen againstprying eyes. Thanks to the Virgin! yonder's the very place for ourpurpose."
He points to a clump of trees, around the stems of which appears a denseunderwood; and, soon as signalling this, he rides toward and into it,the others after him.
Once inside the copse, and for the time feeling secure againstobservation, they hold a hasty counsel as to which step they ought nextto take. From the sight of that oddly-shaped hill, and what Casparremembers Naraguana to have said, they have no doubt of its being thesame referred to by the old chief, and that the sacred town of the Tovasis somewh
ere beside it. So much they feel sure of, their doubts beingabout the best way for them to approach the place and enter the town, asalso the most proper time. And with these doubts are, of course,mingled many fears; though with these, strange to say, Ludwig, theyoungest and least experienced of the three, is the least troubled.Under the belief, as they all are, that Naraguana is still living, hisconfidence in the friendship of the aged _cacique_ has throughoutremained unshaken. When the latter shall be told of all that hastranspired; how his palefaced friend and protege met his death by theassassin's hand--how the daughter of that friend has been carried off--surely he will not refuse restitution, even though it be his own peoplewho have perpetrated the double crime?
Reasoning thus, Ludwig counsels their riding straight on to the Indiantown, and trusting to the good heart of Naraguana--throwing themselvesupon his generosity, Cypriano is equally eager to reach the place, wherehe supposes his dear cousin Francesca to be pining as a prisoner; butholds a very different opinion about the prudence of the step, and lessbelieves in the goodness of Naraguana. To him all Indians seemtreacherous--Tovas Indians more than any--for before his mental visionhe has ever the image of Aguara, and can think of none other.
As for the gaucho, though formerly one of Naraguana's truest friends,from what has happened, his faith in the integrity of the old Tovaschief is greatly shaken. Besides, the caution, habitual to men of hiscalling and kind, admonishes him against acting rashly now, and he butrestates his opinion: that they will do best to remain under cover ofthe trees, at least till night's darkness comes down. Of course this isconclusive, and it is determined that they stay.
Dismounting, they make fast their horses to some branches, and sit downbeside them--_en bivouac_. But in this camp they kindle no fire, normake any noise, conversing only in whispers. One passing the copsecould hear no sound inside it, save the chattering of a flock of macaws,who have their roosting-place amid the tops of its tallest trees.