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CHAPTER XIX.
DON TORRIBIO'S HOUSE
Don Sylvio D'Arenal, so soon as his sword slipped from his grasp, and he fell by the side of the capataz, gave no signs of life. The masked men, despising Blas Salazar, went up to Doña Concha's betrothed husband. The pallid hues of death clouded his handsome, noble face; his teeth were clenched under his half-parted lips; the blood flowed profusely from his wounds, and his closed hand still clutched the hilt of his sword, which had been broken in the fight.
"¡Caspita!" one of the bandits remarked, "Here is a young gentleman who is very ill; what will the master say?"
"What would you have him say, Señor Panchito?" another objected. "He defended himself like a maddened panther; it is his own fault; he ought to have been more polite to us. We have lost four men."
"A fine loss, on my word – those scamps!" Panchito said, with a shrug of his shoulders; "I should have preferred his killing six and being in a better condition himself."
"Hang it," the bandit muttered, "that is kind towards us."
"Present parties excepted," Panchito added with a laugh; "but quick, bind up his wounds and let us be off. This is not a proper place for us, and besides the master is waiting for us."
Don Sylvio's wounds were bathed and bound up somehow or another; and, without troubling themselves whether he was dead or alive, they laid him across the horse of Panchito, the leader of this expedition. The dead remained on the spot as a prey for the wild beasts. The other masked men set out at a gallop, and at the expiration of two hours halted in front of the Cave of the Cougars, where Nocobotha and Pincheira were waiting for them.
"Well," the former shouted to them as soon as he saw them.
"The job is done," Panchito answered laconically, as he got off his horse, and laid Don Sylvio on a bed of leaves.
"Is he dead?" Nocobotha asked, turning pale.
"Not much better," the gaucho answered, with a shake of his head.
"Villain!" the Indian shouted, beside him with, fury, "Is that the way in which my orders are executed? Did I not command you to bring him to me alive?"
"Hum!" said Panchito. "I should like to see you try it. Armed only with a sword, he fought like ten men for more than twenty minutes. He killed four of ours, and perhaps we should not have been here now if his weapon had not broken."
"You are cowards," the master said, with a smile of contempt.
He went up to Don Sylvio's body.
"Is he dead?" Pincheira asked him.
"No," Nocobotha replied.
"All the worse."
"On the contrary, I would give a great deal to see him recover."
"Nonsense," the Chilian officer said; "what do we care for this man's life. Was he not your personal enemy?"
"That is the very reason why I should not like him to die."
"I do not understand you."
"My friend," Nocobotha said, "I have devoted my life to the accomplishment of an idea to which I have sacrificed my hatreds and friendships."
"Why in that case lay a trap for your rival?"
"My rival? No, it is not he whom I have attacked."
"Who then?"
"The richest and most influential man in the colony; the man who may thwart my plans; a powerful adversary, a Spaniard, but not a rival. Nothing permanent is founded on corpses. I would have willingly killed him in battle, but I do not wish to make a martyr of him."
"Nonsense," Pincheira said, "one more or one less, what matter?"
"Brute," Nocobotha thought, "he has not understood a word I said."
Two gauchos, aided by Panchito, incessantly rubbed with rum the temples and chest of Don Sylvio, whose features retained the rigidity of death. The Indian chief drew his knife from his girdle, wiped the blade, and placed it to the wounded man's lips. It seemed to him as if it were slightly tarnished. He at once kneeled down by the side of Don Sylvio, raised the cuff of his left coat sleeve, and pricked the vein with the sharp point of his knife. Gradually a black dot appeared on the wound, and became enlarged to the size of a pea. This drop hesitated, trembled, and at length ran down the arm, pushed on by a second drop, that made room for a third; then the blood became less black and less thick, and a long vermilion jet gushed forth, which announced life. Nocobotha could not repress a cry of joy: Don Sylvio was saved!
Almost immediately the young man gave a deep sigh.
"Continue the rubbing," the chief said to the gauchos.
He bound up Don Sylvio's arm, rose, and made a sign to Pincheira to follow him to another part of the cave.
"Heaven has granted my prayer," the great chief said, "and I thank it for having spared me a crime."
"If you are satisfied," the Chilian remarked, in surprise, "I have no objection to offer."
"That is not all. Don Sylvio's wounds, though numerous, are not serious; his lethargy is the result of the loss of the blood and the speed with which he was brought here. He will regain his senses presently."
"Good."
"He must not see me."
"What next?"
"Or recognize you."
"That is difficult."
"It is important."
"I will try my best."
"I am about to leave you. You will have Don Sylvio conveyed to Carmen."
"To your house?"
"Yes; it is the safest spot," Nocobotha said, as he drew from his pocket a paper folded after a peculiar fashion; "but he must not know, under any pretext, that I gave the orders, nor where he is; and, above all, he must not go out."
"Is that all?"
"Yes; and you will answer to me for his safety."
"On your order I will deliver him to you alive or dead."
"Alive, I tell you; his life is precious to me."
"Well," Pincheira replied, "since you are so anxious about your prisoner, not a hair of his head shall be touched."
"Thank you, and good-bye, Pincheira."
The chief mounted a magnificent mustang, and disappeared in the windings of the road. Pincheira returned to the wounded man with a look of ill temper, and twisting his moustache. He was dissatisfied with Nocobotha's orders; but, as he possessed only one virtue, respect for his word, he resigned himself.
"How is he?" he asked Panchito, in a whisper.
"Not so bad, captain; it is astonishing what good the bleeding did him. He has already opened his eyes twice, and has even attempted to speak."
"In that case there is no time to be lost. Bind the fellow's eyes and to prevent his tearing the bandage off, fasten his hands to his side; act gently if you can manage it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, captain."
"In ten minutes we start."
Don Sylvio, who had gradually regained his senses, asked himself into what hands he had fallen. His presence of mind had also returned, and he offered no resistance when the gauchos carried out the orders of the Chilian officer. These precautions revealed to him that his life would not be taken.
"Captain, what is to be done now?" Panchito said.
"Carry him to the boat tied up down there; and do not shake him, scoundrels, or I will blow out what little brains you possess."
"¡Caray!" the gaucho said with a grimace.
"Yes," Pincheira said, with a shrug of his shoulders, "that will teach you to kill people thoroughly another time."
Pincheira had not understood why Nocobotha so eagerly desired that Don Sylvio should live; and in his turn Panchito did not understand why Pincheira regretted that he was not dead. The gaucho opened his dull eyes in amazement on hearing the chief's last remark, but hastened to obey.
Don Sylvio was carried down to the boat by Pincheira, Panchito, and another gaucho, while the rest of the party, who took charge of the horses, returned to Carmen by land. The voyage in the boat was performed in silence, and three hours after the start the prisoner was lying on a bed in Don Torribio Carvajal's house. Then the gag was removed and his hands were untied; but a masked and silent man stood on the threshold of the door, like a statue, and never once took his eyes off him.
Don Sylvio, worn out by the emotions of the day, and weakened by the loss of blood, and trusting to chance to get him out of his incomprehensible position, took that investigating glance around which is peculiar to prisoners, and fell into a heavy sleep, which lasted several hours and restored to his mind all its calmness and original lucidity.
However, he was treated with the utmost respect, and his slightest caprices were satisfied. In fact, his situation was endurable, and, after all, was not without a certain amount of originality. Hence the young man, feeling reassured, bravely made up his mind to wait for better times. On the third day of his captivity his wounds were almost cicatrized. He got up to try his strength, and, perhaps, to reconnoitre the chance of escaping, for what can people do in prison, save think about getting out of it? A warm and cheering sunbeam entered through the crack of the closed shutter, and traced long white stripes on the ceiling of his room. This sunbeam revived his spirits, and he took several steps under the inevitable eye of the dumb and masked watchman.
All at once a formidable noise broke out in the vicinity, and a discharge of cannon made the windows rattle.
"What is that?" he asked the masked man.
The latter shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.
The sharp crack of musketry fire was mingled with the boom of the guns. The dumb man closed the window. Don Sylvio walked up to him.
"My friend," he said to him, in a gentle voice, "what is going on outside?"
The jailer obstinately remained silent.
"In Heaven's name speak!"
The noise seemed to draw nearer, and hurried footsteps were mingled with the shouts. The man in the mask drew his machete from its sheath and his pistol from his belt, and ran to the door, which was suddenly burst open. Another masked bandit evidently suffering from great terror, dashed into the room.
"Look out!" he shouted. "We are lost!"
At these words four men, also masked and armed to the teeth, appeared in the doorway.
"Back!" the jailer cried; "no one enters here without the password."
"There it is," said one of the newcomers, and he laid him stark dead with a pistol shot. The four men passed over his body and securely tied his companion, who had sought refuge in a corner, and was trembling all over. One of them then walked up to the prisoner, who comprehended nothing of this scene.
"You are free caballero!" he said to him. "Come, make haste to fly far from this house."
"Who are you?" the young man asked.
"No matter; follow us."
"No; unless I know who you are."
"Do you wish to see Doña Concha again?" the speaker whispered in his ear.
"I will follow you," Don Sylvio answered with a blush.
"Señor, take these weapons, which you will perhaps require, as all is not finished yet."
"Weapons!" the young man exclaimed. "Oh! You are friends."
They went out.
"What?" Don Sylvio said, as he entered the courtyard, "I am in Carmen."
"Were you not aware of it?"
"No."
"Those saddled horses fastened to the rings are ours. Can you sit a horse?"
"I hope so."
"You must."
"Mount, then, and let us be off."
As they turned into the street, a dozen horsemen dashed up toward them, at a distance of about five and twenty paces.
"Here is the enemy," the stranger said in a firm voice; "take your bridle in your teeth, and let us charge."
The four men ranged themselves in a single line, and rushed at the newcomers. They discharged firearms and drew their sabres.
"Caray!" Pincheira, who commanded the twelve horseman, shouted, "My prisoner is escaping from me."
The Chilian officer darted in pursuit of Don Sylvio, who fired two shots at him without relaxing his speed. Pinchiera's horse rolled on the ground, dragging down its rider, who got up again, greatly shaken by his fall; but Don Sylvio and his comrades were already far away.
"Oh, I shall find them again!" he shouted, mad with rage.
The fugitives had reached the river's bank, where a boat was waiting for them.
"We shall separate here, señor," the stranger said to Don Sylvio, as he removed his mask.
"Pedrito!" he exclaimed.
"Myself!" the bombero answered. "This boat will take you to the Estancia of San Julian. Start without delay, and," he added, as he stooped down to Don Sylvio's ear, and handed him a folded paper, "read this, and, perhaps, you will soon be able to come to our assistance. Good-bye, señor."
"One word, Pedrito. Who is the man that held me prisoner?"
"Don Torribio Carvajal."
"Thank you."
"Or, if you prefer it, Nocobotha, the great Chief of the Aucas."
"Which of the two?"
"They are the same."
"I will remember," Don Sylvio said, as he leaped into the boat.
The skiff glided over the water with the speed of an arrow, owing to the vigour of the rowers, and soon disappeared in the gathering darkness.
Three persons who remained on the bank looked anxiously after the movements of the boat. They were Pedrito, Mercedes, and Doña Concha.
CHAPTER XX.
THE INDIAN CAMP
"And now, señorita," Pedrito asked Doña Concha when the boat was out of sight, "What are your intentions?"
"To see Nocobotha in his camp."
"It is dishonour; it is death."
"No, Don Pedro, it is revenge."
"You mean it?"
"I am resolved."
"Good, I will myself lead you to the camp of the Aucas."
All three returned to Don Valentine Cardoso's house without exchanging a word. Night had completely set in; the streets were deserted, the silent town was illumined by the flames of Población del Sur, and the diabolical outlines of the Indians could be seen passing among the ruins and crumbling walls.
"Go and get ready, señoritas; I will wait for you here," Pedrito said with a melancholy accent.
Mercedes and Doña Concha entered the house. Pedrito, thoughtful and sad, sat down on one of the steps in front of the houses. The two girls soon re-appeared, dressed in full Aucas' costume, with painted faces, and impossible to recognize.
"Oh!" said the bombero, "Here are two real Indian girls."
"Do you believe," Doña Concha asked him, "that Don Torribio alone possesses the privilege of changing himself at his pleasure."
"Who can contend with a woman?" Pedrito said, shaking his head; "And now, what do you demand of me?"
"Your protection to the first Indian lines."
"And afterwards?"
"The rest is our business."
"But you do not intend to remain alone in the midst of the Pagans?"
"We must, Don Pedro."
"Mercedes," the latter continued, "do you wish to fall again into the hands of your persecutors?
"Reassure yourself, brother; I run no risk."
"Still – "
"I answer for her," Doña Concha interrupted him.
"Well, Heaven be merciful to you!" he muttered, with an air of doubt.
"Let us start," said Don Sylvio's affianced wife, as she wrapped herself up in a spacious cloak. Pedrito walked before them. The dying fires of Carmen lit up the night with a pale and uncertain gleam; a leaden silence brooded over the town, only interrupted at intervals by the hoarse croaking of the birds of prey that were tearing the Spanish and Indian corpses. The three persons walked through the ruins, stumbling against tottering walls, striding over bodies, and disturbing the horrible festival of the urubús and vultures which fled away with heavy wings. They went through nearly the entire length of the town, and at length arrived, after a thousand windings and difficulties, at one of the barriers that faced the Indian camp, whose numerous fires could be seen sparkling a short distance off, and from which fearful yells reached their ears.
The bombero exchanged a few words with the sentries, and passed through the barricade, followed by the two girls. Then he stopped.
"Doña Concha," he said, in a choking voice, "there is the Indian camp before us."
"I thank you, Don Pedro," she answered, offering him her hand.
"Señorita," Pedrito added, retaining the young lady's hand, "there is still time; give up your fatal plan, since your betrothed is saved, and return to San Julian."
"Good-bye," Doña Concha answered resolutely.
"Good-bye," the worthy man repeated sorrowfully. "Mercedes, I implore you to remain with me."
"Where she goes, I will go, brother."
The leave-taking was short, as may be supposed, and the bombero, so soon as he was alone, uttered a sigh, or rather a burst of sorrow, and returned to Carmen at a sharp pace.
"I trust I may not arrive too late," he said to himself, "and that he has not yet seen Don Antonio Valverde."
He reached the fort at the moment when Don Torribio and the governor were crossing the drawbridge, but absorbed in his own thoughts, he did not perceive the two horsemen. This accident was the cause of an irreparable misfortune.
As for the two girls, they proceeded haphazard toward the camp fires, a short distance from which they halted to regain breath and calm the movement of their hearts, which beat as if ready to start from their breasts. When near the danger they voluntarily sought, they felt their courage abandon them; the sight of the Indian toldos made their blood run cold with terror. Strange to say, it was Mercedes who revived her companion's firmness.
"Señorita," she said to her, "I will be your guide; we will leave these cloaks here, which would cause us to be recognized as white persons. Walk by my side, and whatever may happen, display neither surprise nor fear, and before all say not a word, or it will be all over with us."
"I will obey," Concha answered.
"We are," Mercedes exclaimed, "two Indian girls who have made a vow to Gualichu for the recovery of their wounded father. Remember, not a word, my friend!"
"Let us go on, and may Heaven protect us."
"So be it!" Mercedes replied, crossing herself. They set out again, and within five minutes entered the camp, where the Indians were giving way to the most extravagant joy. Nothing could be heard on all sides but songs and yells. Drunk with aguardiente, they danced in a burlesque fashion among empty barrels, which they had plundered from Población del Sur and the estancias. There was a wondrous disorder and a strange confusion, and all these raving madmen even ignored the authority of their Ulmens, the majority of whom, however, were in a state of the most disgusting intoxication.
Owing to the general uproar, Concha and Mercedes were enabled to cross the camp lines unseen; then, with palpitating hearts, limbs rigid with terror, but calm faces, they glided like lizards through the groups, passing unperceived by the drunken men, who stumbled against each other at every moment. The girls seemed lost in this human labyrinth, wandering haphazard, and trusting to Providence or their lucky stars to discover the abode of the great Toqui in this confused mass of toldos. They walked about for a long time, but rendered bolder by their success in avoiding any unpleasant encounter, and feeling less timid, they exchanged at times a hoping glance, till all at once an Indian of athletic build seized Doña Concha round the waist, lifted her from the ground like a child, and imprinted a hearty kiss on her neck.
At this unexpected outrage, Concha uttered a cry of terror, disengaged herself from the Indian's grasp, and forcibly thrust him away from her. The savage tottered on his drunken legs, and measured his length of six feet on the ground; but he sprang up again at once and leapt on the maiden like a jaguar.
Mercedes interposed between them.
"Back," she said, courageously, laying her hand on the Indian's chest, "this woman is my sister."
"Churlakin," another chief said, "do not put up with an insult."
The savage frowned and drew his knife.
"Do you wish to kill her?" Mercedes exclaimed in horror.
"Yes," Churlakin answered, "unless she will follow me to my toldo, where she will be the squaw of a chief – a great chief."
"You are mad," Mercedes retorted, "your toldo is full, and there is no room for another fire." "There is still room for two fires," the Indian answered, with a laugh, "and since this woman is your sister, you shall come with her."
In the course of this discussion an impenetrable circle of savages surrounded the two girls and Churlakin. Mercedes did not know how to escape the danger.
"Well," Churlakin continued, seizing Doña Concha's hair, which he rolled round his wrist, and brandishing his knife, "will you and your sister follow me to my toldo?"
Doña Concha, who had sunk down to the ground, awaited the death-stroke with pallid face and closed eyes. Mercedes drew herself and checked the arm that was ready to strike.
"Since you insist on it, dog," she said to the chief, in a haughty voice, "your destiny shall be accomplished. Look at me. Gualichu does not allow his slaves to be insulted with impunity. Look at me!"
She turned her face towards a huge fire, flashing a few yards off, and which threw a bright light over the surrounding objects. The Indians uttered a cry of surprise on recognizing her, and fell back. Churlakin himself let go of Doña Concha's hair.
"Oh!" he said, in consternation, "It is the white slave of the tree of Gualichu."
The circle round the two girls had grown larger; but the superstitious Indians, nailed to the ground by terror, looked at them fixedly.
"The power of Gualichu," Mercedes added, to complete her triumph, "is great and terrible. It is he who sends me; woe to the man who would try to thwart his designs; back, all of you."
And seizing the arm of Doña Concha, who was still trembling with emotion, she advanced with a firm step. Waving her arm authoritatively, the circle divided, and the Indians fell back to the right and left, making way for them to pass.
"I feel as if I was dying," Doña Concha murmured.
"Courage, señorita, we are saved."
"Oh, oh!" a mocking voice said, "what is going on here?"
And a man placed himself in front of the girls, and looked impudently at them.
"The matchi!" the Indians said, who, being reassured by the presence of their sorcerer, again assembled round the prisoners.
Mercedes trembled inwardly on seeing her stratagem compromised by the advent of the matchi, and at the suggestion of despair, she made a final effort.
"Gualichu, who loves the Indians," she said, "has sent me to the matchi of the Aucas."
"Ah!" the sorcerer answered, in a mocking accent, "And what does he want with me?"
"No one but yourself must hear it."
The matchi walked up to the maiden, laid his hand on her shoulder, and looked at her with a longing air.
"Will you save me?" she asked him in a low voice.
"That depends," the fellow answered, his eye sparkling with desire, "it is in your own hands." She repressed a look of disgust.
"Stay," she said, as she removed from her arms her rich gold bracelets, set with fine pearls.
"Och!" said the Indian, as he concealed them in his bosom, "That is fine; what does my daughter want?"
"Deliver us first from these men."
"Fly!" the matchi shouted, turning to the spectators; "This woman is under an evil spell; Gualichu is irritated. Fly!"
The sorcerer had immediately put on a face adapted to the circumstances; his mysterious conversation with the white woman and the terror depicted on his features were sufficient for the Indians, who, without stopping to ask any questions dispersed in all directions, and disappeared behind the toldos.
"You see," the sorcerer said, with a smile of pride, "I am powerful, and can avenge myself on those who deceive me. But where does my white daughter come from?"
"From the tree of Gualichu," she answered boldly.
"My daughter has the forked tongue of the cougar," the matchi replied, who believed neither in his own words nor in his god; "does she take me for a ñandu?"
"Here is a magnificent collar of pearls which Gualichu gave me for the inspired man of the Aucas."
"Oh," said the sorcerer, "what service can I render my daughter?"
"Lead us to the toldo of the great chief of the Patagonian nations."
"Does my daughter desire to speak with Nocobotha?"
"I do."
"Nocobotha is a wise chief; will he receive a woman?"
"He must."
"It is well. But this other woman?" he asked, pointing to Doña Concha.
"She is a friend of Pincheira's; she also wishes to speak with the great Toqui."
"The warriors will spin llama wool," the sorcerer said, shaking his head, "since women wage war and sit at the council fire."
"My father is mistaken; Nocobotha loves his sister."
"No," the Indian said.
"Will my father make haste? Nocobotha is waiting for us," Mercedes continued, impatient at the savage's tergiversation; "where is the toldo of the great chief?"
"Follow me, my white daughters."
He placed himself between them, seized an arm of each, and guided them through the inextricable labyrinth of the camp. The terrified Indians fled as they passed. In his heart the matchi was satisfied with Mercedes' presents, and the opportunity for proving to the warriors his intimate relations with Gualichu. The marching and counter-marching lasted a quarter of an hour, and at last they found themselves before a toldo, in front of which was planted the token of the united nations, surrounded by lances fringed with scarlet, and guarded by four warriors.
"It is here," he said to Mercedes.
"Good! My father will let us go in alone."
"Must I leave you, then?"
"Yes, but my father can wait for us outside."
"I will wait," the sorcerer said briefly, as he looked suspiciously at the maidens.
They went in with sorely beating hearts. The toldo was empty.
