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Chapter Twenty Seven.
Between Torrent and Tiger

Having dragged the dead beast out of their ponchos, they are about to re-adjust these as before, when it strikes them there is no longer any need for closing the cave’s mouth. The first blast of the tormenta having blown over, the dust borne upon it is now in less volume; while the wind, rushing direct down the ravine, carries everything along with it – only an occasional whiff seeking entrance into the cave.

“For the matter of our being blinded,” remarks the gaucho in perceiving this, “we needn’t trouble about shutting the door again. Though if I’m not greatly out in my reckoning, there’s something else may need keeping out – a thing more dangerous than dust.”

“What thing?” he is asked.

“Another tigre. I never knew one of these spotted beauties to be about alone. They always hunt in couples; and where there’s a female, the male is sure to be with her. As you see, it’s the lady we’ve closed accounts with, and for certain the gentleman isn’t far-off. Out in that storm, he’ll be in the same way making for this snug shelter. So we may look for his worship to present himself at any moment.”

Ludwig and Cypriano turn their eyes towards the entrance, as though they expected even then to behold the dreaded intruder.

“To keep him out,” pursues Gaspar in a more serious vein, “’twill be no use putting up the ponchos. We can’t trust to the old Tom entangling himself, as did his esposa. That was all an accident. And yet we’re not safe if we leave the entrance open. As we’ve got to stay here all night, and sleep here, we daren’t close an eye so long as he’s ranging about. Instead, we’d have to lie awake, and on the alert.”

“Why can’t we wall it up with those stones?” Cypriano thus interrogates, pointing to some scattered boulders lying about the cave – large blocks that have broken off from its roof, and fallen upon the floor.

“Not a bad idea,” rejoins Gaspar, “and one quite practicable,” he adds, with his eye taking in the dimensions of the cavern’s mouth, but little larger than an ordinary stable door. “You’re right, Señor Cypriano; we can do that.”

Without further speech, they set about the work; first rolling the larger masses of stalactite towards the entrance to form the foundation of the wall. But before having got half-a-dozen of them fixed in their places, a sound reaches their ears which causes them suddenly to desist; for all three recognise it as coming from the throat of a jaguar! Not a loud roar, or scream, such as they heard when that lying dead first made its presence known, but a sort of sniff or snort, as when it was struggling, half-choked by the ponchos. Soon, however, as they stand listening, the snorting changes into a long low growl, ending in a gruff bark; as of a watch-dog awakened by some slight noise, for which he is not sure of its being worth his while to forsake his kennel, or spring upon his feet.

Not thus doubtful are they. Instead, the sounds now heard excite and terrify them as much as any that preceded; for they can tell that tiger Number 2 is, as themselves, within the cave!

“Por Dios!” exclaims Gaspar, in a low tone of voice, “it’s the old Tom sure, and inside too! Ha! that accounts for our not being certain about the she. Both were yelling at the same time, answering one another. Where can the brute be?”

They turn their eyes toward the back of the cavern, but in the dim glimmer can see nothing like a tiger. They only hear noises of different kinds, made by their horses, then freshly affrighted, once more sniffing the air and moving uneasily about.

“Your guns!” cries Gaspar in hurried accents; “get them loaded again! If the tigre attack us, as it’s almost sure to do, our knives will be of little use. Viva, muschachos!”

All together again lay hold of their guns; but where is the ammunition? Stowed in a pair of holsters on the pommel of Cypriano’s saddle, as they well know – powder, balls, percussion-caps, everything. And where is the horse himself; for, left loose, he has moved off to another part of the cavern?

Cypriano taking the candle in hand, they go in search of him. Soon to see that the frightened animal has taken refuge in an angular embayment between two projecting buttresses of rock, where he stands cowering and trembling.

They are about to approach him, going cautiously and with timid steps, when, lo! on a ledge between, they perceive a long yellow body with black spots lying astretch at one end of it, a pair of eyes giving back the light of their candle, with a light almost as brilliant, and at intervals flashing like fire. It is the jaguar.

The sight brings them suddenly to a stand, even causing them to retreat a step or two. For the ledge on which the tigre crouches is directly between them and Cypriano’s horse, and to approach the latter they must pass right under the former; since it is upon a sort of shelf, several feet above the level of the ground. They at once see there is no hope of reaching the needed ammunition without tempting the attack of the tiger; which, by their movements, is becoming at every moment more infuriated, and already seems about to spring upon them. Instinctively, almost mechanically, they move further away, having abandoned the idea of defending themselves with the guns, and fallen back on their only other weapons, the knives. Ludwig counsels retreating altogether out of the cave, and leaving their horses behind. Outside, the wind no longer rages, and the dust seems to have blown past. They but hear the pattering of rain, with peals of thunder, and the swish of the stream, now swollen. But nothing of these need they fear. To the course counselled Cypriano objects, as also Caspar; fearing for their horses, almost sure to be sacrificed to the fury of the enraged jaguar. And where would they be then? Afoot in the midst of the Chaco, helpless as shipwrecked sailors on a raft in mid-ocean!

For a while they remain undecided; only a short while, when they are made aware of that which speedily brings them to a decision, and without any will of their own. In putting space between themselves and the dangerous beast, they have retreated quite up to the cavern’s entrance. There, looking out, they see that egress is debarred them. The stream, swollen by the rain, still pouring down as in a deluge, has lipped up to the level of the cave’s mouth, and rushes past in an impetuous torrent, crested, and carrying huge rocks, with the trunks and broken branches of trees upon its seething current. Neither man nor horse might dare ford it now. They are caught between a torrent and a tiger!

Chapter Twenty Eight.
Saved by a Spitting-Devil

To be shut up in a room with a royal Bengal tiger, or what amounts to the same a cave of small dimensions, is a situation which no one will covet. Nor would it be much improved were the tyrant of the Asiatic jungles transformed into a jaguar – the despot of the American tropical forests. For, although the latter be smaller, and less powerful than the former, in an encounter with man it is equally fierce and dangerous. As regards size, the male jaguar often reaches the measurement of an Indian tigress; while its strength is beyond all proportion to its bulk. Humboldt has made mention of one that dragged the carcase of a horse it had killed across a deep, difficult ravine, and up to the top of a hill; while similar feats have been recorded by Von Tschudi, Darwin, and D’Orbigny.

Familiar with its character and capabilities, no wonder, then, that our gaucho and his companions should feel fear, as they take in the perils besetting them. For there is no knowing how long the jaguar will keep its patience, or its place; and when it shifts they may “look out for squalls.” They can still see it on the ledge; for although the light is feeble, with some dust floating about, through this its glaring eyeballs, as twin stars through a thin stratum of cloud, gleam coal-like and clear. They can see its jaws, too, at intervals open to emit that cry of menace, exposing its blood-red palate, and white serrature of teeth – a sight horrifying to behold! All the while its sinewy tail oscillates from side to side, now and then striking the rock, and breaking off bits of stalactites, that fall in sparkling fragments on the floor. At each repetition of its growl the horses show fresh affright, and dance madly about. For the instinct of the dumb animals seems to admonish them, they are caged with a dangerous companion – they and it alike unable to part company. Their masters know this, and knowing it, are all the more alarmed. A fight is before them; and there appears no chance of shunning it – a hand-to-hand fight, their short-bladed knives against the sharp teeth and claws of a jaguar!

For a time they stand irresolute, even Gaspar himself not knowing what to do. Not for long, however. It would not be the gaucho to surrender to despair. Instead, a thought seems suddenly to have occurred to him – a way of escape from their dilemma – as evinced by his behaviour, to the others yet incomprehensible.

Parting from them, he glides off in the direction of his horse; which happens to be nearest, like Cypriano’s cowering in a crevice of the rock. Soon beside it, he is again seen to plunge his hand into the alparejas, and grope about, just as when searching for the stump of candle.

And now he draws forth something very similar – a packet with a skin covering, tied with a bit of string. Returning to them, and removing the wrapper, he exposes to view a half-dozen little rolls, in shape somewhat like regalia cigars, sharp-pointed at one end, and barbed as arrows.

At a glance, both boys see what they are. They have not been brought up in a country where bull-fighting, as in all Spanish America, is the principal pastime, without having become acquainted with most matters relating to it. And what Gaspar has brought before their eyes are some torterillas, or spitting-devils, used, along with the banderillas for rousing the fury of the bull while being goaded by the picadores round the arena, before the matador makes his final assault. Gaspar, who in early life has played picador himself in the bull-fights of San Rosario, knows how to manufacture all the implements pertaining to the funcion de toros, and has usually kept a stock of torterillas on hand, chiefly for the amusement of the Tovas youths, who were accustomed to visit the estancia.

Often, while dwelling at Assuncion, had he witnessed the wonder and delight with which the savages who came there regarded all sorts of fireworks; and it had occurred to him that, in the event of their encountering strange Indians, some “spitting-devils” might prove of service. So, at starting out on their present expedition, just as with the bit of wax candle, he had tossed a packet of them into his saddle-bags.

He does not give this explanation till afterwards. Now there is no time for talking; he must act, and instantly. But how he intends acting, or what he means to do with the torterillas, neither of his youthful comrades can tell or guess.

They are not kept long in ignorance. Snatching the candle from Cypriano, who has been carrying it – with this in one hand and a torterilla in the other – he moves off in the direction of the ledge, where luckily the jaguar still lies astretch. Possibly the reports of the guns have cowed it to keeping its place. Whether or no, it has kept it without change of attitude or position; though at intervals giving utterance to long low growls, with an occasional bark between.

Advancing cautiously, and in silence, the gaucho gets within six paces of it. This he deems near enough for his purpose; which, by this time, the others comprehend. It is to cast the torterilla at the tiger, and, if possible, get the barbed point to penetrate the creature’s skin, and there stick.

He makes the attempt, and succeeds. First having put the primed end into the candle’s flame, and set the fuse on fire, he launches the “Devil” with such sure aim, that it is seen to fix itself in the jaguar’s back, just over the right shoulder.

The brute, feeling the sting, starts to its feet with an angry scream; this instantly changing to a cry of affright, as the caked powder catches fire, and fizzing up, envelopes it in a shower of sparks. Not a second longer stays it on the ledge, but bounding off makes for the cave’s mouth, as if Satan himself had taken hold of its tail. So sudden and unexpected is its retreat, that Ludwig and Cypriano, to get out of the way, go tumbling over the stones; while Gaspar comes nigh doing the same; in the scramble dropping the candle, and of course extinguishing it. But the light goes out only with the jaguar itself; the brute bounding on with the sparks like the tail of a comet streaming behind, illumining the whole cavern, and causing the stalactites to glitter and sparkle, as if its roof were frosted with real diamonds!

In an instant after, all is darkness; simultaneously with the light going out, a sound reaching their ears, as of some solid body, falling heavily upon water – which they know to be the tiger plunging into the stream. That puts out the “spitting-devil,” and no doubt along with it, or soon after, the life of the animal it had so affrighted; for even the king of American beasts could not escape being drowned in that foaming, seething flood.

Soon as satisfied that the enemy is hors de combat, and the coast clear, Gaspar gropes about for the candle, and finding, once more lights it. Then in his usual fashion, winding up with some quaint remark, he says: —

“No more caterwauling to-night, I fancy, unless the kittens be about too. If they be, it’ll give us a bit of sport, drowning them. Now, señoritos! I think we may sit down to supper, without fear of being again baulked of our maté and mutton.”

Chapter Twenty Nine.
A Rock-bound Sleeping Room

As the darkness, due to the storm, has now been succeeded by the more natural darkness of night, the trackers, for this day, cannot proceed further, were they ever so eager. Besides, there is another bar to their continuing; one still more directly obstructive, even forbidding their exit from the cave. This, the arroyo, which now in full flood fills the ravine up to the cliff’s base, there leaving no path for either man or horse. That by which they approached is covered beyond fording depth, with a current so swift as to sweep the strongest animal from its feet, even were it an elephant. And to attempt reaching the opposite side by swimming, would only result in their getting carried down to be drowned to a certainty, or have the life crushed out of them on the rocks below.

Gaspar knowing all this, does not dream of making any such rash experiment. On the contrary, as he has signified, he designs them to remain all night in the cavern. Indeed, there is no alternative, as he observes, explaining how egress is forbidden, and assuring them that they are, in point of fact, as much prisoners as though the doors of a jail were shut and locked upon them.

Their imprisonment, however, need not last till the morning; so far as the flood is concerned. And this he also makes known to them, himself aware that the waters in the arroyo, will subside as rapidly as they had risen. It is one of those short rivulets, whose floods are over almost as soon as the rain which causes them. Looking out again near the hour of midnight, they see his prediction verified. The late swollen and fast-rushing stream has become reduced to nearly its normal dimensions, and runs past in gentle ripple, while the moon shining full upon it, shows not a flake of foam.

They could even now pass out of the cave, and on up the cliff where they came down, if they desired to do so. More, they might with such a clear moon, return to the river’s bank and continue on along the trail they had forsaken. A trail so plain as it, could be followed in a light far more faint; at least, so think they. So believing, Cypriano, as ever impatient to get on, is greatly inclined to this course, and chafes at the irksomeness of delay. But Gaspar objects, giving his reasons.

“If we were to go on now,” he says, “it wouldn’t better us a bit. All we’d gain by it would be the league or so from this to the river. Once there, and attempting to travel up its bank, we’d find scores of little creeks that run into it, in full freshet, and have to swim our horses across them. That would only lose time, instead of gaining it. Now, by daybreak, they’ll all be down again, when we can travel straight on without being delayed by so many stoppages. I tell you, Señor Cypriano, if we start now, it’ll be only to find the old saying true, ‘More haste, worse speed.’”

He to whom this speech is addressed perceives the application of the adage, and admitting it, yields the point.

“Besides,” adds the gaucho, by way of clinching his argument, “we’ve got to spend part of the night somewhere, and have some sleep. If we keep on without that, it may end in our breaking dead down, which would be worse than being a little behind time. We all stand in need of rest now. Speaking for myself, I want it badly; and I’m sure so does Master Ludwig and you too, señorito! If we were to leave the cave, and seek for it anywhere outside, we’d find the ground soaking wet, and, like enough, every one of us get laid up with a spell of rheumatics. Here we’ll be as snug as a biscacha in its hole; and, I take it, will sleep undisturbed by the squalling of any more cats.”

As Cypriano makes no further opposition, it is decided that they remain in the cave till morning.

The little incident as above, with the conversation which accompanies it, does not take place immediately after the tiger had been disposed of; for they have eaten supper since. By good luck, some sticks were found in the cave, half-burnt faggots, the remains of a fire no doubt left by a party of Indian hunters, who had also spent a night there. With these they were enabled to boil their kettle, and make a maté of their favourite yerba tea; while the “knuckle” of mutton and some cakes of corn bread still left, needed no cooking. It is after all this was over, and they had been some time conversing on the many strange incidents which occurred to them throughout the day, that they became aware of the flood having fallen, and escape from their rock-bound prison possible. Then succeeded the discussion recorded.

At its termination, as nothing more can be done, and all feeling fatigued, to go to rest is naturally the next move. Their horses have already been attended to by the removal of the riding gear, while some rough grass found growing against the cliff, near the cave’s entrance outside, has been cut and carried in to them.

A slight grooming given to the animals, and it but remains to make their own beds. This done, by simply spreading their jergas and caronillas along the flinty stalagmites, each having his own recado for a pillow. Their ponchos, long since pulled apart, and the dust cuffed out of them, are to serve for what they really are – blankets; a purpose to which at night they are put by all gauchos and most Argentinos – as much as they are used during day time for cloak or greatcoat.

Each wrapping himself up in his own, all conversation ceases, and sleep is sought with closed eyes. This night it is found by them in a succession somewhat changed. As on that preceding, Ludwig is first asleep; but almost instantly after it is Gaspar, not Cypriano, who surrenders to the drowsy god; filling the hollow cavity with his snoring, loud as that often heard to proceed from the nostrils of a tapir. He well knows they are safe within that rock-bound chamber; besides that he is tired dead down with the day’s exertion; hence his so soon becoming oblivious.

Cypriano is the last to yield. But he, too, at length gives way, and all is silent within the cavern, save the “crump-crump” of the horses munching their coarse provender, with now and then a hoof striking the hard rock. But louder than all is that raucous reverberation sent up by the slumbering gaucho.