Last of the Incas: A Romance of the Pampas

"No, major," said Don Antonio. "Stay here, for who knows what may happen during my absence. Come, Don Torribio."

The latter smiled; and it would have been difficult to say what the smile meant. He went out, accompanied by the colonel, and they mounted their horses. As they left the fort a man passed them, walking at a quick pace.

"Pedrito!" Don Torribio muttered to himself; "Providing that he has not recognized me! All is well."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CAVE OF THE COUGARS

Pedrito followed his sister without saying a word, and almost as much astonished as Don Valentine and her daughter at Mercedes' devotion. She led him to her bedroom, a charming retreat, full of shade and fresh air. While the bombero eagerly surveyed all the objects, Mercedes, sighing and ready to weep, took a parting glance at her well-beloved room; but she had the courage to repress her tears.

"Sit down, brother. I have a great service to ask of you."

"Hang it! A service, little sister? Why assume so solemn an air for such a simple thing?"

"Because it is difficult."

"Nothing is impossible to please you. What is the matter?"

"Swear to me, first, to grant what I am about to ask of you."

"Go on, child, and do not trouble yourself about the rest," Pedrito said, with a hearty laugh.

"No. I must have your oath."

"I have taken it; that is understood, I have all the gravity of an Indian idol."

"You are laughing at me," she said, with tears in her eyes.

"Confound the women!" Pedrito remarked; "They can always twirl men round their fingers. Come, silly child, do not cry any more. I swear to obey your whims. Tell me what it is all about."

"I have promised Doña Concha, my dear brother, to give her within three days news about Don Sylvio."

"What next?"

"I wish to perform my promise."

"The deuce."

"And for that I have counted on you."

"On me?"

"Yes."

"How can I help you?"

"Without you the affair is impracticable."

"In that case, little sister, I am greatly afraid that – "

"Remember your oath."

"Go on. I am listening."

"I have lived a long time among the Indians, whose manners and language I am acquainted with. I intend to get into their camp unnoticed, in order to learn where Don Sylvio is."

"Good-bye, Mercedes."

"And your oath, brother?" she said, placing herself before the door.

"I shall not keep it; and if Heaven thinks that I ought, we will argue the point together."

She looked at her brother for a moment in silence. "You are quite resolved?" she continued.

"Quite."

"Then, I shall go alone."

"What," Pedrito exclaimed, as he rushed towards her, "Do you wish to be the death of me, then?"

Mercedes made no reply.

"Go away, brother. I will do without you."

"Come on! I will follow you. Oh, these women!" the bombero muttered.

"We shall succeed," she exclaimed, joyfully.

"Yes, in getting ourselves killed."

"Let us be off, brother," she said, placing under her arm a small bundle of clothing.

Mercedes, fearing the emotion of a farewell scene, avoided Doña Concha.

Patito had got two horses in readiness, which speedily carried brother and sister far from the estancia. At the battery the capataz was waiting for them.

"Señorita," he said to Mercedes, "you are a noble girl, Heaven will aid and bless you."

"Don Blas," Mercedes answered, with a smile, as she drew from her bosom a small gold cross Doña Concha had given her, and broke the velvet neck ribbon, "take this cross, and keep it in remembrance of me."

The two travellers had been galloping a long time ere the capataz left off kissing the cross, while thinking that its usual resting place was on the maiden's heart. Pedrito and his sister rode side by side without exchanging a word, for both were plunged in deep thought.

"How far have we to go?" Mercedes asked all at once.

"Two leagues."

After a while they heard the footfall of a horse behind them; they turned, and perceived Patito, who was making signals to them, and the gaucho soon joined them.

"My mistress is following me," he said.

Doña Concha, dressed in male clothing, came up at the full speed of her horse.

"Ah," she said, on joining them, "I trembled lest I should miss you."

"Are we to turn back Pedrito asked, with a fugitive gleam of hope."

"No, no; on the contrary; push on," Concha replied.

"Where are you going, señorita?"

"I am following you."

"What?" he said, fancying he misunderstood her.

"I guessed your plan, Mercedes, and mean to share its perils."

"That is fine, señorita!" Pedrito exclaimed.

"She is right," Mercedes said simply; "that will be better."

"You, Patito," Concha said, "can go back; I have no need of your services."

"Forgive me, but with your permission I will remain; I am not wanted at the estancia, and, though I do not know where you are going, two strong arms are worth keeping."

"Remain, my friend."

"But your father, Don Valentine, señorita?" Pedrito attempted to say.

"He approves of it," she answered drily.

They started again: two hours later they reached the foot of a hill, halfway up which was a natural grotto, known in the country by the name of the Cave of the Cougars.

"My brothers are there," Pedrito said.

The little party ascended the gentle slope of the hill, and entered the cave on horseback, without leaving any trace of their passage. There were several entrances to this cave; it was divided into several compartments that had no visible communication, and formed a species of labyrinth that meandered under the hill. The bomberos, who knew all its turnings, often employed it as a refuge.

Pepe and Lopez were seated before a heather fire, silently smoking their pipes, and watching a leg of guanaco that was roasting. They saluted the newcomers, and remained dumb as the Indians, whose manner they had to some extent assumed in their nomadic life on the Pampa. Pedrito conducted the two ladies to a separate compartment.

"While here," he said to them in a low whisper, "say but little, for you can never tell what neighbours you may have. If you want us, you know where we are; I now leave you."

His sister caught his arm and put her lips to his ear, and he went away without making any answer.

The two girls, when alone, threw themselves into each other's arms. When this outburst was over, they disguised themselves as Indian women. At the moment when their Spanish dresses were about to fall, they heard footsteps close to them, and turned like startled fawns.

"I was afraid," Doña Concha said, "lest it was Don Pedro; let us listen."

"Caray, Don Torribio, you are welcome," a man's voice said, hardly three yards from the girls; "I have been waiting for you for more than two hours."

"Always that man!" Concha murmured.

"My good fellow," Don Torribio replied, "it was impossible for me to come sooner."

"Well, here you are, that is the main point," the first speaker remarked.

At this moment Pedrito entered; Mercedes made him a sign to listen, and he came to her side.

"Are you satisfied with your position at Carmen?" Torribio continued.

"Not very greatly, I confess."

"I am going to liberate you, my dear Pincheira; I shall order the attack on Población del Sur tomorrow, and then you will act, I suppose."

"That is settled. By the by, I just now came across a poor devil of an Argentine officer, entrusted with a despatch for the governor of El Carmen; it announces help, I suppose."

"¡Caramba! They must make haste. What did you do with the despatch?"

"Here it is."

"Did you kill the Argentine messenger?"

"Well, I fancy so."

"That is right."

"When is the assault to take place?"

"In two days. How is my prisoner, by the way?"

"Oh, he is furious."

"He will grow calm. This is what I intend to do, soon as the town – "

But while these words were being spoken, the two men had retired, and the sound of their voices died out in the windings of the cave. When the maidens turned round again Pedrito had disappeared.

"Well," Mercedes said, "what do you think of that singular accident?"

"It is a miracle of Heaven."

"Shall we still disguise ourselves?"

"More so than ever."

"For what purpose?" Pedrito said, who had returned, "I now know where Don Sylvio is, and I undertake to restore him to you."

"But our vengeance?" Doña Concha interrupted.

"Let us save him first. Return to the estancia, señorita, and leave me to act."

"No, Don Pedro, I shall not leave you."

"Wait for me here, then, both of you."

Several hours passed, and Pedrito did not return. Alarmed by this inexplicable delay, the two girls joined the other two bomberos in the front cave. Night had set in when Pedrito returned; he bought an enormous bale on the neck of his horse, which was panting with fatigue.

"Put on these gauchos' dresses," he said to the two ladies; "we are going to get inside Carmen. The journey will be a rough one, but make haste, for every moment lost is an hour of danger for us."

They ran off to dress themselves, and were ready in a moment.

"Take your Indian robes," Pedrito said, "for they may be useful to you. Good! Now follow me, and be cautious!"

The three bomberos, the two girls, and Patito left the cave, and glided through the darkness like shadows, marching in Indian file, at one moment stooping down to the ground, crawling on their knees, and trying as far as possible to hide their passage. It was a singular and dangerous journey, in the depths of night, and across a desert whose thickets in time of war are peopled with invisible enemies. Pedrito had placed himself at the head of the party. Doña Concha, excited by the courage which love imparts, stained the prickles with her blood, but not a single complaint passed her lips. After three hours of extraordinary effort, the little party that followed Pedrito's track suddenly stopped on his stopping.

"Look!" he said to them, in a whisper, "we are in the heart of the Aucas' camp."

All around them in the moonbeams they saw the Indian sentinels leaning on their lances and watching over the safety of their brothers. A shudder ran over the maidens; fortunately, the guards, not fearing a sortie from Carmen, were sleeping at their posts, but the slightest badly calculated movement or stumble might wake them. Hence, Pedrito recommended them to redouble their prudence, if they wished to save their lives.

About two hundred yards in front of them rose the first houses of Carmen, gloomy, silent, and apparently at least deserted or plunged in silence. The six adventurers had cleared one half the distance, when suddenly, at the moment when Pedrito stretched out his arm to shelter himself behind a sandhill, several men crawling on the opposite side, found themselves face to face with him.

There was a moment of terrible anxiety.

"Who goes there?" a low and threatening voice asked.

"Pedrito the bombero."

"Who is with you?"

"My brothers."

"Pass."

Ten minutes after this encounter they reached the barriers, which were at once opened on Pedrito mentioning his name, and they were at length safe in Carmen. It was high time; in spite of their resolution and courage, the two girls, worn out with fatigue, could no longer support themselves. So soon as the danger had passed, their nervous excitement gave way, and they fell utterly exhausted. Pedrito raised his sister in his arms; Pepe took charge of Doña Concha, and they proceeded to Don Valentine's house, where fresh difficulties awaited them. Tío Peralta refused to open the gate, but on at length recognizing his mistress, he led the travellers into a room and lit the candles.

"What are we to do now?" Doña Concha asked, as she fell back into a chair.

"Nothing just at present," Pedrito answered. "Rest yourself, señorita, and regain your strength."

"Shall we remain for long in this state of inaction, which kills us?"

"Only till tomorrow. We must not run blindly into danger, but prepare everything for the success of our plans, and watch for the propitious moment. Tomorrow at the latest, those men, whose conversation we overheard, will attempt an attack on Población del Sur. As for us, we shall be more at liberty to enter the Indian camp. Keep your presence in Carmen a secret from everybody, and give no sign of life till I return. Good-bye till tomorrow morning."

"Are you not going to rest, Don Pedro?"

"I have no time."

Pedrito left the room. Doña Concha recommended the utmost silence to Tío Peralta, and dismissed her companions, who went off to sleep in hastily prepared apartments.

Mercedes would not separate from her friend, and they reposed on the same couch. In spite of their wish to remain awake, nature was the stronger, and they soon fell into a deep sleep. The sun was already high on the horizon when they opened their eyes again. They dressed themselves and breakfasted with their companions, impatiently awaiting the bombero's return.

Several hours passed, lacerating Doña Concha's heart, and making her love bleed; the recollection of her betrothed husband, covered with the shadow of death, painfully troubled her thoughts.

At length the town bells rang out a full peal to call the population under arms, and acted as a gloomy accompaniment to the dull booming of the cannon and the flashes of the musketry fire. Without doubt the Indians were attacking Población del Sur; but where was Pedrito? Doña Concha asked herself, as she walked, like a lioness in a cage, up and down the room, devoured by anxiety and despair.

"Listen!" she said to Mercedes, as she turned her head toward the door.

"It is he!" Mercedes replied.

"At last!" Conchita exclaimed.

"Here I am, señorita," Pedrito said; "are you ready?"

"Ever since the morning," she answered reproachfully.

"It would have been too soon," he said quietly; "now if you like."

"At once."

"Señorita, be dumb; whatever you may hear and see, leave me to speak and act alone. Stay! Here is a mask for each of you, with which you will conceal your faces. When I give the word come in."

All three left the house unnoticed, for the townspeople were guarding the barricades or engaged in the furious contest going on in Población del Sur.

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.