Out on the Pampas: or, The Young Settlers

‘But how did you know which way to go, Seth?’ Hubert asked.

‘We went by the stars,’ Seth said. ‘It was easier than it would have been by day, for when the sun’s right overhead, it ain’t a very straightforward matter to know how you are going; but there would be no difficulty then to scouts like Rube and me. Well, we had run, may-be, an hour and a quarter when we heard a faint, short bark far behind. “The brute is on our trail,” Rube said; “they haven’t given us so much start as I looked for. Another half hour and he will be at our heels sure enough.” I felt this was true, and felt very bad-like for a bit. In another quarter of an hour the bark was a good bit nearer, and we couldn’t go no faster than we were going. All of a sudden I said to Rube, “Rube, I’ve heard them dogs lose their smell if they taste blood. Let’s try it; it’s our only chance. Here, give me a cut in the arm, I can spare it better than you can; you lost a lot to-night from that cut.” We stopped a minute. I tore off the sleeve of my hunting shirt, and then Rube gave me a bit of a cut on the arm. I let the blood run till the sleeve was soaked and dripping, then Rube tore off a strip from his shirt and bandaged my arm up tight. We rolled the sleeve in a ball and threw it down, then took a turn, made a zigzag or two to puzzle the brute, and then went on our line again. For another ten minutes we could hear the barking get nearer and nearer, and then it stopped all of a sudden. On we went, and it was half an hour again before we heard it, and then it was a long way off. “I expect we’re all right now, Seth,” Rube said. “I guess we are,” I said; “but the sooner we strike water, the better I shall be pleased.” It was nigh another half hour, and we were both pretty nigh done, when we came upon the stream, and the dog couldn’t have been more than a mile off. It was a bit of a thing five or six yards wide, and a foot or two deep in the middle. “Which way?” says Rube. “Up’s our nearest way, so we had better go down.” “No, no,” says I; “they’re sure to suspect that we shall try the wrong course to throw them off, so let’s take the right.” Without another word up stream we went, as hard as we could run. In a few minutes we heard the dog stop barking, when we might have been half a mile up stream. “We must get out of this, Rube,” I said. “Whichever way they try with the dog, they are safe to send horsemen both ways.” “Which side shall we get out, Seth?” “It don’t matter,” I said; “it’s all a chance which side they take the dog. Let’s take our own side.” Out we got; and we hadn’t ran a quarter of a mile before we heard a tramping of horses coming along by the stream. We stopped to listen, for we knew if they had the dog with them, and if he was on our side of the river, we were as good as dead. “If they take the trail, Seth,” Rube said, “it’s all up with us. Don’t let’s run any more. We are men enough to shoot the four first who come up, and I only hope one of them may be El Zeres; that’ll leave us a pistol each, and we will keep them for ourselves. Better do that, by a long way, than be pulled to pieces with hot pinchers.” “A long way, Rube,” I said. “That’s agreed, then. When I give the word, put the barrel against your eye and fire; that’s a pretty safe shot.” As the Mexicans got to the place where we had got out, we stopped and held our breath. There was no pause, – on they went; another minute, and we felt certain they had passed the spot. “Saved, by thunder!” Rube said; and we turned and went off at a steady trot that we could keep up for hours. “How long shall we get, do you think, Seth?” “That all depends how long they follow down stream. They can’t tell how far we are ahead. I should think they will go two miles down; then they will cross the stream and come back; and if they don’t happen to be on the right side of the stream as they pass where we got out, they will go up another two or three miles, and near as much down, before they strike the trail. We’re pretty safe of half an hour’s start, and we might get, if we’re lucky, near an hour. We ain’t safe yet, Rube, by a long way. It’s near thirty miles from Pepita’s to the camp. We’ve come sixteen of it good – eighteen I should say; we have got another twelve to the road, and we ain’t safe then. No; our only chance is to come across a hacienda and get horses. There are a good many scattered about; but it’s so dark, we might pass within fifty yards and not see it. There won’t be a streak of daylight till four, and it ain’t two yet.” “Not far off, Seth.” By this time we had got our wind again, and quickened up into a fast swing; but our work had told on us, and we couldn’t have gone much over seven miles an hour. Several times, as we went on, we could hear a trampling in the dark, and knew that we had scared some horses; but though we had a lasso we had brought with us, we might as well have tried to catch a bird with it. In an hour we heard the dog again, but it was a long way behind. There was nothing for it now but hard running, and we were still seven miles from the road, and even that didn’t mean safety. I began to think we were going to lose the race, after all. In another quarter of an hour we stopped suddenly. “Thunder!” said Rube; “what’s that?” Some animal, that had been lying down, got up just in front of us. “It’s a horse! Your lasso, Rube!” Rube, however, had made a tremendous rush forward, and, before the animal could stretch himself into a gallop, had got close, and grasped him by the mane. “It’s no go,” Rube said, as the horse made a step forward; “he’s an old un, dead lame.” “Don’t leave go, Rube,” I said. “He’ll do for our turn.” He was a miserable old beast, but I felt that he would do as well as the best horse in the world for us. Rube saw my meaning, and in a minute we were both astride on his back. He tottered, and I thought he’d have gone down on his head. Kicking weren’t of no good; so I out with my knife and gave him a prod, and off we went. It weren’t far, some two hundred yards or so, but it was the way I wanted him, right across the line we were going. Then down he tumbled. “All right,” said I. “You’ve done your work, old man; but you mustn’t lay here, or they may light upon you and guess what’s been up.” So we lugged him on to his feet, gave him another prod, which sent him limping off; and on we went on our course, sure that we were at last safe, for we had thrown the bloodhound altogether off our trail. For a mile or so we kept right away from our course, for fear that they should keep straight on, and, missing the scent, lead the dog across the trail, and so pick it up again; then we turned and made straight for the road. “I don’t think, Rube,” I said after a while, “that we shall strike the road far off where we left it at Pepita’s.” “No, I expect not, Seth. We had better bear a little more to the south, for they will most likely make for Pepita’s, and day will soon be breaking now.” “We’d better not strike the road at all, Rube; likely enough, they will follow it down for a few miles in hopes of picking us up.” “I hope they will,” Rube said; “and I expect so. Won’t it be a lark, just?” “What do you mean, Rube?” “Mean? Why, didn’t the Cap tell us to leave San Miguel before daybreak, and to ride to meet him? It warn’t likely that he meant us to ride more than ten miles or so; so that he will be within that distance of San Miguel by an hour after daybreak, and will be at Pepita’s half an hour later. If them fellows ride on, they are safe to fall into as nice a trap as – ” “Jehoshophat!” said I. “You’re right, Rube. Let’s make tracks. It can’t be more than another four or five miles to the road, and day will break in half an hour.” “How strong do you reckon them, Seth?” “Fifty or sixty,” said I, “by the regular sound of the horses.” “That’s about what I guessed,” Rube said. “There are forty of our chaps, and they will be fresh. We’ll give ’em goss.”

‘We had now long ceased to hear the baying of the dog, which had been most unpleasantly clear when we got off the old hoss that had done us such a good turn. We made sure, too, that we were well ahead, for they would likely wait an hour in trying to pick up the trail again. Daylight came at last; and when it was light enough to see, we stopped and took a look from a slight rise, and there, across the plain, we could see the road just where we expected. Nothing was moving upon it, nor, looking back, could we see any sign of the Mexicans. Away to the left, a mile or so, we could see a clump of trees, and something like the roof of a house among them. This, we had no doubt, was Pepita’s. About a mile down the road the other way was a biggish wood, through which the road ran. “Let’s make for that wood, Rube, and wait; the Cap will be up in another half hour, and it ain’t likely the Mexicans will be along much before that. They’re likely to stop for a drink at Pepita’s.” In another ten minutes we were in shelter in the wood, taking care not to get upon the road, in case the Mexicans should come along with the hound before our men. We hadn’t been there twenty minutes before we both heard a trampling of horses; but it was a minute or two more before we could decide which way they were coming. At last, to our great comfort, we found it was the right way. Just before they came up, I had an idea I caught a sound from the other way, but I couldn’t have sworn to it. We lay till the troop came fairly up, as it might be another party of Mexicans; but it was all right, and we jumped out, with a cheer, into the middle of them. Mighty surprised they were to see us, on foot, and all dust and sweat. Rube’s face, too, was tied up; and altogether we didn’t look quite ourselves. They all began to talk at once; but I held up my hand urgent, and, when they saw it was something particular, they shut up, and I said to the Cap: “Don’t ask no questions, Cap; I’ll tell you all arterwards. El Zeres with about fifty of his men will be here in about three minutes, I reckon. They’ve ridden thirty miles, and the beasts ain’t fresh; so it’s your own fault if one gets away.” The Cap didn’t waste a moment in words. He ordered half his men to ride back two hundred yards, and to charge when they heard his whistle; and he and the rest turned off into the wood, which was very thick, and screened ’em from any one passing. Rube and I, not having horses, were no good for a charge; so we went on in the wood, as near as we could guess, half-way between them, so as to be ready to jump out and join in the skrimmage. It all takes some time to tell, but it didn’t take two minutes to do, and in another minute we could hear the Mexicans close. On they came: we knew now that they had passed the Cap, and we clutched our rifles tight and peered out through the leaves. On they came, and we could see El Zeres riding first, with the bloodhound trotting along by the side of his horse. Just as he was opposite, we heard a loud, shrill whistle, and the Mexicans halted with a look of uneasiness. They weren’t left to wonder long, for in a moment there was a trampling of horses, and down came our fellows on both sides of them. Just before they got up we stepped forward with our rifles up. “El Zeres!” Rube shouted; and startled as the Mexican was, he looked round. He had just time to see who it was, when Rube’s ball hit him in the head, and down he went as dead as a stone. The hound turned and came right at us with a deep growl of rage. I sent a ball through his chest and rolled him over, and just as I did so our fellows came down upon the Mexicans. It was a fierce fight, for the Mexicans were in a trap, and knew that there was no mercy for them. Rube and I sprang out, and paid a good many of ’em off for the scare they had given us. We wiped them right out to the last man, losing only six ourselves. I don’t know as ever I see a better skrimmage while it lasted. After it was over, Rube and I mounted two of their horses, and rode on with the rest of them to San Miguel; but before we started off we told our story to the Cap, and he sent a couple of men back with a despatch to the general, asking for five hundred men to destroy El Zeres’ band at a blow. We stopped at Pepita’s, and I never see a girl have a much worse scare than we gave her. She made sure it was El Zeres, and came running out to see if he had caught us; and when she found that she had fallen into the hands of the Rangers, and that we were among them, she was as white as a shirt in a minute. She was plucky enough, though; for as soon as she could get her tongue, she cursed us like a wild woman. I expect she made sure we should have shot her for her treachery, – and a good many of our bands would have done so right on end, – but the Rangers never touched women. However, she warn’t to go scot free; so we got fire, and set the house and stable in a blaze. As we rode off Rube shouted out, “If you change your mind again about coming with me to Missouri, you just drop me a line, Pepita.” I thought, as I looked at her, it was lucky for Rube she hadn’t a rifle in her hand; she’d have shot him if she had been hung for it a minute afterwards. We rode on to San Miguel, took Col. Cabra prisoner, with his papers, and sent him back under an escort. At dusk the same day we got on our horses and rode back to where Pepita’s house had stood, and where our captain expected the troops he had sent for. In half an hour they came up. They had a couple of hours to rest their horses, and then Rube and I led them straight to the Mexican camp. No doubt they heard us coming when we were close, but made sure it was El Zeres, and so didn’t disturb themselves; and it warn’t till we had wheeled round and fairly surrounded them that they smelt a rat. But it was too late then, for in another minute we were down upon them, and I don’t believe twenty out of the whole lot got away. It was, altogether, one of the most successful businesses in the whole war. And I think that’s about all the story.’

‘Oh, thank you very much, Seth. It is a most exciting story. And what became of Rube?’

‘Rube married a year after we got back to the States, and took up a clearing and settled down. It was then I felt lonesome, and made up my mind to go south for a while. I promised Rube that I would go and settle down by him after a bit, and I’ve concluded that it’s about time to do so. I’ve saved a few hundred dollars out here, and I am going to start to-morrow morning at daybreak to catch the steamer at Rosario. I shall go up straight from Buenos Ayres to New Orleans, and a steamer will take me up the river in three days to Rube’s location. Good-bye, all of you. I told your father this afternoon.’

There was a hearty leave-taking, and many expressions of regret at his leaving; and after a shake of the hand, and many good wishes, the young Hardys went up to the house, really sorry to part with their Yankee friend.

CHAPTER VIII.

FARM WORK AND AMUSEMENTS

ALTHOUGH but two months had elapsed since the ground was ploughed up and planted, the progress made by the crop of maize and pumpkins was surprising: the former, especially, was now nearly six feet high. This rapid growth was the result of the extreme fertility of the virgin soil, aided by the late abundant supply of water, and the heat of the sun. The maize had given them all a great deal to do; for, when it was about six inches high, it had to be thinned out so that the plants were nine or ten inches apart. This had been done by the united strength of the party, Mr. Hardy and the boys working for two hours each morning, and as much in the evening. The girls also had assisted, and the peons had worked the whole day, except from eleven to three, when the heat was too great even for them. Many hands make light work, and in consequence the whole ground under maize cultivation was thinned in little over a week. Latterly the maize had grown so fast that the boys declared they could almost see it grow, and, at the end of two months after sowing, it was all in flower. The maize, or Indian corn, strongly resembles water rushes in appearance, and the feathery blossom also resembles that of the rush. Indian corn forms the main article of food in South America, and in all but the northern states of North America. It is equally useful and common in India, and in other tropical countries. Scarcely less is it used in Italy, and other parts of southern Europe. It was first introduced into Europe from the East by the great family of Polenta, who ruled the important town of Ravenna for nearly two hundred years. Ground maize is still called Polenta throughout Italy; and the great family will live in the name of the useful cereal they introduced, when all memory of their warlike deeds is lost except to the learned.

One evening when Mr. Hardy, with his wife and children, was strolling down in the cool of the evening to look with pleasure upon the bright green of their healthy and valuable crops, Hubert said:

‘Isn’t Indian corn, papa, the great yellow heads covered with grain-like beads one sees in corn-dealers’ shops in England?’

‘Yes, Hubert.’

‘Well, if that is so, I cannot make out how those long delicate stems can bear the weight. They bend over like corn to every puff of wind. It does not seem possible that they could bear a quarter of the weight of their heavy yellow heads.’

‘Nor could they, Hubert; but nature has made a wise and very extraordinary provision for this difficulty. All other plants and trees with which I am acquainted, have their fruits or seeds where the blossom before grew. In maize it is placed in an entirely different part of the plant. In a very short time you will see – indeed you may see now in most of the plants – the stalk begin to thicken at a foot or eighteen inches from the ground, and in a little time it will burst; and the head of maize, so enveloped in leaves that it looks a mere bunch of them, will come forth. It will for a time grow larger and larger, and then the plant will wither and die down to the place from which the head springs. The part that remains will dry up until the field appears covered with dead stumps, with bunches of dead leaves at the top. Then it is ready for the harvest.’

‘What a strange plant, papa! I quite long for the time when the heads will come out. What are you going to plant upon that bit of land you have got ready for sowing now? It is about six acres.’

‘I mean to plant cotton there, Hubert. I have sent to Buenos Ayres for seeds of what are called Carolina Upland, and I expect them here in a few days.’

‘But it takes a great deal of labour, does it not, papa?’

‘The calculation in the Northern States, Hubert, is that one man can cultivate eight acres of cotton, assisted by his wife and children at certain periods; and that as his labour is not always required, he can with his family cultivate another eight or ten acres of other produce; so that about half of a peon’s labour will be required, and in the hoeing and picking time we can all help.’

‘Is not machinery required to separate the seeds from the cotton?’ Charley asked.

‘It is not absolutely necessary, Charley, although it is of course economical when the cultivation is carried on upon a large scale. The variety I am going to try is sometimes called “bowed” Carolina, because it used to be cleaned by placing it upon a number of strings stretched very tight, which were struck with a sort of bow, and the vibration caused the seed to separate from the cotton. I have a drawing of one of these contrivances in a book up at the house, and when the time comes, you boys shall make me one. It will be work for us to do indoors when the weather is too hot to be out. Of course if I find that it succeeds, and pays well, I shall take on more hands, get proper machinery, and extend the cultivation. I intend to plant the rows rather wide apart, so as to use the light plough with the ridge boards between them, instead of hoeing, to save labour.’

‘How much cotton do they get from an acre?’ Mrs. Hardy asked.

‘In the Southern States they expect twelve hundred pounds upon new ground, – that is, twelve hundred pounds of pods, which make about three hundred of cleaned cotton. When I have got the cotton fairly in the ground, I mean to plant an acre or two of tobacco, and the same quantity of sugar-cane, as an experiment. But before I do that, we must make a garden up at the house: that is a really urgent need.’

‘Couldn’t we grow rice here, papa?’

‘No doubt we could, Hubert; but I do not mean to try it. To succeed with rice, we should have to keep the ground on which it grew in a state of swamp, which would be very unhealthy. That is why I do not irrigate the fields oftener than is absolutely necessary. Anything approaching swampy, or even wet lands, in a climate like this, would be almost certain to breed malaria. Besides, we should be eaten alive by mosquitoes. No, I shall certainly not try rice. Other tropical productions I shall some day give a trial to. Ginger, vanilla, and other things would no doubt flourish here. I do not believe that any of them would give an extraordinary rate of profit, for though land is cheap, labour is scarce. Still it would be interesting, and would cause a little variety and amusement in our work, which is always an important point, and no doubt there would be generally some profit, though occasionally we may make a total failure.’

Very often at daybreak the girls would go down with their brothers to the river, and watch the waterfowl on its surface; they were so amusing as they dabbled and played in the water, unsuspicious of danger. Their favourites, though, were the beautiful scarlet flamingoes, with their slender legs, and their long, graceful necks, and whose great employment seemed to be to stand quiet in the water, where it was only two or three inches deep, and to preen their glossy red feathers. Over and over again the girls wished that they could get a few waterfowl, especially flamingoes, to tame them, in order that they might swim on the dam pond and come and be fed; and the boys had several talks with each other as to the most practicable way of capturing some of them. At last they thought of making a sort of enclosure of light boughs, with an entrance into which birds could easily pass, but through which they could not easily return, and to scatter grain up to and into the enclosure, to entice the birds to enter. On explaining this plan to Mr. Hardy, he said that he had no doubt that it would succeed in capturing birds, but that when caught it would be impossible to tame full-grown wild fowl, and that the only plan was to find their nests, and take the eggs or very young birds. This they determined to do; and as the bushes close to the river were too thick to permit an examination from the shore, they started one morning early, and, going down to the river, entered it, and waded along for a considerable distance. They discovered two swans’ nests, and several of different descriptions of ducks. In some the birds were sitting upon their eggs, in others the young brood were just hatched, and scuttled away into the bushes with the parent birds upon being disturbed.

Charley and Hubert made no remark at breakfast upon the success of their expedition; but when Charley went two days after to Rosario, he procured from Mr. Percy, who kept a quantity of chickens, two sitting hens. These were placed with their nests in the bullock-cart in a hamper; and Mrs. Hardy, who had no idea of the purpose to which they were to be put, was quite pleased, on their arrival at Mount Pleasant, at this addition to the stock. Indeed it had been long agreed that they would keep hens as soon as the maize was ripe. The next morning the boys went again, and brought back twenty eggs of various kinds of wild duck, including four swans’ eggs, – to obtain which they had to shoot the parent birds, which furnished the larder for days, – which they placed under the hens in place of their own eggs, and then took the girls in triumph to see this commencement of their tame duck project. The little girls were delighted, and it was an immense amusement to them to go down constantly to see if the eggs were hatched, as of course no one could tell how long they had been sat upon previous to being taken. They had remarked that four of the eggs were much larger than the others, but had no idea that they were swans’. In the course of a few days six of the young ducklings were hatched, and the hens were both so unhappy at their difficulty of continuing to sit while they had the care of their young ones on their mind, that one hen and all the little ones were removed to a distance from the other’s nest, and the whole of the eggs were put under the remaining hen. The four swans and five more ducks were safely hatched, when the hen refused to sit longer, and the remaining eggs were lost. Now that the swans were safely hatched, the boys told their sisters what they really were, and their delight was extreme.