Gaspar the Gaucho: A Story of the Gran Chaco

Just such a thought passes through the mind of gaucho Gaspar, as his eyes rest on the grand array displayed on the cacique’s tomb. For that it is the tomb of a cacique, and one of grand note, he has not a doubt, seeing such a selection of trophies. In addition to the war weapons and implements of the chase, there are articles of dress and adornment; bracelets of gold, bead necklets and belts, with coronets of bright-coloured plumes; while most conspicuous of all is a large feather-embroidered manta, covering the corpse from head to foot, even concealing the face.

Still there is nothing in all this to astonish Gaspar Mendez, or in any way give him a surprise. He has seen the like before, and often among the Auracanian Indians, who are kindred with the tribes of the Chaco. He but makes the reflection, how silly it is in these savages thus to expose such fine commodities to the weather, and let them go to loss and decay – all to satisfy a heathen instinct of superstition! And thus reflecting, he would in all probability have lowered himself back to the ground, but for that presentiment still upon him. It influences him to remain a moment longer balancing himself upon the notched upright, and gazing over the platform. Just then the moon getting clear of some cirrhus clouds, and shining brighter than ever, lights up an object hitherto unnoticed by him, but one he recognises as an old acquaintance. He starts on beholding a felt hat of the Tyrolese pattern, which he well remembers to have seen worn by his master, the hunter-naturalist, and by him given to the aged cacique of the Tovas as a token of friendship. And now he feels the presentiment which has been upon him all explained and fulfilled. Springing up on the platform, and uncovering the face of the corpse, he beholds – Naraguana!

Chapter Forty Seven.

Gaspar Despondent

“Naraguana dead!” exclaims the gaucho, as standing upon the scaffold he gazes upon the form at his feet. “Santissima! this is strange!”

“But is it certainly the old cacique?” he adds, again stooping down and raising the selvedge of feather cloth, which had fallen back over the face. Once more exposed to view, the features deeply-furrowed with age – for Naraguana was a very old man – and now further shrivelled by the dry winds of the Chaco, with the skin drawn tight over high-cheek bones, and hollow, sightless sockets, where once shone pair of eyes coal-black and keen – all this under the pale moonlight, presents a spectacle at once weird-like and ghastly, as if of a death’s head itself!

Still it is the face of Naraguana, as at a glance the gaucho perceives, muttering, “Yes; it’s the old chief, sure enough. Dead, and dried up like a mummy! Died of old age, no doubt. Well,” he continues, in graver tone, “by whatever way he may have come to his end, no greater misfortune could have befallen us. Carrai! it’s Satan’s own luck!”

Having thus delivered himself, he stands for a while on the platform, but no longer looking at the corpse, nor any of the relics around it. Instead, his eyes are turned towards the tree, under whose shadow his youthful comrades are reclining, and as he supposes asleep. On that side is the moon, and as her light falls over his face, there can be seen upon it an expression of great anxiety and pain – greater than any that has marked it since that moment, when in the sumac grove he bent over the dead body of his murdered master.

But the troubled look now overspreading his features springs not from grief, nor has anger aught to do with it. Instead, it is all apprehension. For now, as though a curtain had been suddenly lifted before his eyes, he sees beyond it, there perceiving for himself and his companions danger such as they had not yet been called upon to encounter. All along the route their thoughts were turned to Naraguana, and on him rested their hopes. Naraguana can do nothing for them now.

“No!” reflects the gaucho, despairingly; “we can expect no help from him. And who else is there to give it? Who, besides, would have the power to serve us, even if the will be not wanting? No one, I fear. Mil Diablos! it’s a black look-out, now – the very blackest!”

Again facing round to the corpse, and fixing his eyes upon the still uncovered face, he seems to examine it as though it were a trail upon the pampas, in order to discover what tale it may tell. And just for a like purpose does he now scrutinise the features of the dead cacique, as appears by his soliloquy succeeding.

“Yes; I understand it all now – everything. He’s been dead some time – at least two or three weeks. That explains their leaving the other town in such haste, and coming on here. Dead, or deadly sick, before he left it, the old chief would have himself to think of, and so sent no word to us at the estancia. No blame to him for not doing so. And now that the young one’s in power, with a fool’s head and a wolf’s heart, what may we expect from him? Ah, what? In a matter like this, neither grace nor mercy. I know he loves the muchachita, with such love as a savage may – passionately, madly. All the worse for her, poor thing! And all the poorer chance for us to get her away from him. Por Dios! it does look dark.”

After a pause, he continues:

“His making her a captive and bringing her on here, I can quite understand; that’s all natural enough, since his father being dead, there’s no longer any one to hinder him doing as he likes. It’s only odd his chancing to meet master out that day, so far from home. One would suppose he’d been watching the estancia, and saw them as they went away from it. But then, there were no strange tracks about the place, nor anywhere near it. And I could discover none by the old tolderia that seemed at all fresh, excepting those of the shod horse. But whoever rode him didn’t seem to have come anywhere near the house; certainly not on this side. For all that, he might have approached it from the other, and then ridden round, to meet the Indians afterwards at the crossing of the stream. Well, I shall give the whole ground a better examination once we get back.”

“Get back!” he exclaims, repeating his words after a pause, and in changed tone. “Shall we ever get back? That’s the question now, and a very doubtful one it is. But,” he adds, turning to descend from the scaffold, “it won’t help us any on the road my remaining up here. If the old cacique’s body still had the breath in it, may be it might. But as it hasn’t the sooner I bid good-bye to it the better. Adios, Naraguana! Pasa V. buena noche!”

Were death itself staring him in the face, instead of seeing it as he does in the face of another man, Gaspar the gaucho, could not forego a jest, so much delights he to indulge in his ludicrous humour.

After unburdening himself as above, he once more closes his arms around the notched post, and lowers himself from the platform.

But again upon the ground, and standing with face toward the fig-tree, the gravity of its expression is resumed, and he seems to hesitate about returning to the place of bivouac, where his youthful companions are now no doubt enjoying the sweets of a profound slumber.

“A pity to disturb them!” he mutters to himself; “and with such a tale as I have now to tell. But it must be told, and at once. Now that everything’s changed, new plans must be thought of, and new steps taken. If we’re to enter the Indian town at all, it will have to be in a different way from what we intended. Caspita! how the luck’s turned against us!”

And with this desponding reflection, he moves off from the scaffold; and, making his way among the mausoleums, once more approaches the spot where the South American banyan casts its sombre shadow over them.

Chapter Forty Eight.

Breaking bad News

Caspar has been mistaken in supposing the other two asleep. One of them is – Ludwig, who sleeps soundly, and to all appearance peacefully. Not that he is indifferent to the seriousness of the situation, or less anxious about the upshot, than Cypriano. He but slumbers, because he is naturally of a more somnolent habit than his cousin, as also, being the weaker of the two, from the effects of a journey so long sustained, and travelling at such a pace. Moreover, he is not even yet quite recovered from the damage done him by the gymnoti; their electricity still acting on his nervous system, and producing a certain lassitude.

There is yet another reason why Ludwig has let himself go to sleep – one of a moral nature. As is known, he still adheres to his belief in the fidelity of Naraguana, and, so believing, is least of them all apprehensive about the result. At this moment he may be dreaming of the old cacique, though little dreams he that his dead body is so near!

Altogether different is it with Cypriano. This night there is no sleep for him, nor does he think of taking any. Though he lay down alongside his cousin, wrapping himself in his poncho, he did not long remain recumbent. Instead, soon starting to his feet again, he has been pacing to and fro under the fig-tree, wondering where Gaspar has gone. For, as known, the gaucho had slipped off without making noise, or saying word.

Missing him, the young Paraguayan would call out his name. But he fears to raise his voice, lest it reach other ears than those for which it was intended. Reflecting, moreover, that Gaspar is pretty sure to have some good reason for absenting himself, and that his absence will not likely be for long, he awaits his return in silence. Therefore, when the gaucho in coming back draws nigh to the fig-tree, he sees a form within the periphery of its shadow, that of Cypriano, standing ready to receive him. The latter first speaks, asking: “Where have you been, Gaspar?”

“Oh! only taking a turn among the tombs.”

“And you’ve seen something among them to make you uneasy?”

“Why do you say that, Señorito?”

“Because I can see it in your countenance.” The gaucho, as he approaches, has the moon full upon his face, and by her light the other has observed the troubled look.

“What is it?” the youth goes on to ask, in a tone of eager anxiety, all the more from seeing that the other hesitates to give the explanation. “You’ve discovered something – a new danger threatens us? Come, Gaspar, you may as well tell me of it at once.”

“I intend telling you, hijo mio. I was only waiting till we were all three together. For now, I think, we’ll have to rouse Master Ludwig. You’ve conjectured aright, as I’m sorry to say. I have seen something that’s not as we would wish it. Still, it may not be so bad as I’ve been making it.”

Notwithstanding this hopeful proviso, Cypriano is himself now really alarmed; and, impatient to learn what the new danger is, he stoops down over his cousin, takes hold of his arm, and shakes him out of his slumbers.

Ludwig, starting to his feet, confusedly inquires why he has been disturbed. Then Gaspar, coming close to them, so that he need not speak in a loud voice, gives an account of what he has discovered, with his own views relating to it.

As he himself did, both the boys at once comprehend the changed situation, with a like keen sense of the heightened danger to result from it. Naraguana’s death has extinguished all hope of help from him. It may be both the cause and forecast of their own!

Their prospects are now gloomy indeed; but they do not idly dwell on them, or give way to utter despondency. That would be unavailing; besides, there is no time for it. Something must be done to meet the altered circumstances. But what? A question to which none of them makes an immediate answer, since none can.

For awhile all three stand silent, considering. Only a short while, when Gaspar is again stirred to activity, by reflecting that even now they are not safe. One of their horses, frightened by an owl that has flapped its wings close to its face, has snorted, striking the hard ground with his hoof, and making a noise that reverberates throughout the cemetery, echoing among the scaffolds. What if he should set to neighing, in answer to that which now and then comes up from the town below? The thing is too probable, and the result manifest. A single neigh might betray them; for what would horses be doing up there upon the sacred hill? So would any Indian ask who should chance to hear it.

“We must muffle our animals,” says Caspar. “And what’s more, take them back to the other side, where we came up. There we can better conceal them among the bushes. Besides, if it should come to our being under the necessity of a speedy retreat, we’ll be nearer to the back-track, and have a fairer chance of getting off. Señoritos! get your jergas, and wrap them round your horses’ heads.”

He sets the example by so disposing of his own; and, accustomed to quick action in matters of the kind, all three soon have their animals “tapado.” Then, leading them across to where the path ascends on the opposite side, they place them under cover of some thick bushes growing near by, Caspar saying:

“They’ll be safe enough here, I take it; at all events till the morning. Then we may move them elsewhere, and if we’re to have a run for it, remember, hijos mios, ’twill be a race for our lives. There’s no Naraguana now to stand between us and that young wolf, who I fear has got the dear little lamb in his clutches, so fast we’ll have great – ”

The effect of his words are such, upon those listening to them, that he suddenly interrupts himself in what he was about to say, and in changed tone continues: “Carramba! we’ll rescue her yet, Naraguana, or no Naraguana. It can be done without him, and I think I know the way.”

In saying so, Caspar is practising a slight deception, his object being to cheer his young companions, over whom his last speech seemed to cast the gloom of despair. For he has as yet thought of no way, nor conceived any definite plan of action. When asked by Cypriano to explain himself, he is silent; and appealed to, he answers by evasion. The truth is, that up to the instant of his finding Naraguana’s body upon the scaffold, he too had been trusting all to what the latter would do for them; and no more than Ludwig could he believe the good old chief to have turned traitor to the palefaced friend so long under his protection, much less connived at his assassination. Now, the gaucho knows he has had no hand either in the murder of his master, or the abduction of that master’s daughter. These events must have occurred subsequent to his death, and, while they were in the act of occurrence, Naraguana was sleeping his last sleep under his plumed manta upon that elevated platform. His son and successor – for Gaspar doubts not that Aguara has succeeded him in the chieftainship – is answerable for the deed of double crime, whoever may have been his aiders and abettors.

Of course, this makes the case all the more difficult to deal with, since the new cacique, by this time established in full plenitude of power, will have it all his own way, and can carry things with a high hand, as he most surely will. To make appeal to him for the restitution of the captive would be manifestly idle, like asking a tiger to surrender the prey it holds between its teeth or in its claws. The gaucho has no thought of so appealing, any more than either of the others. And no more than they has he formed a plan of future action. Only now, after their disposal of the horses, is his brain busy in the conception of some scheme suited to the changed circumstances; and hence, on Cypriano asking him to tell the way he knew of, he but replies evasively, saying:

“Be patient, Señorito! Wait till we’ve got things a little snug, then I’ll take pleasure in telling you. But we mustn’t remain here. On the other side of this queer cemetery, where the road runs down to the tolderia– as I’ve no doubt there is such – that will be the place for us to spend the night in. There we can see and hear what passes on the plain, and should any one stray up we’ll be warned of it, either by our eyes or ears, in good time to get out of their way. So let us cross over. And we must step silently,” he adds, pointing to the cacique’s scaffold tomb, “lest we disturb the sleep of old Naraguana, up yonder.”

With this facetious remark, made partly in the indulgence of his usual humour, but as much to raise the spirits of his young companions, he strides off among the odd structures, making direct for the other side of the cemetery, Ludwig and Cypriano following in single file.

Chapter Forty Nine.

Gaspar means Masquerading

As they might truly anticipate, the gaucho’s conjecture proves to be correct. A road runs up to the summit of the hill on its western side; not direct, but somewhat zigzagged, in consequence of the slope on that face being steeper, and the ground more rocky and uneven. Withal, it is much wider than that by which they ascended, the latter being only a path leading out to the uninhabited pampa: while the former is the main thoroughfare between town and cemetery. It debouches on the level summit through a slight hollow, or defile, possibly due to the wear and tear of travel, continued through the long ages. Many a funeral procession, and from the most remote time, may have wound its way up that steep slope, passing between two cliffs, which, like the posterns of some grand gateway, mark the entrance to this elevated burial-place.

They do not go direct to the point where the town road enters the cemetery ground, but first back to the fig-tree to get their guns, ponchos, and some other articles left under it in their haste to put the horses in a better place of security. Having recovered the weapons and chattels, they proceed in search of the road. It is easily found, as all the paths between the separate scaffolds run into it. The point where it comes up out of the defile is but a short distance from the fig-tree; and on reaching this point they take their stand under the cliff; the one on the right hand side: for the moon being behind this, its shadow is projected more than half across the causeway of the road, so giving them a safe spot to stand in.

But they do not remain long upon their feet. Gaspar, observing a low bench of rock at the cliff’s base behind them, repeats a Spanish synonym of the old saw, “It’s as cheap sitting as standing;” and with this drops down upon the ledge, the others doing likewise.

The spot thus chosen is in every way answerable for the object they have in view. They are right over the Indian town, and can see into its streets, so far as is permitted by the moon’s declining light. It commands, moreover, a view of the road, for a good reach below, to the first angle of the zigzag, and no one could ascend beyond that point without being seen by them so long as there is light; while there is no danger of being themselves seen. One passing up, even when opposite the place where they are seated, would not perceive them; since, in addition to the shadowing cliff, there is a thick scrub between them and the travelled track, effectually screening them.

The advantages of the position are apparent to all; and, soon as settled in it, Cypriano once more calls upon Gaspar to make known the plan he has hinted at.

Thus again challenged, the gaucho, who has meanwhile been doing his best to trace out some course of action, responds, speaking in a slow, meditative way. For as yet he has but a vague idea of what ought to be done.

“Well,” he says, “there’s but one plan I can think of as at all likely to be successful. It may be, if dexterously managed; and I dare say we can so manage it.”

He pauses, seeming to deliberate within himself; which the two youths perceiving, refrain to ask further questions, leaving him to continue at his own time.

Which at length he does, with the odd observation: —

“One of us must become an Indian.”

“Become an Indian!” exclaims Ludwig. “What mean you by that, Gaspar?”

“I mean counterfeit a redskin; get disguised as one, and so steal into their town.”

“Ah! now, I understand. But that will be a dangerous thing to do, Gaspar. If caught – ”

“Of course it will be dangerous,” interrupts the gaucho. “If caught, whoever of us it be, would no doubt get his skull crushed in by a macana, or maybe his body burnt over a slow fire. But as you see everything’s dangerous for us now, one may as well risk that danger as any other. As to counterfeiting an Indian, I propose taking the part myself; and I should be able to play it pretty well, having, as you both know, had some experience in that line. It was by a trick of the same sort I got off from the Guaycurus when I was their prisoner up the Pilcomayo; and if I hadn’t done it neatly, you shouldn’t now see me here.”

“How did you manage it?” queries Ludwig mechanically, or rather, to know how he intended doing it now.

“Well, I borrowed the costume of an ugly savage, who was set to keep guard over me, having first taken a loan of his hardwood club. The club I returned to him, in a way he wouldn’t have wished had he been awake. But he was silly enough to go to sleep, and was sleeping when I took it – ah! and slept on after I returned it – ever after. His dress I kept, and wore for more than a week – in short, till I got back to Paraguay, for I was over a week on the road. It fitted me well; so well, that with some colouring stuff I found in the fellow’s pouch, I was able to paint Indian, pass among the tents of the Guaycurus, and through a crowd of the savages themselves, without one of them suspecting the trick. In that way I slipped out of their camp and off. So, by something of the same I may be able to get the dear little niña out of this town of the Tovas.”

“Oh! do it, Gaspar!” exclaims Cypriano; “do that, and all I have will be yours.”

“Yes! all we both have,” adds Ludwig; “all there is at the estancia. But rescue sister, and I’m sure my mother will make you welcome to everything.”

“Ta-ta!” returns the gaucho, in a tone of reproach at being thus bargained with; gentle, however, as he knows it is from their anxiety about Francesca. “Why, hijos mios, what are you speaking of? Promises to me, – a bribe for but doing my duty! ’Twill be a far day before Gaspar Mendez will need that for service done to either friend or relative of his dear dead master – ay, to the laying down of my life. Carramba! are we not all embarked in the same boat, to swim or sink together? But we sha’n’t sink yet; not one of us. No; we shall swim out of this sea of troubles, and triumphantly. Cease despairing, then; for after all there mayn’t be so much danger. Though Naraguana be dead, there’s one above him, above all, up there in Heaven, who will not forsake us in this our extremity. Let us kneel and pray to Him.”

And they do kneel; Ludwig, as called upon by Gaspar repeating the Lord’s prayer, with a solemnity befitting the occasion.

Chapter Fifty.

A Midnight Promenader

Rising from their knees, and resuming their seats upon the ledge, they return to the subject of discourse, interrupted by their devotional interlude; Caspar declaring it his fixed intention to disguise himself as an Indian, and so seek entrance into the town. No matter what the danger, he is ready to risk it.

The others consenting, the next question that comes before them is, how the disguise is to be got up. About this there seems a difficulty to Ludwig, and also to Cypriano; though recalling the transformation of the latter into a soldier-crane, so quickly done by the deft hands of the gaucho, they doubt not that he will also find the ways and means for transforming himself into a redskin.

“If we only had a Tovas Indian here,” he says, “as I had that sleepy Guaycuru, I’d not be long in changing clothes with him. Well, as we can’t borrow a dress, I must see what can be done to make one. Good luck, there’s no great quantity of cloth in a Tovas suit, and the stitching isn’t much. All that’s needed is a bit of breech-clout, which I can make out of the tail of my shirt; then the poncho over my shoulders, that will cover everything.”

“But the colour of your skin, Gaspar! Wouldn’t that betray you?”

Ludwig thus interrogates, not thinking how easily the dexterous gaucho can alter his complexion, nor recalling what he has said about his having done so to disguise himself as a Guaycuru.