Gaspar the Gaucho: A Story of the Gran Chaco

“It might,” returns Gaspar; “and no doubt would, if I left it as it is; which I don’t intend doing. True, my face is not so fair as to need much darkening, beyond what the sun has done for it. I’ve seen some Tovas Indians with cheeks nigh as white as my own, and so have you, señoritos. As for my arms, legs, and body, they’ll require a little browning, but as it so happens I’ve got the stuff to give it them. After the service rendered me by a coat of that colour, you may trust this gaucho never to go on any expedition over the pampas without a cake of brown paint stowed away in some corner of his alparejas. For the poncho, it won’t be out of place. As you know, there are many of the common kind among the Tovas Indians, worn and woven by them; with some of better sort, snatched, no doubt, from the shoulders of some poor gaucho, found straying too far from the settlements.”

“But, Gaspar,” says Ludwig, still doubting the possibility of the scheme; “surely such a disguise as you speak of will never do? In the daylight they’d see through it.”

“Ah! in the daylight, yes, they might. But I don’t intend giving them that chance. If I enter their town at all, and I see no other way for it, that entry must be made in the darkness. I propose making it to-morrow evening, after the sun’s gone down, and when it’s got to be late twilight. Then they’ll all be off guard, engaged in driving their animals into the corrales, and less likely to notice any one strolling about the streets.”

“But supposing you get safe into the place, and can go about without attracting attention, what will you do?” questions Ludwig.

“What can you?” is the form in which Cypriano puts it.

“Well, señoritos, that will depend on circumstances, and a good deal on the sort of luck in store for us. Still you mustn’t suppose I’m trusting all to chance. Gaspar Mendez isn’t the man to thrust his hand into a hornet’s nest, without a likelihood – nay, a certainty, of drawing some honey out of it.”

“Then you have such certainty now?” interrogates Cypriano, a gleam of hope irradiating his countenance. For the figurative words lead him to believe that the gaucho has not yet revealed the whole of his scheme.

“Of course I have,” is Gaspar’s rejoinder. “If I hadn’t we might as well give everything up, and take the back-track home again. We won’t do that, while there’s a chance left for taking the muchachita along with us.”

“Never!” exclaims Cypriano, with determined emphasis. “If I have to go into their town myself, and die in it, I’ll do that rather than return without my cousin.”

“Be calm, hijo mio!” counsels Gaspar in a soothing tone, intended to curb the excitement of the fiery youth; “I don’t think there will be any need for you either to enter the town, or lay down your life in it. Certainly neither, unless my plan get spoiled by the ill luck that’s been so long hanging about us. It isn’t much of a plan after all; only to find one of the Indians, to whom I did a service when they were living at their old place. I cured the man of a complaint, which, but for the medicine I administered, would have carried him off to the happy hunting grounds – where just then he didn’t wish to go. That medicine wasn’t mine either. I had it from the dueño. But the sick man gave me credit for it all the same, and swore if I ever stood in need of his services, I could count upon receiving them, sure. From what I saw of him afterwards, and we came to know one another pretty well, I think I can. If ever there was a redskin to be trusted it’s he. Besides, he’s one of some authority in the tribe – a sort of sub-chief.”

“I know another,” breaks in Ludwig, as if suddenly recollecting; “one who’d help us too – if we could only have a word with him. That’s Nacena’s brother, Kaolin.”

Cypriano casts at his cousin a glance of peculiar meaning – something like surprise. Not because the latter has made mention of an Indian girl and her brother, both known to himself; but his giving the girl’s name first, as though she were uppermost in his thoughts. And she is; though that is a secret the young naturalist has hitherto kept close locked within his own breast.

Without noticing the glance of scrutiny bent upon him, he proceeds to explain himself.

“You may remember, Kaolin and I were the best of friends. He often went fishing with me, or rather I went with him. And I’m sure he’d stand by me now, in spite of Aguara.”

“So much the better,” rejoins Caspar. “If my man fail me, we can fall back upon yours. What I propose doing, then, is this. We must keep quiet, and of course concealed, all day to-morrow till after sunset. We can employ ourselves in the preparation of my masquerading costume. When it comes on twilight, or a little later, I can slip down among those toldos, and go sauntering about, like any other redskin, till I find my old patient. He being a big fellow, there shouldn’t be much difficulty in doing that. When found I’ll make appeal to him, to help us in getting the niña out of – ” he has it on his tongue to say “Aguara’s clutches,” but thinking of the effect of such a phrase falling upon Cypriano’s ears, he concludes with the words, “whatever place they’re keeping her in.”

Caspar’s scheme thus at length declared, seeming feasible enough – and indeed the only one which any of them can think of as at all practicable – the other two signify assent to it; and its execution, or the attempt, is finally determined upon.

Going on to discuss the steps next best to be taken, they are interrupted by the sound of footsteps – some one ascending from below! The footfall is a light one, but distinct enough for them to tell, that whoever makes it is continuing on towards them, though yet unseen. As already said, the causeway is in part overshadowed by the cliff, and within this shadow keeps the person approaching. For all, on the footsteps drawing near, there is light enough for them to make out a figure; the better from its being clad in a drapery of white, loose and flowing, as though the wearer were a woman.

And so is she, or, to speak more correctly, a girl; her sex and age revealed to them, as at a certain point she steps to the off side of the path, and the moonlight falling upon her, exposes to their view a face beautiful as youthful.

Gaspar and Cypriano both recognise the face, but say nothing. Different Ludwig, who at the first glance got of it, unable to restrain himself, mechanically mutters the name —

“Nacena!”

Chapter Fifty One.

A Dispenser of Spells

Fortunately Ludwig’s exclamation has been uttered in a subdued tone of voice; but lest in his agitation he may speak louder, the gaucho grasps him by the arm, and cautions silence, enjoining the same on Cypriano.

For several seconds not another word passes between them, all three remaining motionless, and silent as sphinxes.

Meanwhile the Indian girl having come opposite the place where they are seated, passes onward with cautious step and eyes that interrogate the ground in front, as if she anticipated seeing some one; like a young hind that has stolen timidly out of the covert, on hearing the call-bleat of the stag.

Soon she is far enough beyond to give them an opportunity of exchanging speech without her overhearing it; and of this the gaucho avails himself, whispering —

“She’s keeping an appointment with her lover, I suppose.”

He little thinks of the painful effect his words have produced upon Ludwig, as he adds —

“We’ll do best to let her go on to their place of meeting, which is no doubt somewhere near. She must return this way, and then we can have our interview with her. But where’s the amanté! A laggard, to let the girl be on the ground before him! That wasn’t my way, when – See! she’s coming to a stop.”

And to a stop she comes, just where the sloping path passes out at the upper end of the defile, entering among the scaffolds. There standing erect, she glances inquiringly around, her gaze ranging along the open spaces between the structures and the shadows underneath them.

For a minute or two she remains in this attitude, without changing it, or making the slightest noise – evidently looking for a form or listening for a footstep. But neither seeing the one, nor hearing the other, she at length calls out a name; at first timidly, but after an interval in bolder tone, “Shebotha!”

“Not her lover after all!” mutters Gaspar, who remembers the name thus pronounced, while Ludwig is relieved at hearing it, he also knowing something of the sorceress.

“Only that old hag!” the gaucho goes on; “I wonder now what the young sprout can be wanting with her, up here and at this hour of the night! Some mischief between them, I haven’t a doubt.”

His conjectures are suddenly brought to a close by a new noise now reaching their ears; a sort of scraping or shuffling, diversified by grunts and coughs – all coming up from below. Turning their eyes that way, they see ascending what appears to be a human figure, but stooped forward so as more to resemble a creature crawling on all fours. At the same instant the Indian girl has caught sight of it; and standing poised on the platform’s edge, she silently awaits its approach, knowing the bent form to be Shebotha’s.

Scrambling on up the steep, at intervals stopping to take breath, while she intermittently gives out hoarse grunts, the hag passes by them, at length reaching the spot where the girl stands awaiting her. Stopping by the side of the latter, both are now seen face to face in the full moonlight; and never did moon shine upon faces or figures more contrasting. On the one side age indicated by a spare body, thin skinny arms, features furrowed with wrinkles, of most repulsive aspect, and eyes sparkling with a sinister light; on the other, youth, with all its witching charms, a figure lithe and graceful as any palm growing on the plain below, features of classic type, and a face exquisitely beautiful, despite its tint of bronze, the eyes bright with the glow of a burning passion. For it is this last that has brought the girl thither.

Only a second or two do they remain silent, till the sorceress recovers breath; for it is she who breaks the silence, saying: —

“Nacena wants to speak with Shebotha? On what subject?”

“Need I tell you, Shebotha; you know!”

“I know that the sister of Kaolin is in love with our young cacique. That is no secret to others, any more than to me.”

“Oh! do not say that! I thought no one knew of it but – ”

“But everybody,” interrupts the unfeeling hag. “And what if they do? Nacena is beautiful, the belle of our tribe, and need fear no rival; not even her with the eyes of blue, and the tresses of gold, who sleeps under Shebotha’s roof. Nacena is jealous of the paleface captive; she has no cause.”

“O, good Shebotha!” cries the young girl, in passionate tone, her heart heaving with rekindled hope, “can you assure me of that? If so, you shall have all I can give you; my armlets, neck ornaments, mantas, hamacas, everything. Fear not my rewarding you well!”

“Nacena is generous,” rejoins the sorceress, her eyes sparkling with pleasure at such a wholesale proffer of chattels. “She shall have that assurance; for Shebotha can give it without fail. See this!”

While speaking, she has drawn out, from under the skin robe that covers her bony breast, what appears to be a small horn, converted into a phial with bottom and stopper.

“In this,” she says, holding it up to the light, “is a fluid, one drop of which, given to Aguara will turn his heart whichever way Shebotha wishes it turned; make him love whomsoever she wants him to love; and that will be as Nacena wants it.”

“Oh! it is good of you, Mam Shebotha so good! How shall I ever enough thank or reward you?”

“No matter about thanks,” responds the hag with a knowing leer; “Shebotha likes better the reward. And what you’ve promised will content her. But promises, as Nacena herself knows, are sometimes badly kept, and should have something to secure them, by way of earnest. What can you give me now?”

The girl glances down to her breast, upon which lie several pendants, sustained by a massive chain of gold passing around her neck. Then she holds out her arms to show bracelets upon the wrists, beset with pearls and precious stones, that no doubt once clasped other wrists than hers – those of palefaced doncellas dwelling in Santiago or Salta. Unclasping the armlets, one after another, she delivers them to Shebotha.

But the avaricious beldame is not yet satisfied. With her eyes upon the chain necklet and its glittering attachments, she nods towards it, as much as to say, “That too.” And it, also, is detached; and handed over to her. Then her greedy eyes go to the fillet around the girl’s temples, and an embroidered belt which encircles her waist. But these, though pretty ornaments, are not of great intrinsic value; and as Shebotha has in view a further levy of blackmail at a future time, she can then take them too.

For the present she appears content, all the more as she gloats over the treasure, which for a while she feasts her eyes upon without speaking. Then slipping the various articles, one after another, into the bosom of her dress, she resumes speech, saying —

“Shebotha has other spells besides that spoken of; one powerful above all, which puts to sleep – ah! a sleep from which the sleeper never awakes. If the other should fail to act, and Aguara – ”

“But you said it could not fail,” breaks in the girl, her countenance again clouding over. “Is there a doubt, Mam Shebotha?”

“There’s always uncertainty in these things,” rejoins the sorceress; “and in the love-spell more than any other. As you know, love is the strongest passion, and therefore the most difficult to control.”

All this, by way of making safe her bargain, for well knows she her spell will not bring back Aguara’s love, lost to Nacena; and as the bulk of the reward promised will depend upon this, she has yet another proposal to make that may ensure its payment. She acts as one who would hedge a bet, and drawing closer to the victim of her delusion, she says —

“If Nacena should ever want the paleface put to sleep by that other spell, Shebotha will administer it.”

As the fiendish suggestion is spoken in a whisper, the three listeners do not hear what it is. They can only guess by the behaviour of the young girl that some offer has been made which she indignantly rejects. This can be told by her rejoinder, and the air in which she delivers it.

“No!” she exclaims, starting back with an expression of horror upon her countenance. “Never, never! If Aguara be untrue to me, it is no fault of the paleface. I know that; and have no vengeance for her. But for him – ah! if he have deceived me, it is not she, but he should suffer punishment. And punished he shall be – by my brother.”

“Oh! your brother!” returns the sorceress with a sneer, evidently in anger at having her offer so rejected. “If Kaolin can right your wrongs, let him.” And she adds, making to move off, “I suppose you haven’t any more need for me, or my services.”

“If she haven’t I have,” cries Gaspar, springing out from the place of concealment and seizing hold of the hag, while at the same instant Cypriano flings his arms around the Indian girl.

“Come, Mam Shebotha!” continues the gaucho, “it’s my turn to have a talk with you.”

She makes an effort to escape, and would cry out; but cannot, with his sinewy fingers around her throat.

“Stop your struggling!” he commands, giving her a shake till her old bones crackle at every joint. “A cry, a word from you above a whisper, and I’ll close your windpipe so that you’ll never grunt through it again. Come, muchachos! Let’s to the other side! One of you bring on the girl. Vamos!”

Raising the hag in his arms he bears her off, with no more care for her comfort than if she were a trapped wolf. Nacena is borne more tenderly in Ludwig’s arms, into which she has been transferred, by a sort of tacit understanding between him and his cousin – the latter walking alongside. No threat hears the girl, nor needs it to enforce silence. For she is no more apprehensive of injury, now knowing him who carries her as her brother’s old playfellow. Above all, does she feel reassured, on hearing whispered in her ear —

“Have no fear, Nacena! Am not I the bosom friend of your brother? I will not deceive you.”

Does she note the earnestness of his words, and the significant emphasis given to those last pronounced? Whether or not, she refrains making rejoinder: but suffers herself to be borne on through the scaffold tombs without resistance, and silent as the forms reposing upon them.

Chapter Fifty Two.

A Friend Unexpected

Straight across the cemetery goes Gaspar, with Shebotha in his arms, nor stops he till back on the spot where the path leads down to the outer plain. Arriving there, he deposits his living burden upon the earth; not gently, but dumping her down with a rude violence, as though it were a bunch of faggots. Still he does not let her out of his arms altogether; but with a threat, once more warning her to be silent, retains fast hold of her, till Cypriano has brought him a lazo from the saddle of one of the horses near by. Looping this round the body of the sorceress, and taking a few turns of it about her arms and ankles, he spreads his poncho over her head, then knots the rope around her neck, and so muffles her beyond the chance of either hearing or making herself heard. All this done, he again raises her from the ground, and carrying her some distance back among the scaffolds, he binds her to a corner post of one with the end of the lazo yet unused. His purpose in thus disposing of her is not clear to his companions, both of whom he has left in charge of the Indian girl; who, on her part, makes no attempt to escape. Instead, released from Ludwig’s arms, she stands silently by his side, neither trembling nor showing sign of fear. Why should she, with those words of friendly assurance which have been once more whispered in her ear?

And now Gaspar getting back to where they stand, and speaking in the Tovas tongue sufficiently well to be understood by her, says to Nacena —

“Muchacha mia! you see who we are, and know all three of us. We know you, Nacena – even to your tenderest secret; which has been revealed to us in the dialogue just held between yourself and Mam Shebotha. Every word of that we’ve heard, with the lies she’s been telling you. And let me tell you, that of all the wicked impostor’s promises, there’s but one she could have kept – that to rid you of her you deem a rival. And she could only have done that by doing murder; which was what she meant by her sleeping draught.”

The young girl shudders listening to what she knows is but the truth.

“’Twas good of you to reject the foul proposal,” goes on the gaucho, “and indignantly, as we know you did. We saw and heard it all. And now, I have a proposal to offer, which you won’t reject; I’m sure you won’t, Nacena.”

She makes no rejoinder, but stands waiting to receive it.

“It is,” he continues, “that you can still rid yourself of that rival, not by doing wrong, but right and justice. With your help we shall take her away to a place where Aguara will never more set eyes upon her. But as I’ve said, we stand in need of your assistance, and you must give it.”

“You will, you will!” interposes Cypriano, in tones of earnest appeal.

“Yes, dear Nacena,” follows Ludwig, in tenderer tones; “I’m sure you will. Remember, she is my sister, and that you yourself have a brother!”

Had they but known it, there was no need for all this petitioning. Even while Gaspar was speaking, and long before he had finished, the Indian girl, with the quick, subtle instinct of her race, divined what they were aiming at – the very end she herself desires, and might have proposed to them. The same instinct, however, prompts her to feign ignorance of it, as evinced by her interrogative rejoinder: —

“How can Nacena assist you? In what way?”

“By helping us to get the paleface out of her prison.” It is Gaspar who speaks. “She is imprisoned, is she not?”

“She is.”

“And where is she kept?” further questions the gaucho.

Cypriano trembles as he listens for the answer. He fears, half expecting it to be, “In the toldo of the cacique.”

It is a relief to him, when Nacena, pointing towards the dark object bound to the scaffold-post, says: “She has charge of the paleface captive.”

“Bueno!” ejaculates Gaspar with delight in his eyes, as in those of Cypriano. “Nothing could be better than that. And now that we have Shebotha here, no one will be guarding the prisoner – will there?”

“Alas, yes!” responds the Indian girl, her words with their tone telling that she has entered into the spirit of their enterprise.

“Who?” interrogates Gaspar. “What is he – if it be a man?”

“Yes, a man. A white man, like yourselves; one who has been long with our tribe – a captive taken many years ago from some of the countries south. He is Shebotha’s own slave, and watches over the paleface when she is out of the toldo.”

Again the gaucho ejaculates, “Bueno!” adding, in sotto voce, to his two companions, “It seems better still; a bit of rare good luck; that is, if this white man, whoever he be, isn’t grown Indianised, as I’ve known some to be.” Then to the girl. “Shebotha’s slave, you say? In that case, he should be wanting to regain his liberty, and we may give him the chance. If need be, we can take him along, too. You understand, Nacena?”

“I do.”

“Then you agree to assist us?”

“Say yes!” urges Cypriano.

“My sister, Nacena!” adds Ludwig.

In response to their united appeals, she points to the sorceress, saying —

“Her vengeance is to be dreaded. If I do as you wish me, Shebotha – ”

“Won’t hurt a hair of your head,” says Gaspar, interrupting. “Nor can’t. She’ll not be near enough to do you any injury. That worthy woman is on the eve of a long journey, to be made in our company, if you agree to assist us in getting the paleface away. You do agree to it, amiga mia?”

The girl fully comprehending, and relieved at the thought of the dreaded sorceress being taken out of the way, at length not only signifies assent to their scheme, but embraces it with alacrity. Its success will be to her advantage as theirs, ridding her of that rival feared, and it may be, restoring to her the affections of him on whom she has fixed her own.

And now that confidence is established between her and her captors, she gives them a full account of how things stand in the tolderia, and the place where the captive is confined. Having heard which, Gaspar counsels her how to act, as a last word, saying —

“Tell this white man, who has charge of the niña, he need no longer be a prisoner himself, nor Shebotha’s slave. Say to him, that men of his own race and colour are near, ready to rescue and take him back to his people, wherever they may be. Surely that will be enough to gain him to our side, and get his help also.”

Nacena hesitates for a time; then answering, says —

“No, not enough, I fear.”

“But why?”

“The white man is not in his senses. He has lost them long ago. The little left him is given to Shebotha. He fears her, as all our people do; but he more than any. She has surely left him with commands to keep a close watch. He does not disobey her; and it may be impossible for me to speak with the paleface, much more get her away from him.”

“Caspita!” exclaims Gaspar, his countenance again turning grave. “There will be a difficulty there, I see it; if the man’s crazed, as you say he is, Nacena. You think he won’t let you speak with the prisoner, unless you have permission from Shebotha?”

“He will not – I am sure he will not.”

“In that case all may be idle, and our scheme go for nought. Por Dios! what’s to be done?”

Pressing his head between his hands, the gaucho stands considering, while the other three in silence await the result. His deliberation is not for long; a bright idea has flashed across his brain, and with his countenance also recovering brightness, he exclaims —

“Gracios a Dios! I know how it can be managed; I think I know.”