Gaspar the Gaucho: A Story of the Gran Chaco

Though Ludwig has expressed his opinion that they will soon see Francesca, he is silent about these suspicions. There is no time to speak of them if he would. For in a few seconds after Nacena’s separating from them, Gaspar gives the signal for action, and all three become engaged in getting ready their horses for a return to the plain.

“Por Dios!” mutters the gaucho, while slipping on his bridle. “I don’t much fancy remaining longer in this melancholy place. Though high and airy, it mayn’t be wholesome. If, after all, that brown beauty should change her mind, and play us false, we’d be in a bad predicament up here – a regular trap, with no chance of retreating from it. So the sooner we’re back to the bottom of the hill, the safer ’twill be. There we’ll at least have some help from the speed of our horses, if in the end we have to run for it. Let us get below at once!”

Having by this finished adjusting his bridle, he hands the rein to Cypriano, adding —

“You hold this, señorito, while I go after Shebotha. Botheration take that old hag! She’ll be a bother to us, to say nothing of the extra weight for our poor horses. After all, she’s not very heavy – only a bag of bones.”

“But, Gaspar; are you in earnest about our taking her along with us?” asks Cypriano.

“How are we to help it, hijo mio! If we leave her here, she’d be back in the town before we could get started; that is, if we have the good luck to get started at all. I needn’t point out what would be the upshot of that. Pursuit, as a matter of course, pell mell, and immediate. True, we might leave her tied to the post, and muffled as she is. But then she’d be missed by to-morrow morning, if not sooner, and they’d be sure to look for her up here. No likelier place for such as she, among these scaffolds; except tied to a scaffold of another sort, and in a somewhat different style.”

The gaucho pauses, partly to enjoy his own jest, at which he is grinning, and partly to consider whether Shebotha can be disposed of in any other way.

Cypriano suggests another, asking —

“Why couldn’t we take her in among these trees, and tie her to one of them? There’s underwood thick enough to conceal her from the eyes of anyone passing by, and with the muffle over her head, as now, she couldn’t cry out that they’d hear her.”

“’Twould never do,” rejoins Gaspar, after an instant of reflection. “Hide her as we might, they’d find her all the same. These redskins, half-naked though they are, can glide about among bushes, even thorny ones, like slippery snakes. So many of them, they’d beat every bit of thicket within leagues, in less than no time. Besides, you forget their dogs. Scores they have – ay, hundreds, some of them keen-scented as beagles. Carrai! they’d smell the nasty witch half-a-mile off, and so discover her whereabouts to their masters.”

“True,” returns Cypriano, seeing the plan he has proposed would not do. “In that way they would find her, no doubt.”

“And if they didn’t,” interposed Ludwig, speaking from a sentiment of humanity, “it would be dreadful.”

“Dreadful! what do you mean?” asks Cypriano, looking puzzled. “For them not to find her is just what we want.”

“Ah, cousin! how would it be for her? Tied to a tree, with no hope – no chance of getting loosed from it – she’d die of hunger or thirst – miserably perish. Wicked as Shebotha is, we’d be worse than she if we left her to such a fate as that, to say nothing of our bringing it upon her. Ay, and for doing so we’d deserve the same ourselves, or something as bad.”

“Well, Señor Ludwig,” rejoins the gaucho, with an air of submission rather than conviction, “you may be right in what you say, and I’m not the man to deny it. But there need be no difference of opinion on that point. Leaving Shebotha tied to a tree wouldn’t do on any account, for the reasons I’ve stated. It might – most likely would, and, as you say, it ought – end in ourselves getting tied to trees or stakes, with a bundle of faggots between our legs set to the tune of a slow fire. But,” he adds, after a second or two spent considering, “there’s only one other way I can think of to deal with the witch, if we’re not to take her with us.”

“What’s the other?” asks Cypriano, seeing that the gaucho hesitates to declare it.

“Why, knock her on the head, or draw the blade of a cuchilla across her throat, and so stop her grunting at once and for ever. The old wretch deserves no better fate and hanging’s too good for her. But they’d find her dead body all the same; though not with a tongue in it to tell who stopped her wind, or, what’s of more consequence, how and which way we went off. Besides, I dare say, the Señor Ludwig wouldn’t agree to our getting disembarrassed of her in that fashion.”

“Oh! no, no!” ejaculates the humane youth, horrified at the thought of such cruelty, “anything but that, Caspar.”

“Well, there isn’t anything but what I propose doing – that is, taking her along. I’m willing to accommodate her on the croup of my recado, and will show her all the gallantry she deserves. If you’re jealous, Señor Ludwig, you may have her behind you; and as your horse is the lightest laden, that might be best. When we’re crossing back over that riacho where you left your saddle-bags, if you’re tired of riding double, you can drop her down among the lightning-eels, and let them play their batteries upon her old bones till every joint of them cracks asunder.”

Were it not for the gravity of the situation, Gaspar’s young companions would be greatly amused at his quaint rhodomontade. But as both are too anxious about the future, and in no humour for a jest, Ludwig only answers with a faint smile; while Cypriano, alone thinking of Francesca, has somewhat impatiently listened to it. Having hold of the bridle-rein which the gaucho has handed to him, on the latter ceasing to speak, he says in urgent tone —

“Bring her along, then, good Gaspar; and be quick about it! As you’ve said, we should get down to the plain as soon as possible.”

The admonition is not needed, for Gaspar does not waste time over his jokes, nor allow them to interfere with his action. And while delivering the last sally, he has been looking to his horse-gear, to see that his recade is in a proper condition to receive her who is to be his double.

Satisfied it will do, he strides off to where Shebotha is tied; and in a few seconds returns bearing the sorceress in his arms, as though she were but a bundle of rags.

Hoisting her up to his horse’s withers, and with a stern threat and a shake, telling her to stay there, he springs upon the saddle behind her. It would not be their relative positions, then riding double, were they starting out on a long journey. But it will do for the half-mile or so, to the bottom of the hill, and for that short distance it seems idle either to bind her to his own body or to the saddle. So thinks Gaspar; but in this the gaucho, with all his prudent sagacity, is for once incautious to a fault. As they are groping their way down the steep slope, zig-zagging among the tree trunks that stand thickly on both sides of the path, a troop of ring-tailed monkeys asleep in their tops, having their slumbers disturbed by the clink-clink of the hoofs against stones, set up a lugubrious howling. All the three horses are affrighted by the unearthly noise, but Gaspar’s more than any; so much, that rearing erect upon its hind legs, with the ground so uneven, the animal loses balance, and stumbles over on its side.

As the gaucho gathers himself, stunned and somewhat dazed by the fall, ’tis to learn that for that night his riding double is at an end, with Shebotha sharing the saddle; for the sorceress is no longer to be seen!

Chapter Fifty Six.

An Infuriated Female

There is no mystery about Shebotha’s disappearance nor aught out of the way save in the adroitness with which the aged crone contrived to effect her escape. Soon as touching the ground, and feeling herself free from the arms hitherto holding her on horseback, she has darted into the underwood, and off; not even rising erect to her feet, but on all fours, and silently as a snake. For although the hillside is so thickly overgrown with thorny scrub that a pointer would with difficulty quarter it, the supple old savage worms her way through, without making any more noise than would a badger just got out of the barrel, and away from the dogs that have been baiting it.

In her retreat, she does not proceed for any great distance in a direct line, nor long continue crawling through the tangle of bushes. She is acquainted with every inch of that wooded slope, and all the paths traversing it, even to the tiniest trace of bird or quadruped; and soon coming into one of these, she at length stands upright. But not to stay there for any time, only long enough to give a glance to the right and left, in order that she may assure herself as to which of the two she had best take. Deciding in an instant, she is off again in crouched attitude, but with the agility of youth itself. Up the hill she goes, back towards the Cemetery. And one who saw her ascending before seeing her now, would with difficulty believe it to be the same person. Then, however, she was taking it leisurely, with no particular call for haste nor the taxing of her strength; now there is a motive for her making speed, with every exertion in her power. Indeed, more than one; for she is urged by two of the strongest passions that can agitate the human breast – cupidity and vengeance. While depriving her of her ghastly necklace, Gaspar had taken the occasion to possess himself of the more elegant and valuable ornaments stripped from the person of Nacena; not with any thought to appropriate them to himself, but the intention of restoring them to their rightful owner, when the latter should re-appear to claim them. Coming back, and bringing with her the captive, the Indian girl would well deserve restitution of her trinkets.

Thwarted in her infernal schemes, stung to fury by their failure, Shebotha goes panting up the hill; but, despite her hard breathing, without stopping to take breath. Nor rests she on reaching the summit, but glides on across the Cemetery, finding her way through the wooden structures as one who knows every scaffold there, and whose bones are mouldering upon it.

It is not from fear of being followed that she is now so hastening her steps. She knows that they from whom she has escaped will not return thither. For although hindered from hearing their conversation with Nacena, and so becoming acquainted with their plans, if not fully comprehending, she at least surmises them. For, having recognised the gaucho and his companions – all three of them – what purpose could they have there other than to release the paleface girl she has in her charge? And from the fact of their having themselves released Nacena – let her go without further detention than would be required to come to an understanding – she concludes that this has been come to, and the Indian girl consented to aid them in their intended rescue. But it will not be successful if she, Shebotha, can prevent it; and desperately bent on doing so, she rushes on through the scaffolds, and down the road to the tolderia, as if some danger threatened her from behind.

Arriving by the door of her own hut, she utters an exclamation of surprise at not there seeing her slave. Still another, after having called out his name, and received no answer. Her astonishment is complete and her rage at full height, when, having stepped up to the threshold of the toldo, she sees there is no one inside. The beeswax dip, burnt low and flickering in the socket, faintly lights up the hideous objects of her craft and calling; but shows no form of human being!

It is only a mechanical act her entering within the hut, and proceeding on to its inner apartment; for she is quite as sure it, too, will be found empty – as she finds it.

Almost instantly returning to the door, she stands gazing out into the darkness. Were there a light in front, her eyes would be seen to glare in their sunken sockets with the brightness of fire-balls; while in her breast is burning the fury of a concentrated vengeance. Once again she calls out the name of her slave, but as before getting no answer; and now sure that he, too, has either betrayed her, or been himself betrayed, she glides silently out of the toldo, and off towards that in which sleeps Aguara.

Soon she reaches its door, which she finds wide open; for it is within the tropics, and the night is a warm one. Craning her head inside, and listening for a second or two, she can tell by his breathing that the cacique is asleep. A slumber abruptly broken by her calling out —

“Son of Naraguana, awake!”

“Shebotha!” he exclaims, recognising her shrill treble. “What is it?” he adds, raising his head over the edge of his hamaca.

“Arise, Aguara! and make all haste. Know that there are enemies near, and treason in your tribe. You’ve been betrayed, and so has Shebotha!”

“Betrayed! How?” he asks in wonderment, but without leaving the hammock. “Who are these enemies you speak of? Who the traitors?”

“You’ll learn that in time, chief. It may be enough for you now to know, that your paleface captive has escaped.”

“Escaped!” he cries out, bounding down upon the floor, and coming forward to the entrance. “The paleface escaped, you say? Are you speaking truth, Mam Shebotha?”

“Come to my toldo, and see for yourself.”

“No, that’s not needed, if you say she’s gone. Tell me how, when, and whither. Be quick!”

In hurried phrase she recounts the incidents which have occurred to her and Nacena on the Cemetery Hill, adding her conjectures as to what may have transpired since, and may still be in the act of occurrence. Among these last are her suspicions, well founded as we know, that Kaolin’s sister has aided the paleface to escape; and that her own slave, who should have hindered, has not only connived at it, but taken himself away as well. In short, the cage is empty, and the bird with its keeper both flown!

What direction the fugitives have taken, is a question to which the sorceress can give answer without the need of any doubtful surmise or conjecture. She knows it as well as if she herself had appointed the place of rendezvous, given by Gaspar to the Indian girl. For while riding double with the gaucho, she had heard him speak of it to his companions; heard, despite the poncho spread over her ears, the word ceiba, with others, which told of their intention to stay by that tree.

The cacique knows the noted spot, as well as Nacena herself, he too having oft played beneath its shade, or climbed up its grand trunk and disported himself among its branches, when more of a boy than he is now.

But he reflects not on these past times, so full of innocence and happiness. Instead, wild with rage, and wretched as he is angry, he stays not to reflect at all; but hastily, and little better than half-dressed, he rushes forth from his toldo, calling loudly for his horse.

Meanwhile, the sorceress has aroused others of the tribe; several of whom, in obedience to their chief’s command, start off for the corrals to procure the horses necessary for a pursuit of the fugitives.

Aguara’s is on the ground first; and, without waiting for companion or attendant of any kind, he vaults upon the animal’s back, and goes off at a gallop along the path, which, after turning around close to the hill, at about a mile’s distance, farther on passes the ceiba tree.

Chapter Fifty Seven.

The Captive Recaptured

Impossible to describe the feelings of Caspar, when having recovered his feet after the tumble out of his recado, he finds that Shebotha has got away from him. It is some consolation to know that neither himself nor his horse has received serious injury. Still not sufficient to satisfy him, nor allay the wild exasperation burning within his breast, which seeks to vent itself in a string of maledictions poured plenteously from his lips.

As the hag, however, has surely succeeded in getting off, and it would be idle to attempt pursuing through the thick scrub, his anathemas hurled after her are all in vain: and, at thought of this, he soon ceases to pronounce them. For the reflection quick follows, that he and his companions have now something else to think about – their own safety, doubly endangered by Shebotha’s escape.

“Mil demonios!” is his last exclaim of the kind, after getting his horse upright again and himself back into the saddle, “who’d have believed the old beldame had so much suppleness in her joints? But it’s no joking matter. Only to think of it! Everything looking so bright, and now Satan’s luck once more back upon us – bad, if not worse, than ever! Well, we mustn’t dilly-dally here. If there’s still a chance left us, we’ll have to look for it down below, by that big cotton tree.”

Saying which, he again gives the rein to his horse, and continues the descent of the hill, the others head and tail close after.

On reaching the said cotton tree, however, Gaspar changes his mind about that spot being the best for their temporary abiding place. Since its being arranged as a rendezvous with Nacena, the circumstances have sadly altered, and, on reflection, he deems it better, as do the others, to keep on along the road towards the tolderia– at least for some little distance. There can be no harm in that, nor danger of their going astray. The path is a plain one, much trampled by horses and cattle, and, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, easily discernible. If fortune so far favour them, that the captive will be coming that way, under the guidance of the Indian girl, the sooner these be met the more chance for all eventually getting safe off, rescuers as rescued.

So concluding, they make scarce a moment’s halt by the ceiba; but, passing under its umbrageous branches, head their horses along the trail leading to the town.

At this moment were it daylight, or even a clear moonlight, one placed upon the brow of the hill fronting south-eastward, and looking down to the level plain by its base, would behold two separate parties moving upon it, but in opposite directions, so that, if they continue to advance, they must meet. One party is mounted, the other afoot; the former being Gaspar and his two companions, while the latter is also composed of three individuals – Nacena, Francesca, and Shebotha’s slave. The two girls, going in a half-run, are side by side, and ahead of the man; who, less free of foot, has fallen behind them to a distance of some twenty or thirty paces. Nacena, who knows the way, guides the escaping captive, and has hold of her by the hand. They are now not more than half-a-mile from the mounted party, coming the opposite way, and in a few minutes should meet it, if nothing prevent. Already within hailing distance, they might hear one another’s voices; but neither being aware of this mutual proximity, all advance in silence – the trio on horseback proceeding at a slow pace for caution’s sake, lest the tread of their animals should betray them.

But if their own be not heard afar, there are other hoofs making a noise to disturb the stillness of the night. Just as the Indian girl has whispered to her paleface protégée some words of cheer, saying that her friends are now no great way off, she is startled by the hoof-stroke of a horse, which her practised ear tells her to be ridden; while the rapid repetition of the sound denotes the animal going in a gallop.

Suddenly she stops, and listens. Clearer rings the “tramp – tramp,” as nearer the horseman approaches. Coming up behind, from the direction of the town, who can it be but one in pursuit of them? And if a pursuer, what other than Aguara?

Still Nacena is in doubt, and deems it strange. As they stole away from Shebotha’s hut, and through the straggling suburb of the tolderia, all was darkness and silence, everybody seeming asleep. Who or what could have awakened the cacique, and apprised him of the flight of his captive?

In asking herself these questions, Kaolin’s sister is under the belief, that the sorceress is herself still a prisoner, in the keeping of that stalwart and redoubtable gaucho. Hence her surprise at their being pursued, with the uncertainty that they are so, and the further doubt of the pursuer being Aguara.

He it is, notwithstanding; and as yet pursuing alone. For although soon can be heard the hoof-strokes of other horses than his also following, these are faint and far-off. He himself hears them; knows it is a party of his young braves pressing on after, but will not wait for them to come up. For he hopes to overtake the fugitives, ere they can reach the place of rendezvous Shebotha has spoken of, and recover his captive before she can fling herself into the arms of protecting friends.

In this hope, alas! he is not disappointed. Dashing on through the darkness along a road with every foot of which both he and his horse are familiar, he first comes up with the half-witted creature lagging behind, soon as beside him putting the question —

“Where is the paleface, your prisoner?”

The man, frightened at seeing it is the cacique, in his confusion hesitates to make reply. But Aguara does not wait for it. He hears voices ahead – soft and sweet, though raised in tones of alarm – and knows she must be there. Giving his horse’s head a wrench, so as to shave close past the delinquent jailer, he raises his macana, and dealing a downward blow, strikes the latter to the earth: then hastens on after the others.

Nacena now knows for certain that they are pursued, as also who is the pursuer. She has heard the question asked by Aguara, recognising his voice; heard also the dull thud of his club as it descended on the skull of the unfortunate man; and now again hears the trampling of hoofs renewed and drawing nearer. She has still hold of Francesca’s hand, and for a moment debates within herself what is best to be done, and whether she should not release it, and turning show front to the pursuer.

Too late for that, or aught else likely to be of service either to herself or protégée. Before any resolve reaches her the cacique, is by their side; and flinging himself from his horse, grasps both by the wrists, wrenching asunder their joined hands. Then turning upon the Indian girl with a cry of rage – a curse in the Tovas tongue – he strikes her with his shut fist, inflicting a blow which sends her reeling to the earth. Before she can regain her feet he is once more upon his horse, and heading back for the tolderia– his recovered captive in his arms!

Chapter Fifty Eight.

Va Con Dios

In a rush Aguara goes, fast as his animal can be urged by heel and voice. For, while so roughly separating the two girls, these had shouted in alarm, and his ear had caught other cries raised at a distance, and as if responsive. Now he hears them again; men’s voices, and mingling with them the trampling of hoofs – clearly several horses coming on in a gallop. She, he has in his arms, hears them too, but listens not in silence or unresisting. Instead, she struggles and shrieks, calling “Help, help!” with the names “Ludwig, Cypriano, Gaspar!”

She is heard by all three; for it is they who responded to the cries of herself and Nacena, knowing who gave utterance to them. Near they are now, and riding as in a race; they, too, pressing their horses to utmost speed. But the darkness is against them, as their ignorance of the ground, with which the man pursued is familiar. By this, at every step, they are obstructed; and but for the screams of Francesca, still continued, might as well abandon the chase for any chance they have of overtaking him.

And overtake him they never would, nor could, were fortune not in their favour. An accident it may appear; at the same time seeming a divine retribution for wrong – a very Nemesis in the path of the wicked Aguara. On returning past the spot where he had struck down Shebotha’s slave, he sees the unfortunate man stretched along the ground, and, to all appearance, still insensible. Nought cares he for that, but his horse does; and, at sight of the prostrate form, the animal, with a snort of affright, shies to one side, and strikes off in a new direction. Going at so swift a pace, and in such a dim light, in a few bounds it enters among some bushes, where it is brought up standing. Before its rider can extricate it, a strong hand has hold of it by the head, with a thumb inserted into its nostrils, while the fingers of another are clutching at his own throat. The hand on the horse’s muzzle is that of Caspar the gaucho, the fingers that grope to get a gripe on the rider’s neck being those of Cypriano.