CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.
GASPAR DESPONDENT.
"Naraguana dead!" exclaims the gaucho, as standing upon the scaffold hegazes upon the form at his feet. "_Santissima_! this is strange!"
"But is it certainly the old _cacique_?" he adds, again stooping downand raising the selvedge of feather cloth, which had fallen back overthe face. Once more exposed to view, the features deeply-furrowed withage--for Naraguana was a very old man--and now further shrivelled by thedry winds of the Chaco, with the skin drawn tight over high-cheek bones,and hollow, sightless sockets, where once shone pair of eyes coal-blackand keen--all this under the pale moonlight, presents a spectacle atonce 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 uplike a mummy! Died of old age, no doubt. Well," he continues, ingraver tone, "by whatever way he may have come to his end, no greatermisfortune 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 hisyouthful comrades are reclining, and as he supposes asleep. On thatside is the moon, and as her light falls over his face, there can beseen upon it an expression of great anxiety and pain--greater than anythat has marked it since that moment, when in the _sumac_ grove he bentover the dead body of his murdered master.
But the troubled look now overspreading his features springs not fromgrief, nor has anger aught to do with it. Instead, it is allapprehension. For now, as though a curtain had been suddenly liftedbefore his eyes, he sees beyond it, there perceiving for himself and hiscompanions danger such as they had not yet been called upon toencounter. 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 fromhim. And who else is there to give it? Who, besides, would have thepower 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 stilluncovered face, he seems to examine it as though it were a trail uponthe pampas, in order to discover what tale it may tell. And just for alike 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--atleast two or three weeks. That explains their leaving the other town insuch haste, and coming on here. Dead, or deadly sick, before he leftit, the old chief would have himself to think of, and so sent no word tous at the _estancia_. No blame to him for not doing so. And now thatthe young one's in power, with a fool's head and a wolf's heart, whatmay we expect from him? Ah, what? In a matter like this, neither gracenor mercy. I know he loves the _muchachita_, with such love as a savagemay--passionately, madly. All the worse for her, poor thing! And allthe poorer chance for us to get her away from him. _Por Dios_! it doeslook dark."
After a pause, he continues:
"His making her a captive and bringing her on here, I can quiteunderstand; 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 onlyodd his chancing to meet master out that day, so far from home. Onewould suppose he'd been watching the _estancia_, and saw them as theywent away from it. But then, there were no strange tracks about theplace, 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 itfrom the other, and then ridden round, to meet the Indians afterwards atthe crossing of the stream. Well, I shall give the whole ground abetter examination once we get back."
"Get back!" he exclaims, repeating his words after a pause, and inchanged tone. "Shall we ever get back? That's the question now, and avery doubtful one it is. But," he adds, turning to descend from thescaffold, "it won't help us any on the road my remaining up here. Ifthe 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 hedoes in the face of another man, Gaspar the gaucho, could not forego ajest, so much delights he to indulge in his ludicrous humour.
After unburdening himself as above, he once more closes his arms aroundthe 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 aboutreturning to the place of bivouac, where his youthful companions are nowno doubt enjoying the sweets of a profound slumber.
"A pity to disturb them!" he mutters to himself; "and with such a taleas I have now to tell. But it must be told, and at once. Now thateverything'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 adifferent way from what we intended. _Caspita_! how the luck's turnedagainst us!"
And with this desponding reflection, he moves off from the scaffold;and, making his way among the mausoleums, once more approaches the spotwhere the South American banyan casts its sombre shadow over them.