They exchange thoughts on the subject--the child equally perplexed with the parent; and after an interval pa.s.sed in conjecturing, all to no purpose, Halberger is about to turn and ride home again, when it occurs to him he had better find out in what direction the Indians went away from their village.
There is no difficulty in discovering this; the trail of their ridden horses, still more that of their pack animals, is easily found and followed. It leads out from the village at the opposite end from that by which they themselves entered; and after following it for a mile or so along the river"s bank, they see that it takes an abrupt turn across the _pampa_. Up to this point it has been quite conspicuous, and is also beyond; for although it is anything but recent, no rain has since fallen, and the hoof-prints of the horses can be here and there distinguished clean cut on the smooth sward, over which the mounted men had gone at a gallop. Besides, there is the broad belt of trodden gra.s.s where the pack animals toiled more slowly along; and upon this bits of broken utensils, with other useless articles, have been dropped and abandoned, plainly proclaiming the character of the cavalcade.
Here Halberger would halt, and turn back, but for a remembrance coming into his mind which hinders, at the same time urging him to continue on.
In one of his hunting excursions he had been over this ground before, and remembers that some ten miles further on a tributary stream flows into the Pilcomayo. Curious to know whether the departing Tovas have turned up this tributary, or followed the course of the main river, he determines to proceed. For glancing skyward, he sees that the sun is just crossing the meridian, and knows he will have no lack of time before darkness can overtake him. The circ.u.mstances and events, so strange and startling, cause him to forget that promise made to his wife--soon to be back at the _estancia_.
Spurring his horse, and calling on Francesca to follow, he starts off again at a brisk gallop; which is kept up till they draw bridle on the bank of the influent stream.
This, though broad, is but shallow, with a selvedge of soft ooze on either side; and on that where they have arrived the mud shows the track of several hundred horses. Without crossing over, Halberger can see that the Indian trail leads on along the main river, and not up the branch stream.
Again he is on the balance, to go back--with the intention of returning next day, accompanied by Caspar, and making further search for the missing Indians--when an object comes under his eye, causing him to give a start of surprise.
It is only the track of a horse; and strange that this should surprise him, among hundreds. But the one on which he has fixed his attention differs from all the rest in being the hoof-print of a _shod_ horse, while the others are as Nature made them. Still even this difference would not make so much impression upon him were the tracks of the same _age_. Himself skilled as any Indian in the reading of _pampas_ sign, at a glance he sees they are not. The hoof-marks of the Tovas horses in their travelling train are all quite three weeks old; while the animal having the iron on its heels, must have crossed over that stream within the week.
Its rider, whoever he was, could not have been in the company of the departing Tovas; and to him now regarding the tracks, it is only a question as to whether he were a _white_ man, or Indian. Everything is against his having been the former, travelling in a district tabooed to the palefaces, other than Halberger and his--everything, save the fact of his being on the back of a _shod_ horse; while this alone hinders the supposition of the animal being bestridden by an Indian.
For a long while the hunter-naturalist, with Francesca by his side, sits in his saddle contemplating the shod hoof-prints in a reverie of reflection. He at length thinks of crossing the tributary stream, to see if these continue on with the Indian trail, and has given his horse the spur, with a word to his daughter to do likewise, when voices reach his ear from the opposite side, warning him to pull in again. Along with loud words and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns there is laughter; as of boys at play, only not stationary in one place, but apparently moving onward, and drawing nearer to him.
On both sides of the branch stream, as also along the banks of the river, is a dense growth of tropical vegetation--mostly underwood, with here and there a tall _moriche_ palm towering above the humbler shrubs.
Through this they who travel so gleefully are making their way; but cannot yet be seen from the spot where Halberger has halted. But just on the opposite bank, where the trail goes up from the ford, is a bit of treeless sward, several acres in extent, in all likelihood, kept clear of undergrowth by the wild horses and other animals on their way to the water to drink. It runs back like an embayment into the close-growing scrub, and as the trail can be distinguished debouching at its upper end, the naturalist has no doubt that these joyous gentry are approaching in that direction.
And so are they--a singular cavalcade, consisting of some thirty individuals on horseback; for all are mounted. Two are riding side by side, some little way ahead of the others, who follow also in twos--the trail being sufficiently wide to admit of the double formation. For the Indians of _pampa_ and prairie--unlike their brethren of the forest, do not always travel "single file." On horseback it would string them out too far for either convenience or safety. Indeed, these horse Indians not unfrequently march in column, and in line.
With the exception of the pair spoken of as being in the advance, all the others are costumed, and their horses caparisoned, nearly alike.
Their dress is of the simplest and scantiest kind--a hip-cloth swathing their bodies from waist to mid-thigh, closely akin to the "breech-clout"
of the Northern Indian, only of a different material. Instead of dressed buckskin, the loin covering of the Chaco savage is a strip of white cotton cloth, some of wool in bands of bright colour having a very pretty effect. But, unlike their red brethren of the North, they know nought of either leggings or moccasin. Their mild climate calls not for such covering; and for foot protection against stone, thorn, or thistle, the Chaco Indian rarely ever sets sole to the ground--his horse"s back being his home habitually.
Those now making way through the wood show limbs naked from thigh to toe, smooth as moulded bronze, and proportioned as if cut by the chisel of Praxiteles. Their bodies above also nude; but here again differing from the red men of the prairies. No daub and disfigurement of chalk, charcoal, vermilion, or other garish pigment; but clear skins showing the l.u.s.trous hue of health, of bronze or brown amber tint, adorned only with some stringlets of sh.e.l.l beads, or the seeds of a plant peculiar to their country.
All are mounted on steeds of small size, but sinewy and perfect in shape, having long tails and flowing manes; for the barbarism of the clipping shears has not yet reached these barbarians of the Chaco.
Nor yet know they, or knowing, they use not saddle. A piece of ox-hide, or sc.r.a.p of deer-skin serves them for its subst.i.tute; and for bridle a raw-hide rope looped around the under jaw, without head-strap, bittless, and single reined, enabling them to check or guide their horses, as if these were controlled by the cruellest of curbs, or the jaw-breaking Mameluke bitt.
As they file forth two by two into the open ground, it is seen that there is some quality and fashion common to all; to wit, that they are all youths--not any of them over twenty--and that they wear their hair cropped in front, showing a square line across the forehead, but left untouched on the crown and back of the head. There it falls in full profuseness, reaching to the hips, and in the case of some mingling with the tails, of their horses.
Two, however, are notably different from the rest; they riding in the advance, with a horse"s length or so of interval between them and their following. One of the two differs only in the style of his dress; being an Indian as the others, and, like them, quite a youth, to all appearance the youngest of the party. Yet also their chief, by reason of his richer and grander dress; his attire being of the most picturesque and costly kind worn by the Chaco savages. Covering his body, from the breast to half-way down his thighs, is a sort of loosely-fitting tunic of white cotton stuff. Sleeveless, it leaves his arm bare from nigh the shoulder to the wrist, around which glistens a bracelet with the sheen of solid gold. His limbs also are bare, save a sort of gartering below the knee, of sh.e.l.l and bead embroidery. On his head is a fillet band ornamented in like manner, with bright plumes, set vertically around it--the tail-feathers of the _guacamaya_, one of the most superb of South American parrots. But the most distinctive article of his apparel is his _manta_, a sort of cloak of the _poncho_ kind, hanging loosely behind his back, but altogether different from the well-known garment of the gauchos, which is usually woven from wool.
That on the shoulders of the young Indian is of no textile fabric, but the skin of a fawn, tanned and bleached to the softness and whiteness of a dress kid glove, the outward side being elaborately feather-worked in flowers and patterns, the feathers obtained from many a bird of gay plumage.
Of form perfectly symmetrical, the young Indian, save for his complexion, would seem a sort of Apollo, or Hyperion on horseback; while he who rides alongside him, withal that his skin is white, or once was, might well be likened to the Satyr. A man over thirty years of age, tall, and of tough, sinewy frame, with a countenance of the most sinister cast, dressed gaucho fashion, with the wide petticoat breeches lying loose about his limbs, a striped _poncho_ over his shoulders, and a gaudy silken kerchief tied turban-like around his temples. But no gaucho he, nor individual of any honest calling: instead, a criminal of deepest dye, experienced in every sort of villainy. For this man is Rufino Valdez, well-known in a.s.suncion as one of Francia"s familiars, and more than suspected of being one of his most dexterous _a.s.sa.s.sins_.
CHAPTER SIX.
AN OLD ENEMY IN A NEW PLACE.
Could the hunter-naturalist but know what has really occurred in the Tovas tribe, and the nature of the party now approaching, he would not stay an instant longer on the banks of that branch stream; instead, hasten back home with his child fast as their animals could carry them, and once at the estancia, make all haste to get away from it, taking every member of his family along with him. But he has no idea that anything has happened hostile to him or his, nor does he as yet see the troop of travellers, whose merry voices are making the woods ring around them: for, on the moment of his first hearing them, they were at a good distance, and are some considerable time before coming in sight. At first, he had no thought of retreating, nor making any effort to place himself and his child in concealment. And for two reasons: one, because ever since taking up his abode in the Chaco, under the protection of Naraguana, he has enjoyed perfect security, as also the consciousness of it. Therefore, why should he be alarmed now? As a second reason for his not feeling so, an encounter with men, in the mood of those to whom he is listening, could hardly be deemed dangerous. It may be but the Tovas chief and his people, on return to the town they had abandoned; and, in all likelihood, it is they. So, for a time, thinks he.
But, again, it may not be; and if any other Indians--if a band of Anguite, or Guaycurus, both at enmity with the Tovas--then would they be also enemies to him, and his position one of great peril. And now once more reflecting on the sudden, as unexplained, disappearance of the latter from their old place of residence--to say the least, a matter of much mystery--bethinking himself, also, that he is quite _twenty_ miles from his estancia, and for any chances of retreat, or shifts for safety, worse off than if he were alone, he at length, and very naturally, feels an apprehension stealing over him. Indeed, not stealing, nor coming upon him slowly, but fast gathering, and in full force. At all events, as he knows nothing of who or what the people approaching may be, it is an encounter that should, if possible, be avoided. Prudence so counsels, and it is but a question how this can best be done. Will they turn heads round, and go galloping back? Or ride in among the bushes, and there remain under cover till the Indians have pa.s.sed? If these should prove to be Tovas, they could discover themselves and join them; if not, then take the chances of travelling behind them, and getting back home un.o.bserved.
The former course he is most inclined to; but glancing up the bank, for he is still on the water"s edge, he sees that the sloping path he had descended, and by which he must return, is exposed to view from the opposite side of the stream, to a distance of some two hundred yards.
To reach the summit of the slope, and get under cover of the trees crowning it, would take some time. True, only a minute or two; but that may be more than he can spare, since the voices seem now very near, and those he would shun must show themselves almost immediately. And to be seen retreating would serve no good purpose; instead, do him a damage, by challenging the hostility of the Indians, if they be not Tovas. Even so, were he alone, well-horsed as he believes himself to be--and in reality is--he would risk the attempt, and, like enough, reach his estancia in safety. But enc.u.mbered with Francesca on her diminutive steed, he knows they would have no chance in a chase across the _pampa_, with the red Centaurs pursuing. Therefore, not for an instant, or only one, entertains he thought of flight. In a second he sees it would not avail them, and decides on the other alternative--concealment. He has already made a hasty inspection of the ground near by, and sees, commencing at no great distance off, and running along the water"s edge, a grove of _sumac_ trees which, with their parasites and other plants twining around their stems and branches, form a complete labyrinth of leaves. The very shelter he is in search of; and heading his horse towards it, at the same time telling Francesca to follow, he rides in by the first opening that offers. Fortunately he has struck upon a _tapir_ path, which makes it easier for them to pa.s.s through the underwood, and they are soon, with their horses, well screened from view. Perhaps, better would it have been for them had they continued on, without making any stop, though not certain this, for it might have been all one in the end. As it is, still in doubt, half under the belief that he may be retreating from an imaginary danger--running away from friends instead of foes--as soon as well within the thicket, Halberger reins up again, at a point where he commands a view of the ford as it enters on the opposite side of the stream. A little glade gives room for the two animals to stand side by side, and drawing Francesca"s pony close up to his saddle-flap, he cautions her to keep it there steadily, as also to be silent herself. The girl needs not such admonition. No simple child she, accustomed only to the safe ways of cities and civilised life; but one knowing a great deal of that which is savage; and young though she is, having experienced trials, vicissitudes and dangers. That there is danger impending over them now, or the possibility of it, she is quite as conscious as her father, and equally observant of caution; therefore, she holds her pony well in hand, patting it on the neck to keep it quiet.
They have not long to stay before seeing what they half expected to see--a party of Indians. Just as they have got well fixed in place, with some leafy branches in front forming a screen over their faces, at the same time giving them an aperture to peep through, the dusky cavalcade shows its foremost files issuing out from the bushes on the opposite side of the stream. Though still distant--at least, a quarter of a mile--both father and daughter can perceive that they are Indians; mounted, as a matter of course, for they could not and did not, expect so see such afoot in the Chaco. But Francesca"s eyes are sharper sighted than those of her father, and at the first glance she makes out more--not only that it is a party of Indians, but these of the Tovas tribe. The feathered _manta_ of the young chief, with its bright gaudy sheen, has caught her eye, and she knows whose shoulders it should be covering.
"Yes, father," she says, in whisper, as soon as sighting it. "They are the Tovas! See yonder! one of the two leading--that"s Aguara."
"Oh! then, we"ve nothing to fear," rejoins her father, with a feeling of relief. "So, Francesca, we may as well ride back out and meet them. I suppose it is, as I"ve been conjecturing; the tribe is returning to its old quarters. I wonder where they"ve been, and why so long away. But we shall now learn all about it. And we"ll have their company with us, as far as their _talderia_; possibly all the way home, as, like enough, Naraguana will come on with us to the estancia. In either case--ha!
what"s that. As I live, a white man riding alongside Aguara! Who can _he_ be?"
Up to this, Halberger has neither touched his horse nor stirred a step; no more she, both keeping to the spot they had chosen for observation.
And both now alike eagerly scan the face of the man, supposed to be white.
Again the eyes of the child, or her instincts, are keener and quicker than those of the parent; or, at all events, she is the first to speak, announcing a recognition.
"Oh, papa!" she exclaims, still in whispers, "it"s that horrid man who used to come to our house at a.s.suncion--him mamma so much disliked--the Senor Rufino."
"Hish!" mutters the father, interrupting both with speech and gesture; then adds, "keep tight hold of the reins; don"t let the pony budge an inch!"
Well may he thus caution, for what he now sees is that he has good reason to fear; a man he knows to be his bitter enemy--one who, during the years of his residence in Paraguay, had repeatedly been the cause of trouble to him, and done many acts of injury and insult--the last and latest offered to his young wife. For it was Rufino Valdez who had been employed by the Dictator previously to approach her on his behalf.
And now Ludwig Halberger beholds the base villain in company with the Tovas Indians--his own friends, as he had every reason to suppose them-- riding side by side with the son of their chief! What can it mean?
Halberger"s first thought is that Valdez may be their prisoner; for he, of course, knows of the hostility existing between them and the Paraguayans, and remembers that, in his last interview with Naraguana, the aged cacique was bitter as ever against the Paraguayan people. But no; there is not the slightest sign of the white man being guarded, bound, or escorted. Instead, he is riding unconstrained, side by side with the young Tovas chief, evidently in amicable relations--the two engaged in a conversation to all appearance of the most confidential kind!
Again Halberger asks, speaking within himself, what it can mean? and again reflecting endeavours to fathom the mystery: for so that strange juxtaposition appears to him. Can it be that the interrupted treaty of peace has been renewed, and friendship re-established between Naraguana and the Paraguayan Dictator? Even now, Valdez may be on a visit to the Tovas tribe on that very errand--a commissioner to arrange new terms of intercourse and amity? It certainly appears as if something of the kind had occurred. And what the Prussian now sees, taken in connection with the abandonment of the village alike matter of mystery--leads him to more than half-suspect there has. For again comes up the question, why should the Tovas chief have gone off without giving him warning? So suddenly, and not a word! Surely does it seem as if there has been friendship betrayed, and Naraguana"s protection withdrawn. If so, it will go hard with him, Halberger; for well knows he, that in such a treaty there would be little chance of his being made an object of special amnesty. Instead, one of its essential claims would sure be, the surrendering up himself and his family. But would Naraguana be so base? No; he cannot believe it, and this is why he is as much surprised as puzzled at seeing Valdez when he now sees him.
In any case things have a forbidding look, and the man"s presence there bodes no good to him. More like the greatest evil; for it may be death itself. Even while sitting upon his horse, with these reflections running through his mind--which they do, not as related, but with the rapidity of thought itself--he feels a presentiment of that very thing.
Nay, something more than a presentiment, something worse--almost the certainty that his life is near its end! For as the complete Indian cohort files forth from among the bushes, and he takes note of how it is composed--above all observing the very friendly relations between Valdez and the young chief--he knows it must affect himself to the full danger of his life. Vividly remembers he the enmity of Francia"s _familiar_, too deep and dire to have been given up or forgotten. He remembers, too, of Valdez being noted as a skilled _rastrero_, or guide--his reputed profession. Against such a one the step he has taken to conceal himself is little likely to serve him. Are not the tracks of his horse, with those of the pony, imprinted in the soft mud by the water"s edge where they had halted? These will not be pa.s.sed over by the Indians, or Valdez, without being seen and considered. Quite recent too! They must be observed, and as sure will they be followed up to where he and his child are in hiding. A pity he has not continued along the _tapir_ path, still further and far away! Alas! too late now; the delay may be fatal.
In a very agony of apprehension thus reflecting, Ludwig Halberger with shoulders stooped over his saddle-bow and head bent in among the branches, watches the Indian cavalcade approaching the stream"s bank; the nearer it comes, the more certain he that himself and his child are in deadliest danger.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
VALDEZ THE "VAQUEANO."
To solve the seeming enigma of Rufino Valdez travelling in the company of the Tovas Indians, and on friendly terms with their young chief--for he is so--it will be necessary to turn back upon time, and give some further account of the _vaqueano_ himself, and his villainous master; as also to tell why Naraguana and his people abandoned their old place of abode, with other events and circ.u.mstances succeeding. Of these the most serious has been the death of Naraguana himself. For the aged cacique is no more; having died only a few days after his latest visit paid to his palefaced protege.
Nor were his last moments spent at the _tolderia_, now abandoned. His death took place at another town of his people some two hundred miles from this, and farther into the interior of the Chaco; a more ancient residence of the Tovas tribe--in short, their "Sacred city" and burying-place. For it is the custom of these Indians when any one of them dies--no matter when, where, and how, whether by the fate of war, accident in the chase, disease, or natural decay--to have the body borne to the sacred town, and there deposited in a cemetery containing the graves of their fathers. Not graves, as is usual, underground; but scaffolds standing high above it--such being the mode of Tovas interment.
Naraguana"s journey to this hallowed spot--his last in life--had been made not on horseback, but in a _litera_, borne by his faithful braves.
Seized with a sudden illness, and the presentiment that his end was approaching, with a desire to die in the same place where he had been born, he gave commands for immediate removal thither--not only of himself, but everything and even body belonging to his tribe. It was but the work of a day; and on the next the old settlement was left forsaken, just as the hunter-naturalist has found it.
Had the latter been upon the banks of that branch stream just three weeks before, he would there have witnessed one of those spectacles peculiar to the South American pampas; as the prairies of the North.
That is the crossing of a river by an entire Indian tribe, on the move from one encampment, or place of residence, to another. The men on horseback swimming or wading their horses; the women and children ferried over in skin boats--those of the Chaco termed _pelotas_--with troops of dogs intermingled in the pa.s.sage; all amidst a _fracas_ of shouts, the barking of dogs, neighing of horses, and shrill screaming of the youngsters, with now and then a peal of merry laughter, as some ludicrous mishap befalls one or other of the party. No laugh, however, was heard at the latest crossing of that stream by the Tovas. The serious illness of their chief forbade all thought of merriment; so serious, that on the second day after reaching the sacred town he breathed his last; his body being carried up and deposited upon that aerial tomb where reposed the bleaching bones of many other caciques-- his predecessors.
His sudden seizure, with the abrupt departure following, accounts for Halberger having had no notice of all this--Naraguana having been delirious in his dying moments, and indeed for some time before. And his death has caused changes in the internal affairs of the Tovas tribe, attended with much excitement. For the form of government among these Chaco savages is more republican than monarchical; each new cacique having to receive his authority not from hereditary right, but by election. His son, Aguara, however, popular with the younger warriors of the tribe, carried the day, and has become Naraguana"s successor.