Mr. Fortescue - William Westall (i read a book .txt) 📗

a good turn."

Our pursuers, who numbered a full score, could now be distinctly seen, but in a few minutes we lost sight of them. After a sharp ride of half an hour, the negro called a halt.

"This is the place. Here we turn off," he said.

"Here! I see nothing but the almost dry bed of a torrent."

"So much the better. We shall make no footmarks," said Carmen. "Go on, Gahra. But first of all turn that led horse adrift. Are you sure this place you speak of is unknown to the Spaniards?"

"Quite. It is known only to a few wandering Indians and fugitive slaves. We can stay here till sunrise. It is impossible to follow the Indian trail by night, even with such a moon as this."

After we had partly ridden, partly walked (for we were several times compelled to dismount) about a mile along the bed of the stream, which was hemmed in between impenetrable walls of tall trees and dense undergrowth, Gahra, who was leading, called out: "This way!" and vanished into what looked like a hole, but proved to be a cleft in the bank so overhung by vegetation as to be well-nigh invisible.

It was the entrance to a passage barely wide enough to admit a horse and his rider, yet as light as a star-gemmed mid-night, for the leafy vault above us was radiant with fireflies, gleaming like diamonds in the dark hair of a fair woman.

But even with this help it was extremely difficult to force our way through the tangled undergrowth, which we had several times to attack, sword in hand, and none of us were sorry when Gahra announced that we had reached the end.

"_Por todos los santos!_ But this is fairyland!" exclaimed Carmen, who was just before me. "I never saw anything so beautiful."

He might well say so. We were on the shore of a mountain-tarn, into whose clear depths the crescent moon, looking calmly down, saw its image reflected as in a silver mirror. Lilies floated on its waters, ferns and flowering shrubs bent over them, the air was fragrant with sweet smells, and all around uprose giant trees with stems as round and smooth as the granite columns of a great cathedral; and, as it seemed in that dim religious light, high enough to support the dome of heaven.

I was so lost in admiration of this marvellous scene that my companions had unsaddled and were leading their horses down to the water before I thought of dismounting from mine.

Apart from the beauty of the spot, we could have found none more suitable for a bivouac! We were in safety and our horses in clover, and, tethering them with the lariats, we left them to graze. Gahra gathered leaves and twigs and kindled a fire, for the air at that height was fresh, and we were lightly clad. We cooked our _tasajo_ on the embers, and after smoking the calumet of peace, rolled ourselves in our _cobijas_, laid our heads on our saddles, and slept the sleep of the just.


CHAPTER XIII.

ON THE LLANOS.

Only a moment ago the land had been folded in the mantle of darkness. Now, a flaming eye rises from the ground at some immeasurable distance, like an outburst of volcanic fire. It grows apace, chasing away the night and casting a ruddy glow on, as it seems, a vast and waveless sea, as still as the painted ocean of the poem, as silent as death, a sea without ships and without life, mournful and illimitable, and as awe-inspiring and impressive as the Andes or the Alps.

So complete is the illusion that did I not know we were on the verge of the llanos I should be tempted to believe that supernatural agency had transported us while we slept to the coasts of the Caribbean Sea or the yet more distant shores of the Pacific Ocean.

Six days are gone by since we left our bivouac by the mountain-tarn: three we have wandered in the woods under the guidance of Gahra, three sought Mejia and his guerillas, who, being always on the move, are hard to find. Last night we reached the range of hills which form, as it were, the northern coast-line of the vast series of savannas which stretch from the tropics to the Straits of Magellan; and it is now a question whether we shall descend to the llanos or continue our search in the sierra.

"It was there I left him," said Carmen, pointing to a _quebrada_ some ten miles away.

"Where we were yesterday?"

"Yes; and he said he would be either there or hereabout when I returned, and I am quite up to time. But Mejia takes sudden resolves sometimes. He may have gone to beat up Griselli's quarters at San Felipe, or be making a dash across the llanos in the hope of surprising the fortified post of Tres Cruces."

"What shall we do then; wait here until he comes back?"

"Or ride out on the llanos in the direction of Tres Cruces. If we don't meet Mejia and his people we may hear something of them."

"I am for the llanos."

"Very well. We will go thither. But we shall have to be very circumspect. There are loyalist as well as patriot guerillas roaming about. They say that Morales has collected a force of three or four thousand, mostly Indios, and they are all so much alike that unless you get pretty close it is impossible to distinguish patriots from loyalists."

"Well, there is room to run if we cannot fight."

"Oh, plenty of room," laughed Carmen. "But as for fighting--loyalist guerillas are not quite the bravest of the brave, yet I don't think we three are quite a match for fifty of them, and we are not likely to meet fewer, if we meet any. But let us adventure by all means. Our horses are fresh, and we can either return to the sierra or spend the night on the llanos, as may be most expedient."

Ten minutes later we were mounted, and an hour's easy riding brought us to the plain. It was as pathless as the ocean, yet Carmen, guided by the sun, went on as confidently as if he had been following a beaten track. The grass was brown and the soil yellow; particles of yellow dust floated in the air; the few trees we passed were covered with it, and we and our horses were soon in a like condition. Nothing altered as we advanced; sky and earth were ever the same; the only thing that moved was a cloud, sailing slowly between us and the sun, and when Carmen called a halt on the bank of a nearly dried-up stream, it required an effort to realize that since we left our bivouac in the hills we had ridden twenty miles in a direct line. Hard by was a deserted _hatto_, or cattle-keeper's hut, where we rested while our horses grazed.

"No sign of Mejia yet," observed Carmen, as he lighted his cigar with a burning-glass. "Shall we go on toward Tres Cruces, or return to our old camping-ground in the hills?"

"I am for going on."

"So am I. But we must keep a sharp lookout. We shall be on dangerous ground after we have crossed the Tio."

"Where is the Tio?"

"There!" (pointing to the attenuated stream near us).

"That! I thought the Tio was a river."

"So it is, and a big one in the rainy season, as you may have an opportunity of seeing. I wish we could hear something of Mejia. But there is nobody of whom we can inquire. The country is deserted; the herdsmen have all gone south, to keep out of the way of guerillas and brigands, all of whom look on cattle as common property."

"Somebody comes!" said Gahra, who was always on the lookout.

"How many?" exclaimed Carmen, springing to his feet.

"Only one."

"Keep out of sight till he draws near, else he may sheer off; and I should like to have a speech of him. He may be able to tell us something."

The stranger came unconcernedly on, and as he stopped in the middle of the river to let his horse drink, we had a good look at him. He was well mounted, carried a long spear and a _macheto_ (a broad, sword-like knife, equally useful for slitting windpipes and felling trees), and wore a broad-brimmed hat, shirt, trousers, and a pair of spurs (strapped to his naked feet).

As he resumed his journey across the river, we all stepped out of the _hatto_ and gave him the traditional greeting, "_Buenas dias, senor._"

The man, looking up in alarm, showed a decided disposition to make off, but Carmen spoke him kindly, offered him a cigar, and said that all we wanted was a little information. We were peaceful travellers, and would much like to know whether the country beyond the Tio was free from guerillas.

The stranger eyed us suspiciously, and then, after a moment's hesitation, said that he had heard that Mejia was "on the war-path."

"Where?" asked Carmen.

"They say he was at Tres Cruces three days ago; and there has been fighting."

"And are any of Morale's people also on the war-path?"

"That is more than I can tell you, senores. It is very likely; but as you are peaceful travellers, I am sure no one will molest you. _Adoiso, senores._"

And with that the man gave his horse a sudden dig with his spurs, and went off at a gallop.

"What a discourteous beggar he is!" exclaimed Carmen, angrily. "If it would not take too much out of my mare I would ride after him and give him a lesson in politeness."

"I don't think he was intentionally uncivil. He seemed afraid."

"Evidently. He did not know what we were, and feared to commit himself. However, we have learned something. We are on Mejia's track. He was at Tres Cruces three days since, and if we push on we may fall in with him before sunset, or, at any rate, to-morrow morning."

"Is it not possible that this man may have been purposely deceiving us, or be himself misinformed?" I asked.

"Quite. But as we had already decided to go on it does not matter a great deal whether he is right or wrong. I I think, though, he knew more about the others than he cared to tell. All the more reason for keeping a sharp lookout and riding slowly."

"So as to save our horses?"

"Exactly. We may have to ride for our lives before the sun goes down. And now let us mount and march."

Our course was almost due west, and the sun being now a little past the zenith, its ardent rays--which shone right in our faces--together with the reverberations from the ground, made the heat almost insupportable. The stirrup-irons burned our feet; speech became an effort; we sat in our saddles, perspiring and silent; our horses, drooping their heads, settled into a listless and languid walk. The glare was so trying that I closed my eyes and let Pizarro go as he would. Open them when I might, the outlook was always the same, the same yellow earth and blue sky, the same lifeless, interminable plain, the same solitary sombrero palms dotting the distant horizon.

This went on for an hour or two, and I think I must have fallen into a doze, for when, roused by a