The Flying Horseman

This invisible horse annoyed them considerably. After some minutes hesitation, they resolved to make their minds clear on the subject, and to know definitely how to act towards the horseman. They therefore turned their bridles, and boldly stood athwart the path.

Scarcely had they assumed this warlike position five minutes, than they perceived in the pale light of the stars the black outline of a horseman.

"Hola!" cried a mocking voice to them; "Hola, caballeros, I am a friend!"

"Eh! It appears to me that I know that voice," said Mataseis.

"It is not unknown to me," answered Sacatripas.

"Eh!" cried the horseman, "They are model brothers, my worthy friends, the Señores Metaseis and Sacatripas. Delighted to meet you, gentlemen."

"Ha!" cried they, "It is his Excellency Don Zeno Cabral; this is a curious rencontre."

"Upon my word, yes," gaily answered the latter. "It is extraordinary, I admit."

"As the breeze begins to be sharp, we were just preparing to camp when we saw your Excellency."

"Good; if I do not discommode you, I will keep you company."

They then alighted, gathered some dry branches, with which the ground was strewed in great quantity, and they had soon lighted a fire, unsaddled and secured their horses, and were seated before the flame of their fire.

Each drew out some provisions from his alforjas, a kind of double pocket that horsemen carry behind their saddles. These provisions, were spread out in common, and the three companions, who had so fortuitously met – or at least they thought so – began to eat with a good appetite, every now and then taking large bumpers of white brandy, and then, their supper finished, they lighted their cigarettes.

"Well, señores," said Zeno Cabral, "now that we have had a good meal, what do you say to talk a bit?"

"People always gain by talking with a man like your Excellency," sententiously replied Mataseis.

"You speak more truly than you think, perhaps. So you have been dismissed, then, by that Frenchman?"

"Alas, yes."

"At least he paid you?"

"We have nothing to claim from him, your Excellency."

"Then you are open to execute a mission for me."

"We know that you are very generous, your Excellency; will you tell us what it is, and if we can do it we will."

"The mission with which I wish to charge you is not difficult. I have a despatch to send to General Don Eusebio Moratín; if you could undertake this, I confess you would greatly serve me."

"And why should we refuse to charge ourselves with it, your Excellency?"

"I do not know; you know your own affairs better than I do, and you know if it is possible."

The partisan's proposition was all the more agreeable to the gauchos, as they wanted a pretext to introduce themselves to the general. This despatch would naturally make their path smoother; moreover, recommended by Zeno Cabral, they would awaken no suspicion, and were sure of being well received.

"Well," resumed Zeno Cabral, after a pause, "what do you say?"

"We will take the despatch, your Excellency."

"Bear in mind that it must be given to General Moratín himself."

"We will give it into his own hands."

"Hum! That is, perhaps, too much to exact," murmured the partisan to himself; "I am going to write the despatch by the light of the fire; and you will permit me to offer you ten ounces."

"We accept it with gratitude, your Excellency," joyously answered the gauchos.

Zeno Cabral drew from his alforjas a little travelling companion, containing ink, pens, and paper, and immediately proceeded with his despatch, which he then folded, sealed, and handed to Mataseis.

"Now," said he, "there are the ten ounces; I rely on your attention."

"Consider it as good as done, your Excellency," answered Mataseis, pocketing the money.

In a few minutes the three men wrapped themselves in their skins and blankets, stretched their feet towards the fire, and were soon asleep.

"If these fellows do not now succeed in being received by Moratín," said the partisan, "they must be very awkward."

When the gauchos awoke at break of day, they were alone; Zeno Cabral had gone, having taken French leave.

The gauchos easily reconciled themselves to this want of politeness; they were paid in advance, and very well paid too.

We will briefly say that they met General Moratín at Santiago del Estero, and that they found no difficulty in being incorporated in the general's escort.

To the questions that the general and M. Dubois addressed them on this subject, they replied that they knew the desert in its most secret paths.

We will now abandon the Señores Mataseis and Sacatripas, and will return to Zeno Cabral.

While the gauchos were plotting, in company of Don Pablo Pincheyra, the death of General Moratín, Zeno Cabral, who at a distance had perceived them at the moment when they left the tent to ensconce themselves in the thicket, had concealed his horse, and, cutting across country, had proceeded to the spot where they were.

Zeno had been invisibly present, not only at the serio-comic turns of fortune in their game at monte, but also had heard every syllable of their conversation with the Pincheyra. It is notable that the projects of Don Pablo squared with his own, for a smile of satisfaction played on his lips at this unexpected revelation.

His negotiation terminated, the partisan had immediately resolved on quitting the bad company, to meet with which he had been compelled to go out of his way.

Loud snoring soon told him the gauchos soundly slept; then he rose stealthily, saddled his horse, leaped in the saddle without touching the stirrup, and, despite the darkness, rapidly galloped off across the desert.

This journey, made at such an hour in the darkness in so wild a region, would probably have been fatal to anyone but the bold Montonero.

The whole night passed thus. At the break of day the Montonero had made twenty leagues and crossed two rivers.

His horse, knocked up with fatigue, stumbled at every step; and the Montonero was obliged to stop if he would not have his horse fall dead under him.

He halted on the border of a wood, removed the harness from his horse, rubbed him down vigorously with a handful of dry grass, washed his nostrils, withers, and legs with water mixed with brandy, and then let him free.

The animal neighed two or three times with pleasure, and rolled himself with delight on the grass.

"It is four o'clock," said he, examining the sky; "at nine o'clock I will set off; now for some sleep." With that self-control which certain exceptional natures possess, he closed his eyes and soon slept. At nine o'clock exactly, as he had promised himself, he awoke.

He drew from his alforjas the horn of a wild bull, poured water in it to two-thirds of its capacity, added some sugar and some harina tostada or parched meal, and with a spoon he mixed it so as to make it a kind of broth. He then with great gusto swallowed this singular compound, which in these countries forms the principal nourishment of the poorer classes. This frugal meal ended, he lighted his cigarette and fell into a brown study.

A few minutes afterwards he set off. As he had done during the night, he did not follow – we will not say any marked route, for such routes do not exist in these regions – any pathway at all. He pushed right ahead, in the Indian fashion, neither swerving to the right nor to the left, leaping obstacles which rose before him, crossing rivers wherever he met with them, or scampering through ravines and quagmires, always following without deviation the right line he had marked out for himself.

For six days he travelled thus without meeting any incidents worthy of remark. On the evening of the sixth day he reached a somewhat elevated hill, the summit of which was only shaded by a single tree.

This position was marvellously chosen to serve for an observatory. From it the Montonero completely commanded the plain, and his eye could extend on all sides as far as the distant blue of the horizon, without anything disturbing his view.

This time Zeno Cabral, after having rubbed down his horse, instead of giving him his liberty as he had done each evening, kept on his harness, with the exception of the bridle to allow him to feed, tied him to a picket strongly planted in the earth, and on a blanket spread on the ground he placed a ration of maize – a feast that the horse evidently appreciated, for, having neighed with pleasure, he proceeded to eat heartily.

The young man looked at him a short time, patting him and speaking gently to him – caresses that the noble animal seemed to receive with gratitude. The Montonero then, having supped without even sitting down, rapidly descended the hill, on the summit of which burned his solitary watch fire, and penetrated hastily into the underwood, looking attentively round him, and seeking, by the rays of the setting sun, something to which he appeared to attach great importance.

For about an hour he devoted himself to an active search, walking cautiously round the hill. He then stopped, uttering a cry of joy. He had at last found what he wanted. Before him rose a group of the Amyris elemifera, or balsam tree, commonly called by the Indians "candle wood." The Indians cut the branches, and sometimes the shrub itself, making use of it as a kind of torch. The light given by these torches is brilliant and strong, and the torch itself lasts a considerable time.

Zeno Cabral felled with his sabre several of these branches, stripped them of their leaves, made a bundle of them, which he placed on his shoulder, and again ascended to the summit of the hill.

Meanwhile the sun had disappeared, and the day had been almost without any transition replaced by night.

Darkness soon blinded all objects, drowned all the features of the landscape, and the desert was covered as with a funeral winding sheet.

The Montonero, seated before the fire, with his back leaning on the trunk of the tree, in the position the most comfortable he could secure, warmed his feet carelessly, smoking his cigarette.

Suddenly a shrill whistle rent the air.

At the same moment Zeno Cabral started up as if moved by a spring.

Rekindling the half-extinguished embers of the fire, on which he threw an armful of dead wood, he picked up a branch of balsam tree, lighted it, walked to the commencement or the slope of the hill, and then, having rapidly waved it above his head, he threw it in the air, where it traced a long streak of fire.

Almost immediately a second whistle, but nearer, was heard.

Zeno Cabral took a second torch, and lighting it, he waved it above his head, and darted it into the air, like the first.

This signal given, the partisan returned to his fire, passed his pistols in his girdle, took his gun, on which he leaned, and waited.

He did not wait long. In about five minutes the sound of steps and a trembling of the grass indicated that several persons were approaching.

"Has the moon of wild oats already so far advanced that the darkness is so thick?" said a voice.

"It is easy to procure light," answered Zeno Cabral, lighting a torch, and raising it above his head.

"The night is cold; here is fire; warm yourselves."

"Thank you," answered one of the men: "fire is good at this hour of the night."

The persons who had arrived then entered the circle of light spread by the torch. Two wore the costume of Guaycurus chiefs; they were Gueyma and the Cougar. The third, dressed in the European fashion, was no less than Don Sylvio Quiroga.

"Thanks be given to these caballeros," said he, after respectfully bowing to his chief; "I think that they are nyctalopes, and that, like cats and other animals, they have the faculty of seeing in the dark. I was completely lost when they met me, and was groping like a blind man rudely striking myself against the trees."

"Well, rest yourself, Don Sylvio, while I talk with these caballero," answered the Montonero, laughing, "and warm yourself at the same time."

"I should not like to be indiscreet, general."

"Do not fear that, my friend; we shall converse in a language that you will not understand."

"As that is the case, I will venture," answered the old soldier.

The Indians had remained motionless and indifferent to this short conversation.

"Will you be seated near me, captains," said Zeno Cabral; "I am happy to see you."

When the visitors were seated, Zeno Cabral, after offering them tobacco, which they accepted, resumed —

"Chiefs, you some days ago asked an interview with me; here I am at your orders. Will you, therefore, give me your views, as you know as well as I do how time presses."

"Señor Don Zeno Cabral, for many a year we have known one another," answered the Cougar.

"Yes," said the partisan, whose brow lowered; "it is you, Diogo, who, when I was still young, came through a thousand perils to tell me of the sad death of my sister. From that day we have constantly been in relations with each other. I will add, Diogo," he said, with suppressed emotion, "that I have never met a heart more devoted, a friend more sincere than you, or a soul more grand and noble."

"I have done my duty towards you, and towards my mistress, Señor Don Zeno."

"On one point, Diogo – on one only – I may have reason to reproach you. You have never told me how my poor sister died, or where is her grave."

"Caballero," answered Diogo, with ill-concealed embarrassment, "a solemn oath closes my mouth. But a day will come when you will know all."

Zeno Cabral's head sank despondingly, and he did not answer.

"Will you permit me, your lordship," said the Cougar, "to resume the conversation where we left off?"

The partisan made a gesture of acquiescence.

"Your lordship," said the captain, "the time has come to instruct Gueyma in what he ought to know. This is the only reason which has induced me to ask for this interview."

"Oh, señor," cried Gueyma, with all the impulsiveness of youth, "I entreat you, in the name of the friendship that you appear to have for me, speak, that I may at last know who I am."

"My boy," sadly replied Zeno Cabral, "are you not happy as you are? Of what use is it to bring trouble to your heart, and open a gulf in which all your happiness will disappear? Alas! Knowledge kills. Keep your careless ignorance; you are young."

The young chief had listened to these words with an impatience.

"You knew my family, did you not? Who was my father?"

"A Portuguese nobleman, belonging to one of the principal families of the kingdom."

"And my mother?"

"A Portuguese, as noble as she was beautiful."

"So I belong to the white race?"

"Yes."

"I feared it," murmured the young man; "but how is it that I have been brought up by the Guaycurus?"

"After the death of your mother, cowardly assassinated under the suspicion of a fault which she did not commit, I carried you away myself, to snatch you from the implacable hatred of a man who wished to kill you, and gave you to the care of Diogo."

"I thank him," said the young man, with wild energy; "but that race I hate; I am ashamed to belong to it, since the murderer of my mother was a member of it."

"It was a white," answered Zeno Cabral.

"Good! I do not wish ever to know," replied he, with energy, "what is the name of my family. What does it matter to me? I call myself Gueyma; I am a child of the Guaycurus; this name and title are sufficient. I do not wish any other."

"Gueyma," said Zeno, "you are a good-hearted man, I love you."

"One word more only," continued the young man. "Does the assassin of my mother still live?"

"He does."

"Will you aid me to find him?"

"I will confront him with you."

"Thank you, Don Zeno Cabral; that is all I wished to know."

And, rising with the spring of a wild beast, the young man darted down the slope of the hill, and disappeared, even before his friends could try and retain him.

"The young man has a noble heart," murmured the partisan.

"Yes," pursued Diogo, "his is a fine and noble nature; his heart will be broken."

"And will not mine be so?" significantly asked the Montonero.

"But let us talk of business."

The conversation then changed, and was entirely confined to the events in which Zeno Cabral and Diogo had been so long engaged.

Then, when the two men had decided on the measures which they thought necessary to the success of their dark projects, the captain withdrew, and Zeno Cabral remained alone with Don Sylvio Quiroga.