The Flying Horseman
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"There is another, but to take that, it would be necessary we retrace our steps for at least four leagues."
"We could never accomplish that. What direction does this path take?"
"Upon my word, I cannot positively tell you."
"We have only one recourse left," pursued Don Zeno; "it is to join the man whose cry to help us has been several times heard."
"I should think nothing better; but how shall we descend the precipice?"
"This is my project. We will take all the lassos of those poltroons, and tie them end to end; one of us will tie the end of these round his body, and will attempt the descent, whilst his companions will hold the rope in his hand, letting it out only in such a way as, precarious as the support may be, it may serve to maintain the equilibrium of the one who descends. Do you agree with it?"
"Yes," decisively answered the Pincheyra, "but on one condition."
"What is it?"
"It is that it shall be I who descends."
"No, I cannot admit that condition; but I propose another."
"Let us hear it."
"Time presses; we must make an end of this. Every minute that we lose brings us nearer death. Let chance decide it."
The partisan drew from the pockets of his trousers a purse full of gold, and placed it between himself and the Pincheyra.
"I do not know what this purse contains," said he, "I swear it. Odd or even! If you guess, you descend; if not, you give up the place to me."
Notwithstanding the prostration in which they were, some of the adventurers, excited by the irresistible attraction of this strange game, played in the midst of a horrible tempest, and of which death was the stake, half rose up, and fixed their ardent gaze on the two.
Don Pablo cried Even, and then the purse was opened.
"Forty-seven!" cried Don Zeno, in a joyful accent; "I have gained."
"True," answered Don Pablo; "do as you wished to do!"
Without losing a moment the partisan seized the lassos from the Pincheyras, tied them firmly together, and after having fixed one of the ends round his girdle, he gave the other to Don Pablo, and prepared to commence his hazardous descent.
The countenance of Don Zeno was grave and sad.
"I confide these two poor ladies to you," said he in a low voice; "if, as is probable, I shall not be able to resist the strength of the tempest, promise me to watch over them till your last breath."
"Go boldly; I swear to you to do it."
"Thank you," merely answered Don Zeno.
He knelt down, addressed to Heaven a mental prayer; then, seizing his knife in one hand, and his dagger in the other:
"God help me," said he firmly, and in a crawling attitude he approached the edge of the precipice.
Don Zeno commenced his descent with the courage of a man who, while he has resolutely risked the sacrifice of his life, nevertheless applies all the energy of his will to the success of his perilous enterprise.
The edge of the precipice was less steep than it appeared from above. Although with great difficulty, the partisan succeeded in maintaining his equilibrium pretty well, by holding on to the grass and shrubbery which were within his reach.
Don Zeno continued to descend, as upon a narrow ledge, which seemed insensibly to retreat, and upon which he could only maintain himself by a desperate effort. Then, having reached a tree which had thrown out its branches horizontally, he disappeared in the midst of the foliage, and after a moment the adventurers felt that the tension of the lasso, which they had given out inch by inch, had suddenly ceased, Don Pablo drew towards him the cord; it came without resistance, floating backwards and forwards to the sport of the wind.
Don Zeno had let go his hold. It was in vain that the adventurers tried to discover the young man. A considerable lapse of time passed; they could not discover him; then all of a sudden, the tree, in the branches of which he had disappeared, oscillated slowly, and fell with a noise down the precipice.
"Oh," cried Don Pablo in despair, throwing himself back, "the unhappy man; he is lost!"
Meanwhile the partisan, cool and calm, looking at danger in its full extent, but regarding it, thanks to his habits of desert life, in a common-sense light, had continued his terrible journey, step by step, only advancing slowly, and with precaution.
He thus attained the tree of which we have spoken, and which formed nearly a right angle with the precipice, just below the spot where the avalanche had blocked up the path, although between the tree and the other edge of the precipice, the distance was pretty considerable. However, Zeno Cabral, after mature reflection, did not despair of getting past it.
To do this, he relieved himself of the lasso, which had only become useless to him.
Encircling the trunk of the tree, he raised himself as far as the principal branch, and making use of it as a bridge, at the same time holding on to the upper branches, he advanced towards its extremity.
But scarcely had he reached halfway the length of the branch, than he perceived with horror that the tree, broken by the fall of the avalanche, oscillated under him. A shudder of terror ran through his veins; his hair stood on end; a cold sweat broke upon his temples; his look was riveted, spite of himself, upon the yawning gulf which opened beneath, ready to bury him; giddiness seized him; he felt that he was lost, and closed his eyes, murmuring a last prayer. But at the moment when he was about to abandon himself and fall into the gulf, the instinct of life suddenly awoke. By a last effort of will he subdued the giddiness, ordered, so to speak, his arteries to cease to beat, and resolving to try a last effort, he darted along the branch which bent more and more under him, sprang ahead and reached the opposite edge of the precipice, at the very moment when the tree, suddenly losing its balance, rolled into the gulf with a horrible sound.
Weakened by the terrible effort he had been obliged to make, and not yet knowing whether he was lost or saved, the young man remained for some minutes stretched on the ground, pale, panting, his eyes starting; not caring to think of the miraculous way in which he had escaped from a nearly inevitable death, or to stir – so much did he still seem to feel the ground stealing from under him.
However, by degrees he became calmer and more rational.
The place where he was was a kind of platform, situated a few yards below the path, which at that place declined gradually as far as the valley.
Although the position of the partisan was much improved, it was still very dangerous. In fact, the side of the precipice, above which he was literally suspended, rose perpendicularly, and it was impossible to scale it. Zeno Cabral had only succeeded in changing his mode of death. If he no longer feared to be precipitated to the bottom of the abyss, he ascertained by a look the certainty that, unless by some extraordinary help, he could not quit the place where he was, and that, consequently, if he could not blow his brains out, or plunge his poignard into his heart, he was condemned to die miserably of hunger – a prisoner on the pedestal that he had succeeded in reaching.
The partisan supported himself against the granite wall, to shelter himself against the violence of the wind, which whirled about the chasm with ominous sounds; and although he had a conviction of his powerlessness, he nevertheless thought over in his mind a means of escaping from the frightful death which threatened him.
For some minutes he thus remained, his head drooping, his eyes fixed on the rock; then he mechanically raised his head and made a gesture of terror. An enormous bald vulture had swept down from the extremity of the platform, and looked at him with a sinister expression.
Brave as the young man was, he could not support the cold and sea-green eye of the hideous bird, which appeared to fascinate him. By an instinctive movement he seized from his girdle one of his pistols, and discharged it at the vulture, which immediately flew away with a harsh and discordant cry.
The noise of the explosion, re-echoed from chasm to chasm like so many thunderclaps, only gave place to silence, when it had reached the regions of eternal snow, where it died amidst their majestic solitudes.
But scarcely had the sound ceased, than the cry to help him, which had already struck the ear of the partisan, resounded again.
The young man regained hope. Gathering all his powers in order to give greater effect to his voice, he answered by a similar cry. Then immediately the cry was repeated, but this time above him.
Convinced that men were near him, and not knowing what means to use to inform them of his whereabouts, Zeno Cabral discharged his second pistol; nearly at the same time a formidable explosion burst over his head; then, when silence had been re-established, a sonorous and clear voice twice cried out to him:
"Courage! Courage!"
Zeno Cabral was compelled to support himself against a rock to prevent himself from falling; a convulsive trembling agitated his limbs; a harsh cry escaped from his panting breast; his body lost that agitation that fear had given it, and he hid his head in his hands, and melted into tears.
If he had not wept he would have gone mad, or he would have succumbed to the repeated attacks of the poignant emotions which for some hours had continually assailed him, and had at last crushed his energy, and almost annihilated his will.
Ten minutes – ten ages – thus passed without the partisan perceiving anything to induce him to believe that anyone was watching to save him. Anxiety began again to weigh heavily on his heart, when suddenly he saw above the crest of the precipice, the copper-coloured head of an Indian.
"Here I am!" cried he, immediately advancing.
"We see you," answered someone. "Are you wounded; can you help yourself?"
"I am not wounded, thank God," said he; "and I have all my energies."
"So much the better, for the ascent will be difficult. We will throw you a lasso; you must tie it to your body, and we will draw you up, as you do not appear to be in a position to climb, with a cord."
"Throw me down cord. I will keep it away from the edge, and fix it firmly at a certain distance, so as not to be swayed about."
"Well! Wait; we will pay you out the cord."
The Indian disappeared, but almost immediately a pretty thick cord, with knots a little apart from each other, descended slowly. They had attached a stone of a good weight to the end, to prevent it from drifting about However, the wind was still so high that notwithstanding this precaution it was so driven about as to seriously disquiet the young man.
However, when the stone touched the platform, either from its weight, or because the storm had lost its intensity, it was easy enough for the young man to take it. He immediately occupied himself in fixing it firmly in the fissure of the rock.
Then the young man, for whom this ascent, perilous as it would have been for anyone else, was but child's play, thanks to his strength and skill, seized the cord and mounted.
Four men received him, when he put his foot on the path.
"Welcome to terra firma!" said the one who appeared to be the master, laughing and holding out his hand.
"Thank you," answered Zeno Cabral, and at last, overcome by so many emotions; he sank, half fainting, into the arms of his unknown friends.
They, with the gentlest solicitude, used every means in their power to restore his failing energies, with what success we shall see later on.
CHAPTER III
THE VALLE DEL TAMBO
The Valle del Tambo is a narrow valley shaded by beautiful trees, and almost wholly sheltered from the storms which rage on the mounts. It is a favourite halt for travellers, and is provided with a kind of little house of solid stones; where people shelter themselves from the rain, wind, or snow.
These lodges, or tambos, are met with frequently in the high regions of the Cordilleras. When the Spanish government was powerful in these countries, it ordered the construction of them on a large scale.
At the present day, thanks to the carelessness of the governments which have succeeded to that of Spain, the majority of these tambos are in ruins.
When Don Santiago Pincheyra, after the conversation with Emile Gagnepain, which we have previously recorded, had set out with his partisan, to return to Casa-Frama, the painter and his servant had sat down before their watch fire.
The news that Pincheyra, urged by a feeling of gratitude, had given to the young Frenchman, was of the highest importance. Unhappily, this information arrived too late to enable him to warn the ladies, and to place them on their guard against the dangers which threatened them.
In vain he racked his brain to find a means of honourably escaping from the difficult position in which he found himself, when Tyro rudely interrupted his reflections.
"Well, master," said he, "we are worrying our brains to little purpose. I will take the responsibility of acquainting these ladies."
"You, Tyro? How will you do it?"
"Oh, leave that to me. I will answer for everything. Just write a letter to the marchioness, place it in something that she will immediately recognise, and you may depend upon it I will convey it to her."
"You promise it?"
"On the word of Tyro."
"Good: I will write the letter. I have got a Book of Hours, which the marchioness gave me a few days ago. She will not fail to recognise it."
"That is right, master. Write immediately, that I may the sooner depart."
While they were thus speaking, the Guarani had lighted a torch, by the light of which the young man traced a few lines on a leaf of his memorandum book. Then he folded the paper, placed it in the prayer book, and closed the clasp.
While his master was writing, Tyro had saddled his horse, so that he was ready as soon as his master.
"Now," said he, "do not be uneasy, master. Remain quietly here, and you will soon see me again."
"Go then, but be prudent."
The Guarani spurred his horse, and broke into a gallop. He now disappeared in the darkness, and the sound of his horse's feet ceased to be heard.
The young man gave a sigh, and went sadly to lie down in the tambo, where, notwithstanding the anxiety to which his mind was a prey, it was not long before he soundly slept.
Meanwhile Tyro had set out. The brave Indian, without troubling himself about the night, the thick darkness of which enveloped him, galloped at full speed in the direction of Casa-Frama. The plan which he had conceived was extremely simple.
At about four or five leagues from the entrance of the camp, the road passed through a tolerably large defile, the sides of which were covered with thick shrubbery. It was in this place the Indian made a halt. He entered the thicket, hid himself behind the trees and the shrubs, alighted, and having covered with his girdle the nostrils of his horse, he watched.
His body leaning forward, his eye and ear on the watch, he heard the sounds which the night wind brought him; and prepared to act as soon as the moment should arrive.
At last, a little before sunrise, at the moment when the darkness, struggled with a last effort against the daybreak, which paled the stars and tinged the heavens with greyish reflections, Tyro, whose eye had not been dosed for an instant, thought he heard a slight noise in the direction of Casa-Frama.
There was no room for mistake; it was the caravan which had set out from the camp, and in the middle of which were the two ladies.
The Guarani advanced cautiously, and scarcely had the last horseman been descried in the darkness, than he left the wood, and proceeded in the same direction as the travellers, and imperceptibly approached the rearguard.
The first part of the Indian's plan had succeeded with greater ease than he could have dared to hope for; the second part alone remained – that is to say, the conveying the book of hours to the marchioness.
Tyro, affecting the sleepy pace of his companions, patted gently the horse which he held firmly by the bridle; and, without exciting any suspicion, drew nearer to the body of the troop.
His design was to reach the two ladies, and to slip the book in their hands, without being perceived, but he soon saw that this project was impracticable. The two ladies formed the centre of a group.
Tyro, however, was not discouraged.
There was not a moment to be lost. Any hesitation would have been perilous. The day began to advance.
The decision of the Guarani was immediately taken.
Placed at about ten paces behind the two ladies, regardless of what might happen to him, and determined at all hazards to accomplish his mission, he took advantage of a moment when the horsemen to the right and left of the prisoners had removed to some little distance; and giving his horse the rein, he darted off at full gallop.
We have seen that, he succeeded in throwing the book to the marchioness.
Don Pablo Pincheyra, astonished at the unexpected appearance of this horseman, whom he had only seen as he passed, but who appeared to hint not to be part of his troop, prepared to follow him, to find out who he was, when suddenly another care came to change the current of his ideas, by constraining him to look after the safety of his companions. The tempest which had so long threatened them at last burst with extreme violence.
At the first breeze of the hurricane, Tyro understood that a danger, a hundred times more terrible than that from which he had just escaped, hung over his head. Exciting his horse, whose efforts were already prodigious; leaping ravines and bogs, at the risk of dashing himself to the bottom of precipices which he passed in his mad flight, he appeared to fly over this narrow and scarcely practicable path, and which the darkness, which suddenly spread over the mountains, rendered more perilous still.
Suddenly a terrible noise burst at a few paces from him, a cloud of dust enveloped him, his horse started and reared up on his hind legs balancing itself for some minutes on the very edge of the gulf. The Indian thought he was lost. By a prodigy of horsemanship, he gave him the bridle, plunged his spurs into the palpitating sides of the horse, and leant all his weight on the neck of the animal. The horse hesitated an instant, suddenly he bounded forward, and made a few stumbling steps. Then his four legs gave way, he fell, and threw the Indian over his head.
Tyro raised himself, shattered and bruised by his fall, and looked anxiously around him. A frightful spectacle met hit eyes. An enormous avalanche had detached itself from the summit of the mountain.
But by a providential circumstance, Tyro, thanks to the rapidity of his journey, had reached the valley. He was saved, but was separated from the travellers who followed him by a nearly impregnable barrier.
The young man hastened to run towards his horse, which had already got up.
Tyro patted him, and spoke to him to give him courage; but knowing the impossibility of mounting in the state of prostration in which he found the horse, he took him by the bridle and continued his route, dragging him after him.
Emile was a prey to the greatest anxiety. It was with joy that he received Tyro, and congratulated him warmly upon having returned safe and sound.
The young man trembled at the thought of the perils with which the two ladies were threatened.
"They must be saved," cried he with spirit.
"They are lost," said Tyro.
"Lost!" cried Emile with energy. "Nonsense! You cannot believe it; it is not possible."
"I do not doubt, master; I am sure."
"But no, you are deceived. I do not believe you. That would be too frightful. Doña Eva, so young, so beautiful, to perish thus – no, that cannot be."
"Alas! Master," said the Indian, with a sigh, "how often have I seen perish thus other young ladies as beautiful, and, without doubt, as much loved!" added he, in a low voice.
Several minutes passed, during which the two men remained mute and pensive; no other sound was heard than that of the hurricane which raged in the valley.
Then the Frenchman raised his head. His face was radiant; an expression of determined bravery was spread over his features; his eyes appeared to flash.
"If I am to be crushed against the rocks," he said in a firm voice, "I will not leave these unhappy ladies to die. Our fate is in the hands of God; whatever happens, I will try to succour them."
While speaking thus, the young man had risen, and walked resolutely towards the door of the tambo.
"Master, what would you do?" cried Tyro, throwing himself quickly before him; "You do not know what a storm is in the mountains; you expose yourself to a horrible death!"
"Be it so!" coolly responded the young man, trying to disengage himself; "But I shall do my duty."
"Your duty, master," cried the Indian with grief – "you will go to your death, that is all!"
"It is possible; but my resolution is irrevocably taken. Release me then, my brave Tyro, your efforts and your words to detain me are useless."
"Do as you think proper, master," said the Indian; "let us try, then, since you wish it."
"I require nothing of you, my friend," replied he; "this regards me alone, you will remain here."
"Oh, master," replied the Indian in a tone of reproach, "what have I done that you should speak to me thus?"
"You have done nothing to me," my friend; "I am not angry with you. Only, I have no right to expose you, to satisfy one of my caprices, to a terrible death."
"Master," said the Indian in an earnest tone, "I am with you body and soul; where you go, I shall go; what you do, I shall do. You wish to try to save these travellers? Be it so; let us attempt it."
"You have misunderstood me, my friend. You have told me yourself, that I shall go to a certain death in attempting to aid these unhappy travellers; I have not wished that you, who are not concerned in it, should share these perils."
"Pardon, master," quickly interrupted the young man, "let us resume the question. I do not condemn or approve your project. You wish to put it into execution – very well. This is your desire, and I shall not discuss the point with you."
"Come then, since this is the case; but I leave to you to prove that I used no constraint with you."
"Certainly, my master, and whatever happens, be convinced that no reproach shall come from my lips."
A longer conversation became useless between the two men. They understood each other. Notwithstanding the hurricane, they quitted the tambo, followed by the gauchos.
Thanks to the incline of the path, and to its width at the spot where it debouched into the valley, the injury caused by the avalanche, although very great, was not irreparable. That which the travellers could not attempt, because of the precarious situation in which they found themselves placed, the four men, by uniting their forces, had hopes of being able to accomplish; that is to say, that after three or four hours' very painful work, they were certain of re-establishing a provisionary passage – solid enough, however, for the horses and beasts of burden to venture on.
They set themselves immediately to work, notwithstanding the efforts of the tempest, then in all its force, but of which the squalls, broken by the mountains, had not that intensity as on the road.
"While you work here to re-establish the passage," said Tyro, "I will go and occupy myself in taking care to warn the travellers whom we would save."
Without waiting for an answer, the Indian left.
We have shown how his appeals had been heard, and had moved Zeno Cabral to attempt a last effort.
When the partisan found himself at last upon firm earth, his first movement was to thank God for his marvellous deliverance; then tendering his hand to Emile, who, at the first glance, he perceived to be the master of those who had brought succour to him:
"Thank you, señor," he said; "thanks to you, I am saved; but there are other unhappy ones."
"I know it, caballero," interrupted the young man. "A numerous troop of travellers are at this moment still exposed to terrible danger; with the aid of God, we shall save them."
"You believe so?" joyously cried the partisan.
"I hope so, at all events, señor: for several hours already my companions and myself have been working. Come; your aid will not be useless."