AT eight o’clock the next morning Thalcave gave the signal for departure. The slope was gradual, and the travelers had only to descend a gentle declivity to the sea.
When the Patagonian declined the horse that Glenarvan offered him, the latter thought that he preferred to go on foot, according to the custom of certain guides; and indeed, his long legs ought to have made walking easy. But he was mistaken.
At the moment of departure Thalcave whistled in a peculiar manner. Immediately a magnificent Argentine horse, of superb form, issued from a small wood near by, and approached at the call of his master. The animal was perfectly beautiful. His brown color indicated a sound, spirited and courageous beast. He had a small and elegantly poised head, widely opening nostrils, a fiery eye, large hams, swelling withers, broad breast, long pasterns, in short, all the qualities that constitute strength and suppleness. The major, like a perfect horseman, admired unreservedly this specimen of the horses of the plains. This beautiful creature was called Thaouka, which means “bird” in the Patagonian language, and he justly merited this appellation.
When Thalcave was in the saddle, the horse pranced with spirited grace, and the Patagonian, a skillful rider, was magnificent to behold. His outfit comprised two weapons of the chase, the “bolas” and the lasso. The bolas consists of three balls tied together by a leathern string, which are fastened to the front of the saddle. The Indians frequently throw them the distance of a hundred paces at the animal or enemy that they are pursuing, and with such precision that they twist about their legs and bring them to the ground. It is, therefore, in their hands a formidable instrument, and they handle it with surprising dexterity. The lasso, on the contrary, does not leave the hand that wields it. It consists simply of a leathern thong thirty feet in length, terminating in a slip-noose which works upon an iron ring. The right hand throws the slip-noose, while the left hand holds the remainder of the lasso, the end of which is firmly tied to the saddle. A long carbine in a sling completed the Patagonian’s armament.
Thalcave, without observing the admiration caused by his natural grace, ease and courage, took the lead, and the party advanced, now at a gallop, and now at a walk, for their horses seemed entirely unaccustomed to trotting. Robert mounted with much boldness, and speedily convinced Glenarvan of his ability to keep his seat.
On issuing from the gorges of the Andes, they encountered a great number of sand-ridges, called “medanos,” real waves incessantly agitated by the wind, when the roots of the herbage did not confine them to the earth. This sand is of an extreme fineness; and, at the least breath, they saw it float away in light clouds, or form regular sand-columns which rose to a considerable height. This spectacle caused pleasure as well as annoyance to the eyes. Pleasure, for nothing was more curious than these columns, wandering over the plain, struggling, mingling, sinking and rising in inexpressible confusion; and annoyance, since an impalpable dust emanated from these innumerable medanos and penetrated the eyelids, however tightly they were closed.
This phenomenon continued during a great part of the day. Nevertheless, they advanced rapidly, and towards six o’clock the Andes, forty miles distant, presented a darkish aspect already fading in the mists of the evening.
The travelers were a little fatigued with their journey, and, therefore, saw with pleasure the approach of the hour for retiring. They encamped on the shores of a turbulent stream, enclosed by lofty red cliffs. Toward noon of the next day, the sun’s rays became very oppressive, and at evening a line of clouds on the horizon indicated a change in the weather. The Patagonian could not be deceived, and pointed out to the geographer the western portion of the sky.
“Good, I know,” said Paganel, and addressing his companions: “A change in the weather is about to take place. We shall have a ‘pampero.’”
He explained that this pampero is frequent on the Argentine Plains. It is a very dry wind from the southwest. Thalcave was not mistaken, and during the night, which was quite uncomfortable for people sheltered with a simple poncho, the wind blew with great violence. The horses lay down on the ground, and the men near them in a close group. Glenarvan feared they would be delayed if the storm continued; but Paganel reassured him after consulting his barometer.
“Ordinarily,” said he, “this wind creates tempests, which last for three days; but when the barometer rises as it does now, you are free from these furious hurricanes in a few hours. Be assured, then, my dear friend; at break of day the sky will have resumed its usual clearness.”
“You talk like a book, Paganel,” replied Glenarvan.
“And I am one,” replied Paganel, “which you are free to consult as much as you please.”
He was not mistaken. At one o’clock in the morning the wind suddenly subsided, and every one was able to enjoy an invigorating sleep. The next morning they rose bright and fresh, especially Paganel, who displayed great cheerfulness and animation.
During this passage across the continent, Lord Glenarvan watched with scrupulous attention for the approach of the natives. He wished to question them concerning Captain Grant, by the aid of the Patagonian, with whom Paganel had begun to converse considerably. But they followed a path little frequented by the Indians, for the trails over the Pampas, which lead from the Argentine Republic to the Andes, are situated too far to the north. If by chance a wandering horseman appeared in the distance, he fled rapidly away, little caring to come in contact with strangers.
However, although Glenarvan, in the interest of his search, regretted the absence of the Indians, an incident took place which singularly justified the interpretation of the document.
Several times the course pursued by the expedition crossed paths on the Pampas, among others quite an important road—that from Carmen to Mendoza—distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses, sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and lay bleaching in the sun. There were thousands of them, and, without doubt, more than one human skeleton had added its bones to those of these humbler animals.
Hitherto Thalcave had made no remark concerning the line so rigorously followed. He understood, however, that if they kept no definite course over the Pampas, they would not come to cities or villages. Every morning they advanced towards the rising sun, without deviating from the straight line, and every evening the setting sun was behind them. In his capacity of guide, Thalcave must, therefore, have been astonished to see that not only he did not guide them, but that they guided him. Nevertheless, if he was astonished, with the reserve natural to the Indians he made no remark. But to-day arriving at the above-mentioned road, he stopped his horse, and turned towards Paganel.
“Road to Carmen,” said he.
“Yes, my good Patagonian,” replied the geographer, in his purest Spanish; “road to Carmen and Mendoza.”
“We do not take it?” resumed Thalcave.
“No,” answered Paganel.
“And we are going——?”
“Always to the east.”
“That is going nowhere.”
“Who knows?”
Thalcave was silent, and gazed at the geographer with profound surprise. He did not admit, however, that Paganel was joking the least in the world. An Indian, with his natural seriousness, never imagines that you are not speaking in earnest.
“You are not going to Carmen then?” he added, after an instant of silence.
“No,” replied Paganel.
“Nor to Mendoza?”
“No.”
At this moment Glenarvan, rejoining Paganel, asked what Thalcave said, and why he had stopped.
When he had told him, Glenarvan said,—
“Could you not explain to him the object of our expedition, and why we must always proceed toward the east?”
“That would be very difficult,” answered Paganel, “for an Indian understands nothing of geography.”
“But,” said the major seriously, “is it the history, or the historian, that he cannot understand?”
“Ah, MacNabb,” said Paganel, “you still doubt my Spanish!”
“Try, my worthy friend.”
“Very well.”
Paganel turned to the Patagonian, and began a discourse, frequently interrupted for want of words and from the difficulty of explaining to a half-ignorant savage details which were rather incomprehensible to him.
The geographer was just then a curious sight. He gesticulated, articulated, and exerted himself in a hundred ways, while great drops of sweat rolled down his face. When his tongue could no longer move, his arm came to his aid. He dismounted, and traced on the sand a geographical map, with lines of latitude and longitude, the two oceans, and the road to Carmen. Never was professor in such embarrassment. Thalcave watched these manœuvres without showing whether he comprehended or not.
The lesson in geography lasted more than half an hour. At last Paganel ceased, wiped his face, which was wet with perspiration, and looked at the Patagonian.
“Did he understand?” inquired Glenarvan.
“We shall see,” replied Paganel; “but, if he did not, I give it up.”
Thalcave did not stir. He no longer spoke. His eyes were fixed upon the figures traced on the sand, which the wind was gradually effacing.
“Well?” asked Paganel.
Thalcave did not appear to hear him. Paganel already saw an ironical smile forming upon the lips of the major, and, wishing to save his reputation, had begun with renewed energy his geographical demonstrations, when the Patagonian stopped him with a gesture.
“You are searching for a prisoner?” he said.
“Yes,” replied Paganel.
“And exactly on the line from the setting to the rising sun?” said Thalcave, indicating by a comparison, in the Indian manner, the course from west to east.
“Yes, yes, that is it!”
“And it is your God,” said the Patagonian, “who has confided to the waves of the vast ocean the secrets of the prisoner?”
“God himself.”
“May his will be accomplished then!” replied Thalcave, with a certain solemnity. “We will go to the east, and, if necessary, even to the sun.”
Paganel, in his exultation over his pupil, immediately translated to his companions the replies of the Indian.
Glenarvan requested Paganel to ask the Patagonian if he had heard of any strangers falling into the hands of the Indians, which was accordingly done.
“Perhaps,” replied the Patagonian.
As soon as this word was translated, Thalcave was surrounded by the seven travelers, who gazed at him with questioning looks. Paganel, excited and scarcely finding his words, resumed these interesting interrogatories, while his eyes, fixed upon the grave Indian, strove to anticipate his reply before it issued from his lips. Every word the Patagonian said he repeated in English, so that his companions heard the Indian speak, as it were, in their own language.
“And this prisoner?” inquired Paganel.
“He was a stranger,” replied Thalcave slowly; “a European.”
“You have seen him?”
“No, but he is mentioned in the accounts of the Indians. He was a brave man.”
“You understand, my friends,” said Paganel; “a courageous man!”
“My father!” cried Robert Grant.
Then, addressing Paganel:
“How do you say ‘It is my father,’ in Spanish?” he asked.
“Es mio padre,” answered the geographer.
Immediately Robert, taking Thalcave’s hands, said in a sweet voice,—
“Es mio padre!”
“Suo padre!” replied the Patagonian, whose look brightened.
He took the boy in his arms, lifted him from his horse, and gazed at him with the most curious sympathy. His intelligent countenance became suffused with a peaceful emotion.
But Paganel had not finished his inquiries. Where was this prisoner? What was he doing? When had Thalcave heard of him? All these questions thronged his mind at once. He did not have to wait long for answers, but learnt that the European was a slave of one of the Indian tribes that scour the plains.
“But where was he last?” asked Paganel.
“With the cazique Calfoucoura,” answered Thalcave.
“On the line we have been following?”
“Yes.”
“And who is this cazique?”
“The chief of the Poyuches Indians; a man with two tongues and two hearts.”
“That is to say, false in word and in deed,” said Paganel, after translating to his companions this beautiful metaphor of the Indian language. “And can we rescue our friend?” he added.
“Perhaps so, if your friend is still in the hands of the Indians.”
“And when did you hear of him?”
“A long time ago, and, since then, the sun has brought back two summers to the sky.”
Glenarvan’s joy could not be described. This answer coincided exactly with the date of the document. But one question remained to be asked.
“You speak of a prisoner,” said Paganel; “but were there not three?”
“I do not know,” replied Thalcave.
“And you know nothing of their actual situation?”
“Nothing.”
This last word ended the conversation. It was possible that the three prisoners had been separated a long time. But the substance of the Patagonian’s information was that the Indians spoke of a European who had fallen into their power. The date of his captivity, the place where he must have been, everything, even to the Patagonian phrase used to express his courage, related evidently to Captain Harry Grant.
Their progress was now somewhat slow and difficult; their next object being to reach and cross the river Colorado, to which at length their horses brought them. Here Paganel’s first care was to bathe “geographically” in its waters, which are colored by a reddish clay. He was surprised to find the depth so great as it really was, this being the result of the snow having melted rapidly under the first heat of summer. The width likewise of this stream was so considerable that it was almost impossible for their horses to swim across; but they happily discovered a sort of weir-bridge, of wattles looped and fastened together, which the Indians were in the habit of using; and by its aid the little troop was enabled to pass over to the left bank, where they rested for the night.