NIGHT came,—the night of the new moon, only the uncertain light of the stars illumined the plain. On the horizon the zodiacal light faded away in a dark mist. The waters of the Guamini flowed without a murmur, while birds, quadrupeds, and reptiles reposed after the fatigues of the day. The silence of the desert reigned on the vast expanse of the Pampas.
Glenarvan, Robert, and Thalcave had yielded to the common law, and, stretched on their thick beds of grass, they enjoyed a refreshing sleep. The horses, overcome with fatigue, had lain down on the ground: Thaouka alone, like a true blooded horse, slept standing, spirited in repose as in action, and ready to start at the least sign from his master. Perfect tranquillity reigned within the inclosure, and the embers of the night-fire, as they gradually died out, cast their last rays over the silent obscurity.
About ten o’clock, after a short sleep, the Indian awoke. His eyes became fixed beneath his lowered eyebrows, and his head was turned in a listening attitude towards the plain. He seemed endeavoring to detect some scarcely perceptible sound. A vague uneasiness was soon expressed on his face, usually so calm. Had he perceived the approach of prowling Indians, or the coming of jaguars, water-tigers, and other formidable beasts which are numerous in the neighborhood of rivers? This last possibility doubtless appeared plausible to him, for he cast a rapid glance over the combustible materials piled in the inclosure, and his anxiety increased. In fact, all this dry bedding would quickly be consumed, and could not long intimidate the audacious animals.
According to this conjecture, Thalcave had only to await the progress of events, which he did, half reclining, his head resting on his hands, his elbows on his knees, his eyes motionless, in the attitude of a man whom a sudden anxiety has awakened from sleep.
An hour passed. Any other person but Thalcave, reassured by the outward silence, would have lain down again. But where a stranger would have suspected nothing, the highly-trained senses and natural instinct of the Indian foresaw the coming danger.
While he was listening and watching, Thaouka gave a low neigh. His nose was stretched towards the entrance to the ramada. The Patagonian suddenly started.
“Thaouka has scented some enemy,” said he.
He arose and scanned the plain attentively. Silence still reigned, but not tranquillity. Thalcave discerned shadows moving noiselessly among the tufts of grass. Here and there glittered luminous points, which spread on all sides, now fading away, and now gleaming forth again. You would have thought fantastic elves were dancing on the surface of an immense lagoon. A stranger would doubtless have taken these flitting sparks for glow-worms, which shine, when night comes, in many parts of the Pampas. But Thalcave was not deceived; he knew with what enemies he had to deal. He loaded his carbine, and took a position near the first stakes of the inclosure.
He did not wait long. A strange cry, a mingling of barks and howls, resounded over the plain. The report of the carbine answered it, and was followed by a hundred frightful yelps. Glenarvan and Robert suddenly awoke.
“What is the matter?” asked Robert.
“Indians?” said Glenarvan.
“No,” replied Thalcave, “aguaras.”
Robert looked at Glenarvan.
“Aguaras?” said he.
“Yes,” replied Glenarvan, “the red wolves of the Pampas.”
Both seized their weapons, and joined the Indian. The latter pointed to the plain, from which arose a series of formidable howls. Robert involuntarily took a step backward.
“You are not afraid of the wolves, my boy?” said Glenarvan.
“No, my lord,” replied Robert, in a firm tone. “With you I fear nothing.”
“So much the better. These aguaras are not very formidable beasts; and were it not for their numbers I should not even think of them.”
“What does it matter?” replied Robert. “We are well armed. Let them come.”
“And they shall be well received.”
Speaking thus, Glenarvan endeavored to reassure the lad; but he did not think without a secret terror of that dense horde of exasperated beasts. Perhaps there were hundreds of them; and these three, however well armed, could not advantageously contend against so many and such antagonists.
By the howls that resounded over the Pampas, and by the multitude of shadows that flitted about the plain, Glenarvan could not be mistaken as to the number. These animals had scented a sure prey, horse-flesh or human flesh, and not one among them would return to his lair without having his portion. The situation was, therefore, very alarming.
Meanwhile the circle of wolves grew gradually narrower. The horses, awakened, gave signs of the liveliest terror. Thaouka alone pawed the ground, seeking to break his halter, and ready to rush out. His master succeeded in calming him only by whistling continually.
Glenarvan and Robert had stationed themselves so as to defend the entrance of the ramada, and with their loaded rifles were about to fire at the first ranks of wolves, when Thalcave turned aside their weapons already poised for a shot.
“What does Thalcave wish?” asked Robert.
“He prohibits us from firing,” answered Glenarvan.
“Why?”
“Perhaps he does not consider it the proper time.”
This was not, however, the motive which actuated the Indian, but a graver reason, which Glenarvan understood when Thalcave, raising his powder-flask and inverting it, showed that it was almost empty.
“Well?” said Robert.
“We must economize our ammunition. Our hunt to-day has cost us dear, and we are deficient in powder and shot. We have not twenty charges left.”
The boy answered nothing.
“You are not afraid, Robert?”
“No, my lord.”
“Very well, my boy.”
At this moment another report resounded. Thalcave had brought down a too bold enemy. The wolves that were advancing in close ranks recoiled, and gathered together again a hundred paces from the inclosure.
Glenarvan, at a sign from the Indian, took his place at once, while the latter, collecting the bedding, grass, and all combustible materials, piled them at the entrance of the ramada and threw on a burning ember. Soon a curtain of flame was defined against the dark background of the sky, and through the openings the plain appeared illumined by great moving reflections. Glenarvan could therefore judge of the great number of animals against which they had to defend themselves. Never had so many wolves been seen together before, nor so excited by rapacity. The fiery barrier that Thalcave had just opposed to them had redoubled their fury. Some, however, advanced to the very fire, crowded by the rear ranks, and burned their paws. From time to time a shot was necessary to check the howling horde, and at the end of an hour fifteen bodies lay on the prairie.
The besieged were now in a situation relatively less dangerous. So long as their supplies lasted, so long as the barrier of fire stood at the entrance to the ramada, invasion was not to be feared. But what was to be done if all these methods of repelling the wolves should fail at the same time?
Glenarvan gazed at Robert, and felt his heart beat quick with excitement. He forgot himself, and thought only of this poor child, who displayed a courage beyond his years. Robert was pale, but his hand did not leave his weapon, and he awaited with firm bearing the assault of the enraged wolves.
Meantime, Glenarvan, after coolly considering the situation, resolved to do something decisive.
“In one hour,” said he, “we shall have no more powder, shot, or fire. We must not wait till then to make a sally.”
He turned towards Thalcave, and, recalling a few words of Spanish, began a conversation with the Indian, frequently interrupted by the cracks of the rifle.
It was not without difficulty that these two men succeeded in understanding each other. Glenarvan, fortunately, knew the habits of the red wolf. Without this knowledge he could not have interpreted the words and gestures of the Patagonian.
Nevertheless, a quarter of an hour passed before he could give to Robert the meaning of Thalcave’s answer. He had questioned the Indian concerning their situation.
“And what did he answer?” inquired Robert.
“He said that, cost what it may, we must hold out till daybreak. The aguara goes out only at night, and when morning comes he returns to his lair. He is the wolf of darkness, a cowardly beast that fears the daylight.”
“Well, let us defend ourselves till day.”
“Yes, my boy, and with our knives if we can no longer use our guns.”
Already Thalcave had set the example, and when a wolf approached the fire, the long knife of the Patagonian was thrust through the flames and drawn back again red with blood.
However, the means of defense were failing. About two o’clock in the morning, Thalcave threw into the fire the last armful of fuel, and the besieged had only five charges left.
Glenarvan cast about him a sorrowful glance. He thought of the child who was there, of his companions, of all whom he loved. Robert said nothing; perhaps the danger did not appear imminent to his hopeful spirit. But Glenarvan pictured to himself that terrible event, now apparently inevitable, the being devoured alive! He was not master of his emotion; he drew the child to his breast, he clasped him to his heart, he pressed his lips to his forehead, while tears flowed from his eyes.
Robert gazed at him with a smile. “I am not afraid,” said he.
“No, my boy, no,” replied Glenarvan; “and you are right. In two hours, day will appear, and we shall be saved! Well done, Thalcave, my brave Patagonian!” cried he, as the Indian killed with the butt of his gun two enormous beasts that were attempting to cross the glowing barrier.
But at this moment the dying light of the fire showed him the aguaras advancing in a dense body to assail the ramada. The dénouement of the bloody drama was approaching. The fire gradually subsided, for want of fuel; the flames sank; the plain, before illumined, now relapsed into shadow, and in the shadow reappeared the terrible eyes of the red wolves. A few moments more, and the whole drove would rush into the inclosure.
Thalcave discharged his carbine for the last time, stretched out one more of their enemies, and, as his ammunition was exhausted, folded his arms. His head sank upon his breast; he appeared to be questioning himself. Was he searching for some bold, novel, or rash scheme for repelling this furious herd? Glenarvan did not venture to ask him.
At this moment a change took place in the action of the wolves. They seemed to be retreating, and their howls, so deafening before, suddenly ceased. An ominous silence reigned over the plain.
“They are going,” said Robert.
“Perhaps,” replied Glenarvan, who was listening with intentness.
But Thalcave shook his head. He knew well that the animals would not abandon a certain prey until at daybreak they returned to their holes and dens.
However, the tactics of their enemies had evidently changed, they no longer endeavored to force the entrance of the ramada; but their new manœuvres were already causing a still more imminent danger.
The wolves, abandoning their design of penetrating the inclosure by this entrance, which was defended by weapon and fire, went to the back of the ramada and sought to assail it in the rear. Their claws were soon heard rattling against the half-decayed wood. Already their powerful paws and bloody mouths had forced their way between the shattered stakes. The horses, bewildered and panic-stricken, broke their halters and dashed into the inclosure. Glenarvan seized Robert in his arms, to defend him to the last extremity; and he would have attempted a rash flight, and rushed out of the ramada, had not his eyes fallen upon the Indian.
Thalcave, turning like a deer, had suddenly approached his horse, which was neighing with impatience, and was beginning to saddle him carefully, forgetting neither strap nor buckle. He seemed no longer to care for the howls, that were now redoubled. Glenarvan gazed at him with a dark foreboding.
“He is leaving us!” cried he, seeing Thalcave gather up his reins as though he were about to mount.
“He? never!” said Robert.
In truth the Indian was about to make a venture, not to leave his friends, but to save them by sacrificing himself. Thaouka was ready. He champed his bit; he pranced; his eyes, full of a fiery spirit, shot forth lightning flashes; he understood his master.
Just as the Indian was seizing the mane of his horse, Glenarvan caught him by the arm with a convulsive grasp.
“You are going?” said he, pointing to the plain, which was now deserted.
“Yes,” replied the Indian, who comprehended the gesture of his companion; and, with vehement gesticulations which were however perfectly intelligible, he added a few words in Spanish, which signified: “Thaouka—good horse—swift—will draw the wolves after him.”
“Ha! Thalcave!” cried Glenarvan.
“Quick, quick!” continued the Indian; while Glenarvan said to Robert, in a voice broken by emotion,—
“Robert, my lad, you hear! He will sacrifice himself for us; he will rush out over the plain, and turn aside the fury of the wolves upon himself.”
“Friend Thalcave,” replied Robert, looking imploringly at the Patagonian, “friend Thalcave, do not leave us!”
“No,” said Glenarvan, “he will not leave us.”
And, turning to the Indian, he added, pointing to the terrified horses crowding against the stakes,—
“Let us go together.”
“No,” said the Indian, who was not mistaken as to the meaning of these words. “Bad beasts—frightened—Thaouka—good horse.”
“Very well,” said Glenarvan. “Thalcave shall not leave, Robert. He shows me what I have to do. It is my duty to go, and his to remain with you.”
Then, seizing Thaouka’s bridle, he added,—
“I will go.”
“No,” replied the Patagonian, calmly.
“I tell you,” cried Glenarvan, taking the bridle from the hands of the Indian, “I will go. Save this boy! I trust him to you, Thalcave!”
Glenarvan, in his excitement, mingled English and Spanish together. But what matters the language? In such a terrible situation, signs tell all, and men quickly understand each other.
However, Thalcave resisted, and the discussion was prolonged. The danger was increasing every moment. Already the broken stakes were yielding to the teeth and claws of the wolves. But neither Glenarvan nor Thalcave appeared willing to yield. The Indian had drawn Glenarvan towards the entrance of the inclosure. He pointed to the plain, now free from wolves. In his animated language, he explained that not a moment was to be lost; that the danger, if this plan failed, would be greater for those who remained; in short, that he alone knew Thaouka well enough to employ his marvelous agility and speed for the common safety. Glenarvan blindly persisted in his resolve to sacrifice himself, when suddenly he was pushed violently back. Thaouka pranced, reared on his hind legs, and all at once, with a spring, cleared the barrier of fire and the rampart of bodies, while a boyish voice cried,—
“God save you, my lord!”
Glenarvan and Thalcave had scarcely time to perceive Robert, who, clinging to the horse’s mane, disappeared in the darkness.
“Robert, unfortunate!” cried Glenarvan.
But these words the Indian himself could not hear. Frightful howls resounded. The wolves, starting on the track of the horse, fled into the darkness with a terrible speed.
Thalcave and Glenarvan rushed out of the ramada. Already the plain had resumed its tranquillity, and they could scarcely distinguish a moving line which undulated afar in the shadows of the night.
Glenarvan sank upon the ground, overcome, in despair, clasping his hands. He gazed at Thalcave, who smiled with his accustomed calmness.
“Thaouka—good horse—brave child—he will be saved!” he repeated, nodding his head.
“But if he falls?” said Glenarvan.
“He will not fall!”
In spite of Thalcave’s confidence, his companion passed the night in terrible anguish. He was no longer even mindful of the danger still to be feared from the wolves. He would have gone in search of Robert, but the Indian restrained him, and explained that their horses could not overtake the boy, that Thaouka must have distanced his enemies, and could not be found in the darkness. They must wait for day to start in search of Robert.
At four o’clock in the morning day began to break. The mists of the horizon were soon tinged with pale rays. A sparkling dew covered the plain, and the tall grass began to wave under the first breezes of the dawn.
The moment of departure had arrived.
“Forward!” said the Indian.
Glenarvan did not reply, but sprang upon Robert’s horse, and the two were soon galloping towards the west in the direction from which their companions were to come.
For an hour they traveled thus with great speed, gazing around for Robert, and dreading at each step to behold his mangled body. Glenarvan tortured the flanks of his horse with his spurs. Suddenly shots were heard, and reports at regular intervals, like signals for recognition.
“It is they!” cried Glenarvan.
Thalcave and he urged their horses to a more rapid pace, and a few moments afterwards they joined the party led by Paganel.
To Glenarvan’s joy, Robert was there, alive, borne by the noble Thaouka, who neighed with pleasure at seeing his master.
“Ah, my boy! my boy!” cried Glenarvan, with unspeakable tenderness; and Robert and he, dismounting, rushed into each other’s arms.
Then it was the Indian’s turn to clasp to his breast the courageous son of Captain Grant.
“He lives! he lives!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes,” replied Robert, “thanks to Thaouka.”
The Indian had not waited for these words of gratitude to embrace his horse, but at that very moment he spoke to him and embraced him, as if human blood flowed in the veins of the noble animal. Then, turning towards Paganel, he pointed to young Robert.
“A brave boy!” said he.
Glenarvan, however, asked, even while he admired the lad,—
“Why, my son, did you not let Thalcave or me try this last chance of saving you?”
“My lord,” replied he, in accents of the liveliest gratitude, “was it not my duty to sacrifice myself, when Thalcave has saved my life, and you are going to save my father?”