Wild Life in the Land of the Giants: A Tale of Two Brothers
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"for dancing so muchwith my Dulzura. It was kind and considerate. I knew _you_ wouldn'tmake love and talk nonsense to her as some of the officers tried to do."
"Oh no," said Jill, with his quiet smile, "we talked nothing butpolitics, I assure you, and discussed the future prospects of the SouthSea Islanders."
"Do you like her, Greenie?"
"Assuredly."
"Love, of course, is out of the question?"
"Certainly."
"Well, you'll be glad to know that she and I get on famously together.The worst of it is that she can't talk much English, and I don't knowmuch Spanish. But she is going to teach me. About a fortnight willmake me perfect."
"About a fortnight, Peter," I said in some surprise. "Why the boat forMonte Video comes round the day after to-morrow."
"Ah! yes, but I'm not going in her. Neither are you nor Greenie here.That's what I came to speak about."
"Well, heave round. I'll be glad to hear what you have to say."
"It's very simple. Senor Castizo has taken an inordinate fancy for me.Dear Dulzura goes home with her maid to Valparaiso in about three weekstime, but her father stops. He is going into the wilds of Patagonia,where he has been before, and knows the lay of the land well. And heasked me to stay too, and accompany him."
"Yes, and what did you say?"
"I said I'd do so like a shot, if I got you and Greenie to come withus."
Jill's eyes sparkled with delight.
"It would be simply glorious," he said. "And I'm sure mother wouldn'tmind, nor aunt either."
"But we haven't much money to rig up," I said.
"Oh, we've enough, I assure you. It's a cheap country to live in.Castizo says about all a man wants is a guanaco robe and a gun, with ahorse or two, and there you are."
I confess I was quite as struck with the notion of having a few wildadventures in the Land of the Giants as Jill was; but, being the elder,I was of course bound to prudence and discretion.
"We'd have to write a very long letter home," I said.
"Well, you're capable of doing that, I believe."
"And state that there is little danger, and that it will recruit Jill'shealth."
"Capital phrase!" cried Peter. "Jack, you're quite a diplomatist."
"But," I added, "is there much danger?"
"Not very much, from the way Castizo speaks. I would bear very lightlyon those if I were you."
"And you know, Jack," said Jill, "adventures would not be much worthwithout just a _soupcon_ of danger."
"True. Well, I must confess I'm willing. What about Ritchie?"
"He and another man are coming with us."
"And Captain Coates and our dear little mother?"
"Going home. They must, you know. We needn't. And it isn't Frenchleave either. You and I and Jill are shipwrecked mariners--that, by theway, is why we are objects of interest and romance to Dulzura. We'reshipwrecked mariners, and it isn't as if we were apprentices."
"We are all passed mates."
"And the _Salamander_ was aunt's ship," added Jill. "She can get usanother."
"True, Jill; you're a brick."
"Well," he added, "is it a bargain?"
"Yes," I said, speaking for Jill and myself too. Then we all shookhands, and the conversation took another turn; that is--it went back toDulzura.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
BOOK III--THE LAND OF GIANTS.
ALL ALONE ON THE PAMPAS--THE CAMP IN THE CANON.
Alone on the Pampas. Alone in the moonlight. Alone amidst scenery soblack, so bare, so desolate, that looking back now through a long vistaof years, as I sit by my cosy English fireside, I shudder to think ofit.
There was nought of life to be seen anywhere, save that single horsemanon his trusty steed who stopped for a moment on an upland ridge to gazearound him. Not a tree; hardly a bush; the very grass itself in stuntedpatches, with rough boulders lying here and there as if they had beenrained from the heavens. No signs of house nor habitation, only thesharply undulating plain, wherever the eye might turn, and far away onthe western horizon, hills or mountains snow-clad, glimmering white inthe uncertain light of moon and stars.
The moon? Yes, and I have oftentimes thought, while on the Pampas, thatif one could reach that orb, it would be just such a landscape as thishe would see on every side; and if wind blows there at all, it would bejust such a wind, as is now moaning and sighing over this dreary plainfrom the distant Cordilleras.
It was neither a wild nor a stormy night, however. Behind a huge bankof yellow clouds, that lay high over the mountains, the lightning wasflickering and playing every moment; the breeze was not high nor was itextra cold, being early summer in this region. It is the desolation andthe exceeding lonesomeness of the situation that strikes to the heartand feelings of one when he thinks of it.
And the deep silence!
Were there no sounds at all? Very few; only that moaning, sighing,whispering wind, rising at times into almost a shriek, then dying awayagain till it could scarce be heard. A wind in which, had you been atall nervous, you might have almost declared you heard voices, human orghostly. Only the wind, and now and then the cry of some night-hawk orits victim; or the plaintive, peevish yap of the prairie fox.
Very marked indeed is the silence by night on the Patagonian Pampas.Not more so anywhere except on the broad, glittering snow-fields of theArctic "pack," or the highest plateaus of the Himalayan hills.
So tall and square is the figure of the horseman, whose rifle is slungacross his shoulders, and so active, yet sturdy and strong, does hishorse look, that standing there on the ridge, he has all thepicturesqueness of a mounted Arab.
He shudders slightly now and draws his guanaco mantle closer about him,gazes once more around as if taking his bearings, then rides slowly on.
Presently he comes near a bush, a stunted barberia and draws reinspeedily, for from under it fierce green eyes glare at him, and a sound,which is half yawn half yell of anger, makes him place a hand on hisrevolver.
He does not fire, however; he waits. Then a huge puma gathers itself upand edges off, drawing its graceful length along the ground, but makingoff still with head turned towards him, and breathing hoarse defiance,till, with bounds and leaps, he is soon out sight. When the puma hasquite disappeared, he rides on again, but with a little more caution,avoiding the bushes. Where there is one puma there may be, andgenerally is, another.
He does not draw rein again for a good hour. Uphill and downhill, butmostly on the gravelly level, till all at once he finds himself on thebank of a canon or ravine.
He bends down now and pats the neck of his horse. The animal neighs,and is answered from the bottom of the glen; then the horseman slowlydescends, carefully, and with judicious hand restraining the impatienceof his steed. So steep is the bank that the hind legs of the horsesometimes slip right under him, and loosened stones roll down to thegreen sward below.
Low down in the strath here there is a stream of water, a river in fact,rushing along, its waters sparkling in the moonlight, and everywhere onits banks the sward is green and beautiful. Here a whole herd of horsesare quietly grazing. They look up as the horseman approaches, and tosstheir heads as if happy to have a new companion, while from some littledistance the barking of dogs is heard, and presently a huge animal--looking huger still in the uncertain light--comes bounding straightthrough the herd of horses, and challenges the rider. The dog's hair iserect from head to stern, and he growls low but ominously.
"Good dog," says Senor Castizo; "don't you know me? Poor Ossian, poorboy!"
The dog knows him very well indeed, but gives him to understand thathe--Ossian--is on guard to-night, and must be careful.
"It is easy to know you," Ossian seems to say. "My nose has not failedme yet. I'd know you with my eyes shut. But what are you doing outalone at night? It looks bad. No, you needn't call me poor boy. I'mnot I'm Ossian, and with the exception of honest Bruce, the other dogsare not worth a bark. You can
follow me now, but be careful."
Ossian ran on in front, growling low to himself, and the horsemanfollowed. As soon as they had rounded the corner of a rock bluff, theycame in sight of the camp, and now Ossian stopped short and gave vent tosuch an alarm-peal that every one speedily rushed outside their tents.It might be hostile Indians, they thought. When living in the desertone must be at all times cautious.
But here was no hostile Indian, only honest, bold Castizo.
Peter and I were the first to rush towards him, and bid him welcome. Icaught the horse by the head. The brute was longing to join the herd.Peter, always impulsive, grasped his friend's hand