by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER FORTY.
ON THE SALITRAL.
Next morning the trackers are up at an early hour--the earlier becauseof their increased anxiety--and after break fasting on broiled ostrichleg, make ready to recommence their journey.
_Nolens volens_, they must embark upon that brown, limitless expanse,which looks unattractive in the light of the rising sun as it did underthat of the setting.
In their saddles, and gazing over it before setting out, Gaspar says--
"_Hijos mios_; we can't do better than head due westward. That willbring us out of the _salitral_, somewhere. Luckily there's a sun in thesky to hold us to a straight course. If we hadn't that for a guide, wemight go zig-zagging all about, and be obliged to spend a night amidstthe saltpetre; perhaps three or four of them. To do so would be to riskour lives; possibly lose them. The thirst of itself would kill us, forthere's never drinkable water in a _salitral_. However, with the sunbehind our backs, and we'll take care to keep it so, there won't be muchdanger of our getting bewildered. We must make haste, though. Once itmounts above our heads, I defy Old Nick himself to tell east from west.So let's put on the best speed we can take out of the legs of ouranimals."
With this admonition, and a word to his horse, the gaucho goes off at agallop; the others starting simultaneously at the same pace, and allthree riding side by side. For on the smooth, open surface of the_salitral_ there is no need for travelling single file. Over it athousand horsemen--or ten thousand for that matter--might march abreast,with wide spaces between.
Proceeding onward, they leave behind them three distinct traces of asomewhat rare and original kind--the reverse of what would be made bytravellers passing over ground thinly covered with snow, where the trailwould be darker than the surrounding surface. Theirs, on the contrary,is lighter coloured--in point of fact, quite white, from the saltpetretossed to the top by the hooves of their galloping horses.
The gaucho every now and then casts a glance over his shoulder, toassure himself of the sun's disc being true behind their backs; and inthis manner they press on, still keeping up the pace at which they hadstarted.
They have made something more than ten miles from the point where theyentered upon the _salitral_; and Gaspar begins to look inquiringlyahead, in the hope of sighting a tree, ridge, rock, or other land-markto tell where the _travesia_ terminates. His attention thus occupied,he for awhile forgets what has hitherto been engaging it--the positionof the sun.
And when next he turns to observe the great luminary, it is only to seethat it is no longer there--at least no longer visible. A mass of darkcloud has drifted across its disc, completely obscuring it. In fact, itwas the sudden darkening of the sky, and, as a consequence, the shadowcoming over the plain before his face, which prompted him to turnround--recalling the necessity of caution as to their course.
"_Santos Dios_!" he cries out, his own brow becoming shadowed as thesky; "our luck has left us, and--"
"And what?" asks Cypriano, seeing that the gaucho hesitates, as ifreluctant to say why fortune has so suddenly forsaken them. "There's acloud come over the sun; has that anything to do with it?"
"Everything, senorito. If that cloud don't pass off again, we're asgood as lost. And," he adds, with eyes still turned to the east, hisglance showing him to feel the gravest apprehension, "I am pretty sureit won't pass off--for the rest of this day at all events. _Mira_!It's moving along the horizon--still rising up and spreading out!"
The others also perceive this, they too, having halted, and faced toeastward.
"_Santissima_!" continues the gaucho in the same serious tone, "_we'relost as it is now_!"
"But how lost?" inquires Ludwig, who, with his more limited experienceof pampas life, is puzzled to understand what the gaucho means. "Inwhat way?"
"Just because there's _no may_. That's the very thing we've lost,senorito. Look around! Now, can you tell east from west, or north fromsouth? No, not a single point of the compass. If we only knew one,that would be enough. But we don't, and, therefore, as I've said, we'relost--dead, downright lost; and, for anything beyond this, we'll have togo a groping. At a crawl, too, like three blind cats."
"Nothing of the sort!" breaks in Cypriano, who, a little apart from theother two, has been for the last few seconds to all appearance holdingcommunion with himself. "Nothing of the sort," he repeats ridingtowards them with a cheerful expression. "We'll neither need to gogroping, Gaspar, nor yet at a crawl. Possibly, we may have to slackenthe pace a bit; but that's all."
Both Ludwig and the gaucho, but especially the latter, sit regarding himwith puzzled looks. For what can he mean? Certainly something whichpromises to release them from their dilemma, as can be told by hissmiling countenance and confident bearing. In fine, he is asked toexplain himself, and answering, says:--
"Look back along our trail. Don't you see that it runs straight?"
"We do," replies Gaspar, speaking for both. "In a dead right line,thank the sun for that; and I only wish we could have had it to directus a little longer, instead of leaving us in the lurch as it has done.But go on, senorito! I oughtn't to have interrupted you."
"Well," proceeds the young Paraguayan, "there's no reason why weshouldn't still travel in that same right line--since we can."
"Ha!" ejaculates the gaucho, who has now caught the other's meaning, "Isee the whole thing. Bravo, Senor Cypriano! You've beaten me in thecraft of the pampas. But I'm not jealous--no. Only proud to think myown pupil has shown himself worthy of his teacher. _Gracias a Dios_!"
During all this dialogue, Ludwig is silent, seated in his saddle, a verypicture of astonishment, alike wondering at what his cousin can mean,and the burst of joyous enthusiasm it has elicited from the gaucho'slips. His wonder is brought to an end, however, by Cypriano turninground to him, and giving the explanation in detail.
"Don't you see, _sobrino mio_, that one of us can stay by the end of thetrail we've already made, or two for that matter, while the third ridesforward. The others can call after to keep him in a straight line andto the course. The three of us following one another, and the lastgiving the directions from our trail behind, we can't possibly goastray. Thanks to that white stuff, our back-tracks can be seen withoutdifficulty, and to a sufficient distance for our purpose."
Long before Cypriano has reached the end of his explanatory discourse,Ludwig, of quick wit too, catches his meaning, and with an enthusiasmequalling that of the gaucho, cries out:--
"_Viva, sobrino mio_! You're a genius!"
Not a moment more is lost or spent upon that spot; Ludwig being the onechosen to lead off, the gaucho following, with a long space betweenthem, while the rear is brought up by Cypriano himself; who for this go,and not Gaspar, acts as guide and director.
