The Rover of the Andes, Robert Michael Ballantyne [my reading book .TXT] 📗

in sight of a small clump of bushes, like a low islet in the sea of grass.

"We will camp here," said Lawrence, brusquely, as he pulled up and dismounted. "The game is up. We are fairly lost, that's quite clear, and it is equally clear that we and our horses must rest."

He spoke in a tone of cynical joviality, as if defying his misfortunes. The simple-minded Quashy, accepting it as genuine, said, "All right, massa," in a tone of cheerful satisfaction, as he slid off his steed and set about preparing the encampment.

If our hero's mind had been more at ease, it is probable that he would have enjoyed his surroundings greatly, for, although lost on the wide Pampas, they had not begun yet to suffer physically from that misfortune. Their wallets were still supplied with food sufficient for at least three full meals, the weather was serene, and the situation, viewed in one aspect, was exceedingly romantic. From the top of the rising ground where the fire was burning and the steaks of mare's flesh roasting, the complete circle of the horizon could be seen, and the yellow-brown grass of the Pampas, at that time about a foot high, rolled with a motion that strangely resembled the waves of the liquid ocean itself.

But poor Lawrence was incapable of enjoying the beauties of nature just then. After one long, anxious look round to see if any object should present itself which might raise the faintest echo of hope, he returned to the camp, and sat down on a mound with a profound sigh.

"Chee' up, massa," said Quashy, raising his face, which glittered with his efforts to blow the fire into a glow. "You's git her in de long run."

"Get who?" demanded Lawrence, in surprise, not unmingled with a touch of severity, for this was the first time that his humble follower had dared to touch on the theme that was uppermost in his mind.

With a strange compound of what is well named "cheek" and humility, Quashy replied, "_Her_, you know, de Inca princess--Manuela. It's all right!"

"And pray, Quashy, how do _you_ know that it's all right, or that I want anything to be all right. In short, what business have you to presume to--to--"

"Oh, it's all right, massa," replied the negro, with a wink--and _what_ a wink that was!--"I knows all about it, bein' _zactly_ in de same state wid Sooz'n."

Lawrence sought refuge from conflicting feelings in a loud laugh, and asked what hope Quashy could by any possibility entertain of ever seeing Susan again--she having, as it were, vanished from off the earth.

"Oh, nebber fear," was Quashy's comfortable reply. "I's sure to find Sooz'n, for she no can git along widout me, no more nor I can git along widout her. We's sure to find one anoder in de long run."

Envying his man's unwavering faith, Lawrence sat for some time silently contemplating the gorgeous sunset, when an exclamation drew his attention to the opposite side of the landscape.

"Look, massa. Suffin movin' dar."

There was indeed a moving speck--or rather two specks--on the horizon. As they drew nearer it was soon seen to be a Gaucho of the Pampas in full chase of an ostrich. They did not come straight towards our wanderers, but passed within half a mile of them. The picturesque hunter, bending over his steed's neck, with his scarlet poncho streaming behind him, and the bolas whirling round his head, was so eager in the pursuit that he either did not observe, or did not mind, the thin smoke of the camp-fire. The giant bird, stretching its long legs to the utmost and using its wings as additional propellers, seemed quite able to hold its own and test the powers of the horse. Gradually pursuer and pursued passed out of the range of vision, and were seen no more.

"Just as well," remarked Lawrence, as he afterwards sat eating his mare-steak by the star-and-fire light, "that fellow might be one of the many robbers who are said to infest the plains; and although we could no doubt have protected ourselves from him, he might have brought a swarm of his comrades about our ears."

"Yes, massa," was Quashy's brief reply, for he was engaged at that moment with a large and tough mouthful.

A long ride, and a hearty though frugal supper, disposed both master and man for rest that night. When the last gleam of sunset had faded from the western sky, and the last scraps of mare's flesh had vanished from their respective bones; when the stars were twinkling with nocturnal splendour, and all nature was sinking to repose, Lawrence and Quashy lay down on the grass, spread their ponchos above them, pillowed their weary heads upon their saddles, and slept profoundly.


CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.


LAWRENCE AND HIS MAN FALL IN WITH STRANGERS, HEAR GOOD NEWS, AND EXPERIENCE ROUGH USAGE.

"Lost on the Pampas!" thought Lawrence, on awaking next morning. It was romantic, no doubt, but--well, he did not follow up the "but" with very definite conceptions.

As he lifted his eyes towards the horizon, where the rays of the rising sun were suffusing the sky with a tinge of rosy light, his first feelings partook of gratitude for a night of unbroken rest, which had restored a bounding sensation of physical life and strength and energy. Awaking in such a condition of mind and body leads one, contradictory though it may seem, to spend the first few minutes of reviving consciousness in restful contemplation and enjoyment of one's surroundings. Raising himself on one elbow, our hero let his eyes wander dreamily over the vast plain. There was much monotony about it, no doubt, but the majesty of illimitable space neutralised that impression. On the horizon the intensifying tone of the rapidly increasing light harmonised with the varying greens and yellows of the herbage. Here and there one or two uplands in the far distance caught the sheen of day and relieved the prospect with streaks of varied hue. Still nearer a few clumps of low shrubbery increased this diversity a little. In the middle-distance the varied colours and forms of the grasses became distinct enough to invest the scene with character, while in the immediate foreground additional force and interest were given to the landscape by the person of Quashy lying flat on his back, with his great eyes closed and his huge mouth open.

The state of dreamy contemplation did not last long. The stern realities of the situation seemed to rush in upon his mind with sudden power. Lost! lost! The captives perhaps still unrescued from the savages! Manuela in danger! It was a dreadful state of things.

"Come, Quashy!" cried Lawrence, leaping up and giving the negro a rough shake that brought him instantly to a sitting and blinking condition. "Get up. We must be off. Saddle the horses--the hor--why, where _are_ the horses?"

He finished the sentence in tones of anxiety, for no horses were visible.

Bounding into the patch of bushes, on the edge of which they had passed the night, Lawrence ran through it hastily, followed by his man, who had shaken off lethargy in a moment.

The patch was small. Moreover, the shrubs were barely tall enough to conceal a horse. In five minutes it became quite certain that the horses were not there.

From the highest point of the rising ground they had a clear view of the plains all round, but after the keenest scrutiny not a speck resembling a horse was to be seen. The searchers looked at each other in dismay.

"Lost! and our horses gone!" said Lawrence, in a voice which excess of alarm had reduced to a sort of low, hoarse whisper.

"Most awrful!" murmured Quashy.

Lawrence cleared his throat and paused, while his sympathetic servant gazed.

"Now, Quashy," he said, "it seems to me quite impossible that our animals could have strayed in a few hours quite out of such an enormous circle of vision. They _must_ be somewhere about, though we can't see them."

"Yes, massa, dey _must_ be somewhar, as you say."

"Well, then, it follows that they must be concealed in one of the few clumps of bushes that lie around us. So we must search these instantly, for our only hope lies in finding the horses."

"Das so, massa."

Even our negro's elastic spirit seemed to be subdued to some extent by the prospect before them; for, apart from the fact that the bushy islets in the grassy sea were scarcely high enough to entirely conceal so large an object as a horse, they were scattered about at such immense distances from each other that a complete search of them implied toilsome labour for at least the whole of that day. Lawrence felt, however, that it had to be done, and arranged that his man should search towards the east, while he should take the west. To prevent the risk of their losing the mound on which they stood, one of their ponchos was thrown over the top of the highest bush and fixed there as a signal. So eager were they to begin, that both started off without a thought of breakfast.

It is not necessary to follow the steps of each. In regard to Lawrence, it may suffice to say that he wandered during the whole of that sultry day over the boundless plain, wearily but persistently examining the few bush-islets that lay to the west of their bivouac without finding a trace of the lost steeds. As the sun began to decline towards the east he gave up in despair, and, with weary limbs and something like wolfish hunger, returned towards the rendezvous.

Very different had been the experience of his sable servant.

Starting off, as we have said, at the same time with his master, Quashy found the two horses, after a two hours' search, quietly grazing in a grassy hollow. A low shrub-covered mound lying close to this hollow intervened between it and the spot where our adventurers had spent the night, thus effectually concealing the lost steeds from view.

The instant Quashy made the discovery he ran to the nearest elevation on the plain with the intention of shouting the news to his master, but by that time Lawrence was two or three miles away on the other side of the bivouac, quite beyond the range of sight and hearing.

Quashy, therefore, ran back to the hollow with the intention of catching the horses, mounting his own, and driving the other before him to the camp.

And now began that interesting but somewhat exhausting and heart-breaking process which may be styled coquetting with a free horse.

Full of glad enthusiasm, the negro ran towards his own steed, holding out his right hand, and exclaiming, "Come along, Ole Scrubby."

He had named the horse Ole Scrubby owing to some sort of facetious perversity of his own temperament, for the horse, instead of being "ole," was quite young, and, far from being scrubby, it was a remarkably fine animal.

"Come now, Ole Scrubby," repeated the man, "we's got no time to waste. D'ee hear?"

Evidently it heard, for, after allowing its master to advance within three feet of it, and even putting out its nose to smell his black hand, it gave a snort, turned round, tossed up its heels, and