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

trotted away. Stopping short suddenly it turned again and looked at its master with a high head, as if to say, "There! what think you of that?"

"You ole scoundril," growled the negro, with an injured look, "di'n't I say we's got no time to waste? eh! Come, now. Das enuff o' your fun."

He had again approached to within three feet or so, and again the playful steed had protruded its nose and even touched his hand, but before that hand could grasp the halter, tail and heels were in the air, and away it went a second time.

Indignation, intensified to the uttermost, sat on Quashy's countenance. "Scrubs," he said, solemnly--modifying the name a little, as he became more serious--"you nebber doo'd dat before! Come, sar, you 'bey orders, an' stan' still."

But the horse refused to obey orders, and declined to stand still. His master began to lose temper--if we may so speak of one who only became a little less amiable than usual. Under the influence of the condition, however, whatever it was, he became unjust, and began to call his horse names.

"What! you _not_ 'bey orders? you ole screw--you unnat'ral villin--you obs'nit lump o' hoss-flesh! Stan' still, I say!"

Need we say that the horse refused to stand still?

Again, and again, and over again, the negro tried to lay hands on the animal, and as often did he fail. Quashy, however, was not to be easily beaten. His was a resolute and persevering nature; but the misfortune on that occasion was that he had to do with a creature possessed of greater resolution and perseverance than himself. He spent hours over the effort. He coaxed the horse. He wheedled it. He remonstrated with and reproved it. He tried the effect of the most endearing entreaties, and assurances of personal esteem. Losing--no, becoming less amiable, he flew round to the other extreme, and accused it of ingratitude, indefensible even in an ass. Then he sought to bribe it with offers of free forgiveness. After that he tried to frighten it with threats of the most painful and every way horrible consequences; but whatever effect all these varied influences might have had upon the horse's mind, the one unvarying effect on its body was to send its tail and heels towards the sky, while it neighed joyously and trotted around. Poor Quashy went up to it smilingly--after that, frowningly; he cringed towards it; he advanced straightforwardly; he sidled slily; he ran at it; he rushed at it; he bounced at it; he yelled at it; he groaned at it; he perspired after it; he went nearly mad over it, and, finally, he sat down before it, and glared in deadly silence in its innocent face!

Then the unfortunate man, having spent a very considerable part of the day thus, bethought him of trying to catch the other horse, but with it he was also unsuccessful--indeed, the failure was even more emphatic, for Lawrence's steed refused to let him come within even hopeful distance of it.

At last, in the profoundest state of despair to which he was ever known to have sunk, he returned to camp. Lawrence had got there before him, saw him coming, and advanced to meet him.

"Well, Quashy, I have failed," he said, with a sigh.

"So's I," returned Quashy, with a growl.

"This losing of our horses," remarked Lawrence, "is the worst that could have befallen us."

"No, massa," said the negro, with more of sulkiness--or less of amiability--than he had exhibited since they first met on the western side of the Andes, "breakin' our legs would be wuss--smashin' our necks would be wusser still. But de hosses is _not_ lost. Dey's on'y spunkerblued."

"How? What d'you mean?"

"Dey's down dar," returned the negro, pointing with his finger, "down in dat holler--spunkerblued."

"Not killed, I hope," asked Lawrence, anxiously.

"Oh no, massa, on'y spunkerblued--stuffed to de muzzle wid deir own self-will."

Lawrence received this explanation with a light laugh. "Come," he said, quickly, "lead the way, Quash, and I'll show you how to get them out of the spunkerblues."

Comforted and reassured by his master's hearty tone and manner, the negro led the way to the spot where he had spent such a busy day.

Now, we do not know whether we have made it obvious to the reader that Lawrence Armstrong's kindliness of nature embraced not only the human race but the whole animal kingdom. At all events it is true that wherever he came in contact with the lower animals he managed by some species of fascination to gain their affections. The mode of fascination began, no doubt, with their stomachs, but this does not alter the fact. Among other creatures Lawrence had gained the affections of Quashy's steed, and also of Manuela's and Pedro's horses, as well as his own, by means of sugar. With this simple appliance he went into the hollow, and held out his hand.

"Come, Ole Scrubby," he cried, using Quashy's words.

With a cheerful neigh the rebellious one trotted up, received the sugar, and suffered himself to be led once more into servitude.

"Even among the brutes, Quash," he remarked, as he patted the nose of his own steed, "we are meant to `overcome evil with good.' Come, we must spend another night here, for it is too late to start off now; besides, I am tired out, and starving."

"Massa," returned Quashy, as they mounted, "I's done up to dat extent, an' _so_ hungry, I could sleep on prickly pears, an' heat my wittles raw."

In this condition of body and mind they galloped back to camp, and took particular care that the horses should not again stray.

Next morning, after breakfasting on the remains of their food, they mounted, and, taking the sun as their guide, headed away eastward at full gallop.

Silently and steadily for two hours or more they swept along over the Pampas waves, turning aside only a little once or twice to avoid ground that had been riddled and rendered unsafe by the biscachos.

As noon approached Quashy gave a shout, and pointed to the horizon ahead of them, where living objects of some kind were seen moving along.

"Ostriches," said Lawrence.

"Dey's a noo kind ob ostriches wid four legs," returned the negro, "an' wid peepil on deir backs."

"I believe you are right. A party of mounted men, apparently. Come, this is well. Whoever they are we shall at least be able to gather some information from them, and, at the worst, we can follow them to some inhabited spot."

"True, massa, an' if dey's rubbers we kin fight dem."

On drawing near they found that the riders belonged to a family of Gauchos. There were six of them--all fine-looking fellows, clad in the graceful, though ragged costume of the Pampas. One of their number was a little boy of about five years of age, who rode his horse with all the elegance and ease of a Spanish grandee, though only about the size of a large monkey.

They turned out to be honest and friendly men, who said that they were returning home after assisting in a successful chase after Indians.

Had they been assisted by troops in the chase, Lawrence asked, eagerly.

Yes, they had--troops under a tall, white-haired colonel, and the captives had been rescued, the savages scattered, and the soldiers had gone off in the direction of Buenos Ayres.

"So, Quashy, they've managed the job without our assistance," said Lawrence, on hearing this. "Now we must spur after the troops as hard as our steeds can go."

On this being stated to the leading Gaucho he shook his head, and advised the senhor to go to their hut for the night. It was only a little way out of the line of march; there the travellers could feed and rest well, and start refreshed in the morning. Besides, a storm was coming on which would prevent all travelling for some hours.

As he spoke he pointed to a part of the sky which had become dark with clouds, and, without further remark, galloped away, followed by his companions. Lawrence deemed it wise in the circumstances to accept the invitation.

The day had been very sultry, and if our travellers had not been ignorant of the signs of the Pampas they might have known that the day was heavy with the presage of storm.

Before the Gaucho home, to which they were hastening, appeared on the horizon, the whole sky had become overclouded and vivid forked lightning began to play. From the way in which the Gauchos spurred and the horses trembled it was clear that they feared being caught in the storm; and little wonder, for both men and beasts are filled with alarm when overtaken on the unsheltered Pampas by one of these terrific tempests. The blast, sweeping unchecked over hundreds of miles of wilderness, often acquires a force that drives all before it. Sometimes great herds of cattle have been driven bellowing before the gale, tumbling over each other in wild confusion till some swollen river has checked their flight and ended their career.

Race, and spur, and shout as they might, however, the storm was too quick for them on this occasion. The wind seemed to rush down upon them with evil intent and fury, changing the temperature from sultry heat to sudden and bitter cold. Dust, too, was stirred up, and swept along so thickly that the day became as dark as night. Then the rain burst upon them like a waterspout, and, mingling with the flying dust overhead, came down in the form of mud, mixed with flying sticks and stones, and grass, and prickly thistle-heads.

So fierce was the hurly-burly that it seemed as if man and horse must perish under it. Thunder also cracked and roared in terrific peals, while ever and anon the lightning flashed like gleaming steel through the darkness.

In the midst of this elemental war the party reached the Gaucho huts. What they were like Lawrence could not tell. He had galloped like the rest wildly along, with his face buried in his poncho, and saw nothing-- save once or twice, when, raising his head slightly and opening one eye, he saw, or fancied he saw, the Gauchos, like dark phantoms, flying before him, and Quashy at his side, bending flat on his horse's neck. The stout negro seemed to care nothing for his body so long as his face was safe, for he had let his poncho go, and as it was fastened only at the neck, it flapped wildly above his head.

Presently they passed through an opening in what seemed a mud wall. Then they stopped so suddenly that Lawrence almost went over his steed's head, while his man effectually did so, and, throwing a complete somersault, alighted by good fortune on his feet.

They all tumbled promiscuously into a mud hut, and then, clearing their eyes, found that the Gaucho-leader and a woman, apparently his wife, were smiling welcome beside them; that the short-lived storm was already passing away, after having done its worst, and that they were drenched to the skin as well as covered with mud and thistle-heads from top to toe.


CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.


BEGINS WITH GAUCHO HOMES AND DOMESTIC CONCERNS; CONTINUES WITH TWO FIGHTS, AND ENDS WITH A