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

plisent like now, but it am anoder t'ing when de fresh mountain air goes howlerin' an' bowlerin' about like a wild beast, an' when it snowses an frozes fit to cut off your noses an' shribel up de bery marrow in your bones! Oh! you got no notion what--"

"Hold your tongue, Quashy," interrupted Lawrence, "why, your description of such things makes one shiver. Let us hope we may have no experience of them and enjoy our comforts while we may."

"Dat's true flosuffy, massa," returned the negro, helping himself to more guanaco, and offering some on the end of his fork to Manuela, who accepted the same with her usual ready smile, which, however, on this occasion, expanded into an uncontrollable little laugh.

Lawrence was perplexed, and so was Quashy, for the quiet little Indian was not given to giggling at trifles, much less to laughing at nothing. Lawrence observed, however, that the girl did not reach out her hand with her usual graceful action, but on the contrary gave her arm an awkward twist which obliged the negro to stretch needlessly far over towards her in handing the meat.

The result was that a pannikin of coffee which Quashy had placed on his plate--the plate being in his lap--began to tilt over. Before any one could warn him it overturned, causing the poor man to spring up with a yell as the hot liquid drenched his legs. Of course every one laughed. People always do at such mild mishaps. As the coffee was not too hot, and there was more in the kettle, Quashy joined in the laugh while he wiped his garments, and afterwards replenished his pannikin.

But a new light began to force itself upon Lawrence. "Can it be," he thought, "that she did that on purpose?--that she saw the pannikin was tilting, and--no, that's impossible!"

He looked earnestly at the girl. She had recovered her gravity by that time, and was quietly eating her supper with downcast eyes. "Impossible," he repeated in thought, "so unlike her, and so very unlike the Indian character." Nevertheless his perplexity remained, and when he went to sleep that night, after gazing long and earnestly up at the bright stars and at the white summits of the Andes which rose in awful grandeur above him, he dreamed that while Quashy was sitting sound asleep with his head on his knees in front of the fire, Manuela availed herself of the opportunity to pour an ocean of hot coffee down his back!

Starting up wide awake at this, he found that Quashy lay beside him, sleeping quietly on his back, that Pedro was similarly engaged, that the Indian girl had disappeared into her dormitory, that the giant's castle looked more splendidly real than ever in the rising moonlight, and that no sound was to be heard save the brawling of the escaped river, as it fled from its glacier-prison to its home in the mighty sea.


CHAPTER SIX.


A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS--REFUGE FOUND--CONVERSE ROUND THE FIRE.

The summit of the pass was at last gained, and not a moment too soon, for the storm which they had experienced a few days before was but the prelude to a gale such as is rarely experienced save in the winter months of the year, when most of the mountain passes are closed.

It began by mutterings of distant thunder, which caused the guide to look round the horizon and up at the sky somewhat anxiously.

"Do you think we shall reach our next shelter before it breaks?" asked Lawrence.

"I hope so," said Pedro, pausing on a ridge from which an almost illimitable view was had of mountain range and valley in all directions.

"Far over in that direction," he continued, pointing with his hand, "lies the land of the Incas. You have heard of the Incas, senhor?"

"Yes, I have heard of them, but cannot say that I am intimately acquainted with their history."

"It is a strange history--a very sad one," returned Pedro. "I will tell you something about it at another time; at present it behoves us to push on."

There was no question as to that point, for just as he spoke a sudden and powerful gust of wind swept Quashy's straw hat off and sent it spinning gaily along the path. Vaulting from his mule with a wild shout, the negro gave chase on foot, with an amount of anxiety that seemed not justified by the occasion. But as the poet truly puts it, "things are not what they seem," and Quashy's head-piece, which presented much the appearance of a battered old straw hat, was in truth an article of very considerable value.

It was one of those hats made by the people of South America, with a delicate fibre so finely plaited that in texture it resembles fine canvas, though in appearance it is like straw. It is exceedingly tough, takes a very long time to manufacture, and costs many dollars--so many, indeed, that a hat of the kind is thought worthy of being preserved and left as an heirloom from father to son as long as it lasts.

No wonder then that the negro made frantic efforts to regain his property--all the more frantic that he was well aware if it should pass over one of the neighbouring precipices it would be lost to him for ever. At last a friendly gust sent it into a snowdrift, through which Quashy plunged and captured it.

Snow in considerable quantities lay here and there around them in the form of old patches or drifts, and this began to be swept up by the fierce wind in spite of its solidity. Soon new snow began to fall, and, mingling with the old drifts, rendered the air so thick that it was sometimes difficult to see more than a few yards in advance. Lawrence, being unused to such scenes, began to fear they should get lost in these awful solitudes, and felt specially anxious for Manuela, who, despite the vigour of a frame trained, as it no doubt had been, in all the hardihood incidental to Indian camp life, seemed to shrink from the fierce blast and to droop before the bitter cold.

"Here, put on my poncho," said the youth, riding suddenly up to the girl's side and unceremoniously flinging his ample garment over the slight poncho she already wore. She drew it round her at once, and silently accepted the offering with a smile and an inclination of her small head which, even in these uncomfortable circumstances, were full of grace.

"Why _was_ she born a savage?" thought the youth, with almost petulant exasperation. "If she had only been white and civilised, I would have wooed and won--at least," he added, modestly, "I would have _tried_ to win and wed her in spite of all the opposing world. As it is, the-- the--gulf is impassable!"

"You have anticipated me, senhor," said the guide, who had reined in until the rest of the party overtook him. "I had halted with the intention of offering my poncho to Manuela. Poor girl, she is a daughter of the warm Pampas, and unused to the cold of the mountains."

He turned to her, and said something in the Indian tongue which seemed to comfort her greatly, for she replied with a look and tone of satisfaction.

"I have just told her," he said to Lawrence, as they resumed the journey, "that in half an hour we shall reach a hut of shelter. It is at the foot of a steep descent close ahead; and as the wind is fortunately on our backs, we shall be partially protected by the hill."

"Surely the place cannot be a farm," said Lawrence; "it must be too high up for that."

"No, as you say, it is too high for human habitation. The hut is one of those places of refuge which have been built at every two or three leagues to afford protection to travellers when assailed by such snow-storms as that which is about to break on us now."

He stopped, for the party came at the moment to a slope so steep that it seemed impossible for man or mule to descend. Being partly sheltered from the fitful gusts of wind, it was pretty clear of snow, and they could see that a zigzag track led to the bottom. What made the descent all the more difficult was a loose layer of small stones, on which they slipped continually. Before they had quite completed the descent the storm burst forth. Suddenly dense clouds of snow were seen rushing down from the neighbouring peaks before a hurricane of wind, compared with which previous gusts were trifles.

"Come on--fast--fast!" shouted the guide, looking back and waving his hand.

The first deafening roar of the blast drowned the shout; but before the snowdrift blinded him, Lawrence had observed the wave of the hand and the anxious look. Dashing the cruel Spanish spurs for the first time into the side of his no doubt astonished steed, he sprang alongside of Manuela's mule, seized the bridle, and dragged it forward by main force. Of course the creature objected, but the steep road and slipping gravel favoured them, so that they reached the bottom in safety.

Here they found the first of the refuge-huts, and in a few moments were all safe within its sheltering walls.

Having been erected for a special purpose, the hut was well adapted to resist the wildest storm. It was built of brick and mortar, the foundation being very solid, and about twelve feet high, with a brick staircase outside leading to the doorway. Thus the habitable part of the edifice was raised well above the snow. The room was about twelve feet square, the floor of brick, and the roof arched. It was a dungeon-like place, dimly lighted by three loop-holes about six inches square, and without furniture of any kind. A mark in the wall indicated the place where a small table had originally been fixed; but it had been torn down long before, as Pedro explained, by imprisoned and starving travellers to serve for firewood. The remains of some pieces of charred wood lay on the floor where the fire was usually kindled, and, to Pedro's great satisfaction, they found a small pile of firewood which had been left there by the last travellers.

"A dismal enough place," remarked Lawrence, looking round after shaking and stamping the snow out of his garments.

"You have reason to thank God, senhor, that we have reached it."

"True, Senhor Pedro, and I am not thankless; yet do I feel free to repeat that it is a most dismal place."

"Mos' horriboble," said Quashy, looking up at the vaulted roof.

"Ay, and it could tell many a dismal story if it had a tongue," said the guide, as he busied himself arranging the saddles and baggage, and making other preparations to spend the night as comfortably as circumstances should permit. "Luckily there's a door this time."

"Is it sometimes without a door, then?" asked Lawrence, as he assisted in the arrangements, while Quashy set about kindling a fire.

"Ay, the poor fellows who are sometimes stormstaid and starved here have a tendency to use all they can find about the place for firewood. Some one has replaced the door, however, since I was here last. You'll find two big nails in the wall, Manuela," he