On the Pampas; Or, The Young Settlers, G. A. Henty [spanish books to read .TXT] 📗

could possibly fall in love, with the exception of my daughter, I can hardly think that you have had sufficient opportunity to know your own mind. When you return to England you will meet young ladies very much prettier and very much more accomplished than my Maud, and you may regret the haste which led you to form an engagement out here."

"You shake your head, as is natural that you should do; but I repeat, you cannot at present know your own mind. If this is true of you, it is still more true of my daughter. She is very young, and knows nothing whatever of the world. Next month she proceeds to England with her mother, and for the next two years she will be engaged upon finishing her education. At the end of that time I shall myself return to England, and we shall then enter into society. If at that time you are still of the same way of thinking, and choose to renew our acquaintance, I shall be very happy, in the event of Maud accepting you, to give my consent. But I must insist that there shall be no engagement, no love-making, no understanding of any sort or kind, before you start. I put it to your honor as a gentleman, that you will make no effort to meet her alone, and that you will say nothing whatever to her, to lead her to believe that you are in love with her. Only when you say good-by to her, you may say that I have told you that as the next two years are to be passed in study, to make up for past deficiencies, I do not wish her to enter at all into society, but that at the end of that time you hope to renew the acquaintance."

Mr. Cooper endeavored in vain to alter Mr. Hardy's determination, and was at last obliged to give the required promise.

Mr. and Mrs. Hardy were not surprised when, two or three days after this, Mr. Cooper rode up and said that he had come to say good-by, that he had received letters urging him to return at once, and had therefore made up his mind to start by the next mail from Buenos Ayres.

The young Hardys were all surprised at this sudden determination, but there was little time to discuss it, as Mr. Cooper had to start the same night for Rosario.

Very warm and earnest were the adieus; and the color, which had rather left Maud's face, returned with redoubled force as he held her hand, and said very earnestly the words Mr. Hardy had permitted him to use.

Then he leaped into his saddle and galloped off, waving his hand, as he crossed the river, to the group which were still standing in the veranda watching him.

For a few days after this Maud was unusually quiet and subdued, but her natural spirits speedily recovered themselves, and she was soon as lively and gay as ever.

About a fortnight after the departure of Mr. Cooper an event took place which for awhile threatened to upset all the plans which they had formed for the future.

One or other of the girls were in the habit of frequently going over to stay for a day or two with Mrs. Mercer.

One evening Hubert rode over with Ethel, and Mrs. Mercer persuaded the latter to stay for the night; Hubert declining to do so, as he had arranged with Charley to go over early to Canterbury to assist at the branding of the cattle at that station.

In the morning they had taken their coffee, and were preparing for a start, when, just as they were mounting their horses, one of the men drew their attention to a man running at full speed toward the house from the direction of Mr. Mercer's.

"What can be the matter?" Charley said. "What a strange thing that a messenger should come over on foot instead of on horseback!"

"Let's ride and meet him, Charley," Hubert said; and putting spurs to their horses, they galloped toward the approaching figure.

As they came close to him he stumbled and fell, and lay upon the ground, exhausted and unable to rise.

The boys sprang from their horses with a feeling of vague uneasiness and alarm.

"What is the matter?" they asked. The peon was too exhausted to reply for a moment or two; then he gasped out, "Los Indies! the Indians!"

The boys gave a simultaneous cry of dread.

"What has happened? Tell us quick, man; are they attacking the estancia?" The man shook his head.

"Estancia burnt. All killed but me," he said.

The news was too sudden and terrible for the boys to speak. They stood white and motionless with horror. "All killed! Oh, Ethel, Ethel!" Charley groaned.

Hubert burst into tears. "What will mamma do?"

"Come, Hubert," Charley said, dashing away the tears from his eyes, "do not let us waste a moment. All hope may not be over. The Indians seldom kill women, but carry them away, and she may be alive yet. If she is, we will rescue her, if we go right across America. Come, man, jump up behind me on my horse."

The peon obeyed the order, and in five minutes they reached the gate. Here they dismounted.

"Let us walk up to the house, Hubert, so as not to excite suspicion. We must call papa out and tell him first, so that he may break it to mamma. If she learn it suddenly, it may kill her."

Mr. Hardy had just taken his coffee, and was standing at the door, looking with a pleased eye upon the signs of comfort and prosperity around him. There was no need, therefore, for them to approach nearer. As Mr. Hardy looked round upon hearing the gate shut, Charley beckoned to him to come down to them. For a moment he seemed puzzled, and looked round to see if the signal was directed to himself. Seeing that no one else was near him, he again looked at the boys, and Charley earnestly repeated the gesture.

Mr. Hardy, feeling that something strange was happening, ran down the steps and hurried toward them.

By the time he reached them, he had no need to ask questions. Hubert was leaning upon the gate, crying as if his heart would break; Charley stood with his hand on his lips, as if to check the sobs from breaking out, while the tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Ethel?" Mr. Hardy asked.

Charley nodded, and then said, with a great effort, "The Indians have burned the estancia; one of the men has escaped and brought the news. We know nothing more. Perhaps she is carried off, not killed."

Mr. Hardy staggered under the sudden blow. "Carried off!" he murmured to himself. "It is worse than death."

"Yes, papa," Charley said, anxious to give his father's thoughts a new turn. "But we will rescue her, if she is alive, wherever they may take her."

"We will, Charley; we will, my boys," Mr. Hardy said earnestly, and rousing himself at the thought. "I must go up and break it to your mother; though how I shall do so, I know not. Do you give what orders you like for collecting our friends. First, though, let us question this man. When was it?"

"Last night, signor, at eleven o'clock. I had just lain down in my hut, and I noticed that there were still lights downstairs at the house, when, all of a sudden, I heard a yell as of a thousand fiends, and I knew the Indians were upon us. I knew that it was too late to fly, but I threw myself out of the window, and lay flat by the wall, as the Indians burst in. There were eight of us, and I closed my ears to shut out the sound of the others' cries. Up at the house, too, I could hear screams and some pistol shots, and then more screams and cries. The Indians were all round, everywhere, and I dreaded lest one of them should stumble up against me. Then a sudden glare shot up, and I knew they were firing the house. The light would have shown me clearly enough, had I remained where I was; so I crawled on my stomach till I came to some potato ground a few yards off. As I lay between the rows, the plants covered me completely. In another minute or two the men's huts were set fire to, and then I could hear a great tramping, as of horses and cattle going away in the distance. They had not all gone, for I could hear voices all night, and Indians were moving about everywhere, in search of any one who might have escaped. They came close to me several times, and I feared that they would tread on me. After a time all became quiet; but I dared not move till daylight. Then, looking about carefully, I could see no one, and I jumped up, and never stopped running until you met me."

[Illustration: ETHEL'S CAPTURE BY THE INDIANS.]

Mr. Hardy now went up to the house to break the sad tidings to his wife. Charley ordered eight peons to saddle horses instantly, and while they were doing so he wrote on eight leaves of his pocketbook: "The Mercers' house destroyed last night by Indians; the Mercers killed or carried off. My sister Ethel with them. For God's sake, join us to recover them. Meet at Mercer's as soon as possible. Send this note round to all neighbors."

One of these slips of paper was given to each peon, and they were told to ride for their lives in different directions, for that Miss Ethel was carried off by the Indians.

This was the first intimation of the tidings that had arrived, and a perfect chorus of lamentation arose from the women, and of execrations of rage from the men. Just at this moment Terence came running down from the house. "Is it true, Mister Charles? Sarah says that the mistress and Miss Maud are gone quite out of their minds, and that Miss Ethel has been killed by the Indians!"

"Killed or carried away, Terence; we do not know where to yet."

Terence was a warm-hearted fellow, and he set up a yell of lamentation which drowned the sobs and curses of the natives.

"Hush, Terence," Charley said. "We shall have time to cry for her afterward; we must be doing now."

"I will, Mister Charles; but you will let me go with you to search for her. Won't you, now, Mister Charles?"

"Yes, Terence; I will take you with us, and leave Lopez in charge.
Send him here."

Lopez was close. He, too, was really affected at the loss of his young mistress; for Ethel, by her unvarying sweetness of temper, was a favorite with every one.

"Lopez, you will remain here in charge. We may be away two days—we may be away twenty. I know I can trust you to look after the place just as if we were here."

The capitaz bowed with his hand on his heart. Even the peasants of South America preserve the grand manner and graceful carriage of their Spanish ancestors. "And now, Lopez, do you know of any of the Gauchos in this part of the country who have ever lived with the Indians, and know their country at all?"

"Martinez, one of the shepherds at Canterbury, Signor Charles, was with them for seven months; and Perez, one of Signor Jamieson's men, was longer still."

Charles at once wrote notes asking that Perez and Martinez might accompany the expedition, and dispatched them by mounted peons.

"And now, Lopez, what amount of charqui have we in store?"

"A good stock, signor; enough for fifty men for a fortnight."

Charqui is meat dried in the sun. In hot climates meat cannot be kept for many hours in its natural state. When a bullock is killed, therefore, all the meat which is not required for immediate use is cut up into thin strips, and hung up in the sun to dry. After this process it is hard and strong, and by no means palatable; but it will keep for many months, and is the general food of the people. In large establishments it is usual to kill several animals at once, so as to lay in sufficient store of charqui to last for some time.

"Terence, go up to the house and see what biscuit there is. Lopez, get our horses saddled, and one for Terence—a good one—and give them a feed of maize. Now, Hubert, let us go up to the house, and get our carbines and