The Forest Exiles Part 2

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE PUNA.

By early dawn Guapo was awake, but he did not immediately awake the others. It was still too dark to follow the mountain road. His first care was to have his coca breakfast, and to this he applied himself at once.

Day was fairly broke when he had ended the process of mastication, and he bethought him of descending from the rock to arouse the sleepers. He knew they still slept, as no voice had yet issued from the grove of molles. The mule and horse were heard cropping the gra.s.s, and the llamas were now feeding upon an open spot,--the first they had eaten since their halt, as these creatures do not browse in the night.

Guapo descended with fear in his heart. How it would have joyed him to hear the voice of his master, or of any of them! But, no. Not a sound proceeded from any one of the party. He stole nimbly along the ledge, making his way through the molle trees. At length he reached the spot.

All asleep?--yes, all! "Are they dead?" thought Guapo, and his heart beat with anxiety. Indeed, they seemed so. The fatigue of travel had cast a sickly paleness over the faces of all, and one might easily have fancied they no longer lived. But they breathed. "Yes, they breathe!"

e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old Indian, half aloud. "They live!" Guapo bent down, and seizing Don Pablo by the arm, shook him--at first gently, uttering, at the same time, some words to awake him. But neither the shaking nor the voice had any effect. Guapo shook more violently, and shouted louder. Still Don Pablo slept. None of the others moved--none of them heard him. It was strange, for the Indian knew that Don Pablo himself, as well as the others, were easily awaked on ordinary occasions. Guapo, becoming alarmed, now raised his voice to its loudest pitch, at the same time dragging Don Pablo's shoulder in a still more violent manner. This had the desired effect. The sleeper awoke, but so slowly, and evidently with such exertion, that there was something mysterious in it.

"What is it?" he inquired, with half-opened eyes. "Is it morning already?"

"The sun is up. Rouse, my master! It is time we were on the road,"

replied the Indian.

"I feel very drowsy--I am heavy--I can scarce keep my eyes open. What can be the cause of this?"

"The poison-trees, master," answered Guapo.

The answer seemed to impress Don Pablo. He made a violent effort, and rose to his feet. When up he could scarcely stand. He felt as though he had swallowed a powerful opiate.

"It must be so, good Guapo. Perhaps there is some truth in what you have said. O, heavens!" exclaimed he, suddenly recollecting himself,--"the others--my wife and children!"

This thought had fully awakened Don Pablo; and Guapo and he proceeded at once to arouse the others, which they effected after much shouting and shaking. All were still heavy with sleep, and felt as did Don Pablo himself.

"Surely there is some narcotic power in the aroma of these trees,"

muttered Don Pablo. "Come, wife, let us be gone! We must remain under its influence no longer, else what Guapo has said may prove too true.

Saddle up--we must eat our breakfasts farther on. To the road!--to the road!"

Guapo soon had the horses ready, and all hurried from the spot, and were once more climbing up the mountain-path. Even the animals seemed to move slowly and lazily, as though they, too, had been under the influence of some soporific. But the pure cold air of the mountain soon produced its effect. All gradually recovered, and after cooking some _charqui_ and ocas in the ravine, and making their breakfast upon these, they again felt light and fresh, and pursued their journey with renewed vigour.

The road kept on up the ravine, and in some places the banks rose almost perpendicularly from the bed of the dry torrent, presenting on both sides vast walls of black porphyry--for this is the princ.i.p.al rock composing the giant chain of the Andes. Above their heads screamed small parrots of rich plumage of the species _Conurus rupicola_, which make their nestling places, and dwell upon these rocky cliffs. This is a singular fact, as all other parrots known are dwellers among trees and are found in the forest at all times, except when on their pa.s.sage from place to place. But even the squirrel, which is an animal peculiarly delighting in tree-life, has its representative in several species of ground-squirrels, that never ascend a tree; and, among the monkeys, there exists the troglodyte or cave-dwelling chimpanzee. No doubt squirrels or monkeys of any kind, transported to an open or treeless country, would soon habituate themselves to their new situation,--for Nature affords many ill.u.s.trations of this power of adaptation on the part of her creatures.

It was near sunset when our travellers reached the highest point of their route, nearly 14,000 feet above the level of the sea! Here they emerged upon an open plain which stretched far before them. Above this plain towered mountains of all shapes to a height of many thousand feet from the level of the plain itself. Some of these mountains carried their covering of eternal snow, which, as the evening sun glanced upon it, exhibited the most beautiful tints of rose, and purple, and gold.

The plain looked bleak and barren, and the cold which our travellers now felt added to the desolateness of the scene. No trees were in sight.

Dry yellow gra.s.s covered the ground, and the rocks stood out naked and s.h.a.ggy. They had reached one of those elevated tables of the Andes known as the _Puna_.

These singular tracts elevated above the level of cultivation are almost uninhabited. Their only inhabitants are a few poor Indians, who are employed by the rich proprietors of the lower valleys as shepherds; for upon these cold uplands thrive sheep, and cattle, and llamas, and flocks of the wool-bearing alpaco. Through this wild region, however, you may travel for days without encountering even a single one of the wretched and isolated inhabitants who watch over these flocks and herds.

On reaching the Puna, our party had made their day's journey, and would have halted. The llamas already showed signs of giving out by stopping and uttering their strange booming note. But Guapo knew these parts-- for, though a descendant of the Incas, he had originally come from the great forest beyond the eastern slope of the Andes, where many of the Peruvian Indians had retired after the cruel ma.s.sacres of Pizarro. He now remembered, that not far from where they were, was a shepherd's hut, and that the shepherd himself was an old friend of his. That would be the place to stop for the night; and, by Guapo's advice, Don Pablo resolved to continue on to the hut. Guapo fell upon his knees before the llamas, and, after caressing and kissing them, and using a great variety of endearing expressions, he at last coaxed these animals to proceed. No other means would have availed, as beating would not make either llama budge an inch. The leader, who was a fine large animal and a great favourite with its master, at length stepped boldly out; and the other, encouraged by the sound of the small bells that tinkled around the head of the leader, followed after, and so the travellers moved on.

"Come, papa!" cried Leon; "you are tired yourself--mount this horse--I can walk a bit:" at the same instant the boy flung himself from the back of the horse, and led him up to where his father stood. Then handing the bridle to the latter, he struck off along the plain, following Guapo and his llamas.

The road skirted round the rocks, where the mountain came down to meet the plain. The walk was not a long one, for the hut of which Guapo spoke became visible at less than a quarter of a mile's distance. An odd-looking hut it was--more like an ill-built stack of bean-straw than a house. It had been built in the following manner:--

First, a round ring of large stones had been laid, then a row of turf, then another tier of stones, and so on, until the circular wall had reached the height of about four or five feet, the diameter being not more than eight or nine. On the top of the wall a number of poles had been set, so as to meet above where they were tied together. These poles were nothing else than the long flower-stalks of the _maguey_ or American aloe (_Agave Americana_), as no other wood of sufficient length grew in the vicinity. These poles served for rafters, and across them laths had been laid, and made fast. Over all this was placed a thatch of the long coa.r.s.e Puna gra.s.s, which was tied in its place by gra.s.s ropes that were stretched from side to side over the top. This was the hut of Guapo's friend, and similar to all others that may be encountered in the wild region of the Puna. A door was left in the side, not over two feet high, so that it was necessary to crawl upon the hands and knees before any one could reach the interior.

As our travellers approached, they saw that the entrance was closed by an ox-hide which covered the whole of the opening.

Whether the shepherd was at home, was the next question; but as they got near to the house, Guapo suggested that Don Pablo should dismount and let Leon get upon horseback. This suggestion was made on account of the Puna dogs--of which creatures Guapo had a previous knowledge. These dogs, known by the name of Inca dogs (_Canis Ingae_), are, perhaps, the fiercest animals of their species. They are small, with pointed muzzles, tails curling upward, and long s.h.a.ggy hair. They are half-wild, snappish, and surly, as it is possible for dogs to be. They attack strangers with fury, and it is as much as their masters can do to rescue even a friend from their attack. Even when wounded, and unable any longer to keep their feet, they will crawl along the ground and bite the legs of those who have wounded them. They are even more hostile to white people than to Indians, and it is sometimes dangerous to approach an Indian hut where three or four of these fierce creatures are kept, as they will jump up against the side of a horse, and bite the legs of the rider. Their masters often use the stick before they can get obedience from them. In every Indian hut several of these animals may be found, as they are extremely useful to the shepherds in guarding their flocks and for hunting. They are much employed throughout the Puna to hunt the "yutu," a species of partridge which inhabits the rushy gra.s.s. This bird is traced by the dogs, seized before it can take to flight, and killed by a single bite of its fierce pursuer. Considering the savage nature of the Inca dogs, Guapo showed great caution in approaching the hut of his friend. He first called loudly, but there was no reply. He then stole forward with his long knife, or "_machete_" in his hand; and having lifted the skin that covered the low doorway, peeped in. The hut was empty.

CHAPTER SIX.

THE WILD BULL OF THE PUNA.

Guapo was not much troubled at this. He knew he could take the liberty of using his friend's roof for the night, even should the latter not return to grant it. He crawled in. Of course his friend was only temporarily absent--no doubt looking after his flocks of sheep and alpacos; and as he was a bachelor, there was no wife at home, but there were his furniture and utensils. Furniture! No--there was none. There never is in the hut of a Puna shepherd. Utensils! yes--there was an earthen "olla," or pot to cook soup in, another to boil or roast maize, a jar to hold water, a few split gourd-sh.e.l.ls for plates, two or three others for cups--that was all. This was the catalogue of utensils. Two stones set a little apart formed the fire-place, in which the shepherd, when he makes a fire to cook with, makes it out of dry dung (_taquia_).

A couple of dirty sheepskins lay upon the ground. These were the bed.

Nothing more was to be seen. Yes, there was one thing more, and this gladdened the eyes of Guapo. In a bag that hung against the wall, and on which he soon laid his hands, he felt something--a collection of hard round objects, about as big as large chestnuts. Guapo knew very well what these were. He knew they were "macas."

What are _macas_? you will ask. Macas, then, are tuberous roots that grow in the elevated regions of the Puna, where neither ocas, ullucas, nor potatoes, will thrive. They are cultivated by the inhabitants, and in many parts const.i.tute almost the only food of these wretched people.

They have an agreeable and rather sweetish flavour, and, when boiled in milk, taste somewhat like boiled chestnuts. They can be preserved for more than a year, by simply drying them in the sun, and then exposing them to the cold air, when they become hard and shrivelled. They thrive best in this high region, for although they will grow in the lower valleys, they are there very insipid and worthless. The Indians prepare them for food by boiling them into a soup, or syrup, which is taken with parched maize-corn.

Guapo knew that he had got his hands upon a bag of dried macas, and although their owner was absent, he had already come to the determination to appropriate them for himself and party. His joy at the discovery had not subsided when another bag drew his attention, and this was the signal for another delightful surprise. His hand touched the new bag in a trice. There was a rattling sound within. Peas? No-- maize.

"Good!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Guapo; "maize and macas! That with what is left of the charqui--we shall not fast to-night."

Guapo now backed himself out of the hut, and joyfully announced the discoveries he had made. The travellers dismounted. The horse and mule were picketed on la.s.soes on the plain. The llamas were left to go at will. They would not stray far from their owner.

It was piercing cold in this highland region. Dona Isidora and the children entered the hut, while Don Pablo and Guapo remained without for the purpose of collecting fuel. There was not a stick of wood, as no trees of any sort grew near. Both strayed off upon the plain to gather the _taquia_, or ordure of the cattle, though no cattle were in sight.

Their tracks, however, were visible all around.

While engaged thus, the old Indian suddenly raised himself from his stooping position with an exclamation that betokened alarm. What had startled him? A loud bellowing was heard--it was the bellowing of a bull. But what was there in that sound to alarm two full-grown men?

Ah! you know not the bulls of the Puna.

Coming around a promontory of rocks a large black bull was in sight. He was approaching them in full run, his head thrown down, his eyes glaring fiercely. At every spring he uttered a roar, which was terrific to hear. A more horrid object it would be difficult to conceive. You may suppose that an adventure with an enraged bull is one of an ordinary character, and may occur any day, even in the green meadow pastures of Old England. So it is, if the animal were only an English bull. But it is a far different affair with the bulls of the Puna. Throughout all Spanish America animals of this kind are of a fiercer nature than elsewhere. It is from them the bulls used in the celebrated fights are obtained; and, perhaps, the race has been made fiercer by the treatment they receive on such occasions--for many of those that exhibit in the arena, are afterwards used to breed from. But, in general, the Spanish-American "vaqueros," or cattle--herds, treat the cattle under their charge with much cruelty, and this has the effect of rendering them savage. Even in herds of cattle where there are no bulls, there are cows so dangerous to approach, that the vaqueros never attempt driving them unless when well mounted. A Mexican or South American cattle-herd is, therefore, always a mounted man. There is a difference, too, among the bulls in different parts of these countries. On the Llanos of Venezuela they are not so fierce as those of the Puna, and they are more and less so in different parts of Mexico and the Pampas of Buenos Ayres.

The Puna bulls are, perhaps, the fiercest and most dangerous of all.

They are more than half wild. They scarcely ever see a human being, and they will attack one upon sight. To a mounted man there is little danger, unless by the stumbling or falling of his horse; but many a poor Indian, crossing these high plains afoot, has fallen a sacrifice to these vengeful brutes.

Both Don Pablo and Guapo knew all this, and therefore were aware of their own danger. Neither had a weapon--not so much as a stick. They had laid aside their knives and other arms, which had been carried inside the hut. To reach the hut before the bull reached them would be impossible; the brute was coming nearly from it--for he had issued from some shelter in the rocks not far off. They were full two hundred yards out upon the plain, and to run in the direction of the rocks would have been to run counter to the bull, and meet him face to face! Their danger was imminent. What was to be done?

There was not much time left them for consideration. The furious animal was within thirty paces distance, roaring loudly, shaking his head and brandis.h.i.+ng his long sharp horns. At this moment a happy thought occurred almost simultaneously to Don Pablo and the Indian. The evening, as we have already said, was piercing cold, and both, in going out to collect the fuel, had worn their ponchos. The trick of the matador with his red cloak suggested itself in this moment of peril.

Both had seen it performed--Don Pablo often--and knew something of the "way." In a moment both had stripped the ponchos from their shoulders, and, placing themselves _a la matador_, awaited the onset of the bull.

It was agreed that as soon as the bull was "hooded" by either, that both should run at all speed to the rocks, where they could easily climb out of reach of the animal.

Don Pablo happened to be more in the way, and perhaps his more showy poncho attracted the brute; but whether or not, he was the first to receive the charge. With the adroitness of a practised matador he flung his poncho on the horns of the animal, and then both ran in the direction of the rocks. As they faced towards the hut, however, to the horror of Don Pablo he saw the Dona Isidora, with Leon and the little Leona, all outside, and even at some distance from the entrance!

Attracted by the bellowing of the bull and the shouts of the men, they had rushed out of the hut.

Don Pablo, in wild accents, shouted to them to make for the door; but, paralysed by terror, they were for some moments unable to move. At length Dona Isidora, recovering herself, ran for the entrance, pus.h.i.+ng the children before her. But the low doorway was difficult of access; they were slow in getting under it; and they would have been too late, as the bull, after shaking off the poncho, had turned and made directly for the hut.

"O G.o.d, preserve her!" cried Don Pablo, as he saw the enraged animal within a few paces of where his wife had knelt to enter the doorway.

"She is lost! she is lost!"

In fact, the bull was making directly towards her, and it seemed as if nothing could then have interposed to save her.

At that moment the tramp of a horse in full gallop sounded on their ears. Don Pablo looked up. A strange horseman was near the spot--an Indian. Over his head a singular instrument was revolving. There were three thongs fastened at one end, while at the other end of each was a ball. These b.a.l.l.s were whirling and gyrating in the air. The next moment both thongs and b.a.l.l.s were seen to part from the hands of the rider, and warp themselves around the legs of the bull. The latter made an awkward spring forward, and then fell upon the plain, where he lay kicking and helpless. The horseman uttered a yell of triumph, sprang from his horse, and running up to the prostrate animal, thrust the blade of his long machete into its throat. The red stream gushed forth, and in a few seconds the black monster lay motionless upon the plain.