Wild Life in the Land of the Giants Part 32

Presently he comes near a bush, a stunted barberia and draws rein speedily, for from under it fierce green eyes glare at him, and a sound, which is half yawn half yell of anger, makes him place a hand on his revolver.

He does not fire, however; he waits. Then a huge puma gathers itself up and edges off, drawing its graceful length along the ground, but making off still with head turned towards him, and breathing hoa.r.s.e defiance, till, with bounds and leaps, he is soon out sight. When the puma has quite disappeared, he rides on again, but with a little more caution, avoiding the bushes. Where there is one puma there may be, and generally is, another.

He does not draw rein again for a good hour. Uphill and downhill, but mostly on the gravelly level, till all at once he finds himself on the bank of a canon or ravine.

He bends down now and pats the neck of his horse. The animal neighs, and is answered from the bottom of the glen; then the horseman slowly descends, carefully, and with judicious hand restraining the impatience of his steed. So steep is the bank that the hind legs of the horse sometimes slip right under him, and loosened stones roll down to the green sward below.

Low down in the strath here there is a stream of water, a river in fact, rus.h.i.+ng along, its waters sparkling in the moonlight, and everywhere on its banks the sward is green and beautiful. Here a whole herd of horses are quietly grazing. They look up as the horseman approaches, and toss their heads as if happy to have a new companion, while from some little distance the barking of dogs is heard, and presently a huge animal-- looking huger still in the uncertain light--comes bounding straight through the herd of horses, and challenges the rider. The dog's hair is erect from head to stern, and he growls low but ominously.

"Good dog," says Senor Castizo; "don't you know me? Poor Ossian, poor boy!"

The dog knows him very well indeed, but gives him to understand that he--Ossian--is on guard to-night, and must be careful.

"It is easy to know you," Ossian seems to say. "My nose has not failed me yet. I'd know you with my eyes shut. But what are you doing out alone at night? It looks bad. No, you needn't call me poor boy. I'm not I'm Ossian, and with the exception of honest Bruce, the other dogs are not worth a bark. You can follow me now, but be careful."

Ossian ran on in front, growling low to himself, and the horseman followed. As soon as they had rounded the corner of a rock bluff, they came in sight of the camp, and now Ossian stopped short and gave vent to such an alarm-peal that every one speedily rushed outside their tents.

It might be hostile Indians, they thought. When living in the desert one must be at all times cautious.

But here was no hostile Indian, only honest, bold Castizo.

Peter and I were the first to rush towards him, and bid him welcome. I caught the horse by the head. The brute was longing to join the herd.

Peter, always impulsive, grasped his friend's hand even before he had dismounted.

"We were really getting anxious about you."

"And supper's all ready," I added.

"Ah, that's the way. I confess I'm hungry. I gave you two days' start from Santa Cruz station, and so you see I've overtaken you, and I only slept one night on the Pampas."

"Weren't you afraid, sir, the pumas would eat you?"

"No, they don't like _live_ meat; but now, young fellows, I'm not going to be 'sir'-ed. We can't live together free and easy if we stand on ceremony. We are all equal on the Pampas."

"But there is a cacique or chief among the Ishmaelites?"

"Yes; but a cacique holds a kind of sinecure office. He is partly chief and partly magistrate, gives himself a great many airs; and the women often laugh at him behind his back. I'll be cacique if you like, but not 'Sir.'"

"Well," said Peter, "I'll be bound we won't laugh at you behind your back."

As he spoke, Peter divested the horse of saddle and bridle, as nimbly as if he had been brought up in a stable all his life. It quite took me by surprise.

The saddle is a mere bundle of wood and skins, covered with rugs and gear. It is not uncomfortable to ride on once you are acquainted with it; but although we had been a few days on the Pampas, and had ridden as neatly as we could, we were still tired and exceedingly sore. The bridle is also of guanaco skin, and the bit of wood and thong.

Nevertheless these hardy horses of the plains are well used to such primitive harness.

There is one fault with the saddle, which we soon found out: unless it be particularly well girt it has a disagreeable habit of wheeling to one side just when you are at a pleasant canter, or gallop perhaps, and so emptying you out.

"Here," cried Peter, stuffing the gear into my arms, "take hold of that, Greenie, and look lively; the cacique is hungry."

"I'm not Greenie," I said; "if I was, Peter, old man, I'd pull your ears."

"Oh, you're not Greenie! Well, Jack, then, you shouldn't be so like him in the moonlight. I'm going to put a black spot on one of your noses, so that I can tell t'other from which. Then I suppose I'd forget which I put the black spot on."

"Better not try it on me," I said.

The horse was loose now and free, and with a happy nicker he went trotting off to quench his thirst in the stream, previously to having his supper.

"Come on, boys, I'm starving. Good Ossian. Ah! you can be friendly enough now. Where is your _kau_ [tent], Peter?"

"My cow, _mon ami_?"

"Yes, your kau."

"We haven't got a cow. We have some condensed milk."

Castizo laughed.

"Why," he explained, "a kau is a toldo, or tent."

"Well, Cacique, I've heard of people, when overtaken by a blizzard on the North American prairies, killing a horse, disembowelling it, then getting inside and hauling the hole in after them; but it's the first time I ever heard of a cow being used as a tent. We live to learn.

Here's the cow, _mon ami_. Will you walk inside, Senor Cacique?"

"Ah!" cried Castizo, rubbing his hands gleefully.

"Here's a blaze of light and glory! Here's comfort; here's luxury!"

Then, even before he shook hands with Jill and Ritchie, Castizo must elevate his palms like a Spanish girl dancing, c.o.c.k his head a little on one side, and smilingly sing a verse of a song which caused his eyes to sparkle with merriment, and made those laugh who listened to him.

"We're glad to see you," said Jill.

"_Right_ glad to see you," said Ritchie.

"I know you all are, boys. Thought I would lose myself, I suppose. Ah, no! I have been too long on the plains, and in forests, mountains, and wildernesses, to do that. My good Pedro here knows me."

"Master likes to be alone--much," said Pedro, a dark-haired, black-eyed, black-bearded, st.u.r.dy little Chilian.

This man's face was preternaturally white. No suns.h.i.+ne ever scorched him brown, or even red; but perhaps the darkness of his hair brought out the pallor more. He had a pleasant smile, and two rows of teeth as white as a young puppy's.

Lawlor was not far away; and with him also Castizo shook hands. So equality was established.

Our tent was not of guanaco skins, like that of the Indians who accompanied us on this expedition. We had a canvas marquee of small dimensions, but most comfortable, and so neatly made that it could pack together into a load for one horse, poles and all.

Castizo had been a Patagonian traveller for years. At first, he told us, he "herded" with the Indians under their tents of skin, and lived quite as they did, with the exception of the drinking of rum; but he soon found it better to import a little civilisation into his mode of life. So he did; and I advise any one who meditates going to the Patagonian Pampas to do the same.

Here we were in our handsome tent, with every comfort before and around us which it is capable of transporting into the wilderness.

The table was a piece of canvas spread on the ground in the middle of the tent. Candles--real candles--burned in the centre, stuck in a rudely formed sconce of wood, which in its turn was stuck through the canvas into the ground. Our seats were our huge, gown-like guanaco mantles, which by and by would serve us for blankets, when we lay down to sleep on our couches of withered gra.s.s.

Our dishes and plates were all of tin, easily packed and easily carried, and we had knives and forks. Had our table been a raised wooden one, it would have groaned, not so much with the variety of good things, but with their solidness and substantiality. Here were steak of guanaco, and stew of horseflesh--one of our pack animals had broken a leg the day before, and we were wise to make use of him--and here were roast ducks.

Cakes we had, too, made of flour which had been half-roasted before it left Valparaiso. These cakes were made by Pedro, who was our very excellent cook. I think there must have been something else in them as well as flour. However they were very nice, and tasted and looked somewhat like a happy combination of Scotch haggis, Australian damper, and Irish scone.