Part 12 (1/2)

If somewhat changed the _personnel_ of the Indian troop, much more is it altered in the general aspect and behaviour of those who compose it--a very contrast to what was exhibited on their way downward. No longer mirthful, making the welkin ring with their jests and loud laughter; instead, there is silence upon their lips, sadness in their hearts, and gloom--even fear--on their faces. For they are carrying home one of their number a corpse, and dread telling the tale of it. What will the elders say, when they hear what has occurred? What do?

The feeling among Aguara's followers may be learnt from a dialogue, carried on between two of them who ride in the rear of the troop. They have been speaking of their paleface captive, and extolling her charms, one of them saying how much their young cacique is to be envied his good luck, in possession of such a charming creature.

”After all, it may bring him into trouble,” suggests the more sage of the speakers, adding, ”ay, and ourselves as well--every one of us.”

”How that,” inquires the other.

”Well; you know, if Naraguana had been living, he would never have allowed this.”

”But Naraguana is not living, and who is to gainsay the will of Aguara?

He's now our chief, and can do as he likes with this captive girl, or any other. Can't he?”

”No; that he can't. You forget the elders. Besides, you don't seem to remember the strong friends.h.i.+p that existed between our old cacique and him the _vaqueano_ has killed. I've heard say that Naraguana, just before his death, in his last words, left a command we should all stand by the palefaced stranger, her father, and protect him and his against every enemy, as long as they remained in the Chaco. Strange protection we've given him! Instead, help to the man who has been his murderer!

And now returning home, with his daughter a captive! What will our people think of all this? Some of them, I know, were as much the white man's friend almost as Naraguana himself. Besides, they won't like the old cacique's dying injunction having been thus disregarded. I tell you, there'll be trouble when we get back.”

”No fear. Our young chief is too popular and powerful. He'll not find any one to oppose his will; which, as I take it, is to make this little paleface his wife, and our queen. Well, I can't help envying him; she's such a sweet thing. But won't the Tovas maidens go mad with jealousy!

I know one--that's Nacena--”

The dialogue is interrupted by a shout heard from one who rides near the front of the troop. It is a cry as of alarm, and is so understood by all; at the same time all comprehending that the cause is something seen afar off.

In an instant every individual of the party springs up from his sitting posture, and stands erect upon the back of his horse, gazing out over the plain. The corpse alone lies still; the captive girl also keeping her seat, to all seeming heedless of what has startled them, and caring not what new misfortune may be in store for her. Her cup of sorrow is already full, and she recks not if it run over.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

CAUGHT IN A DUST-STORM.

At the crisis described, the Indian party is no longer travelling upon the Pilcomayo's bank, nor near it. They have parted from it at a point where the river makes one of its grand curves, and are now crossing the neck of the peninsula embraced within its windings. This isthmus is in width at least twenty miles, and of a character altogether different from the land lying along the river's edge. In short, a sterile, treeless expanse, or ”travesia”--for such there are in the Chaco--not barren because of infertility in the soil, but from the want of water to fertilise it. Withal, it is inundated at certain periods of the year by the river's overflow, but in the dry season parched by the rays of a tropical sun. Its surface is then covered with a white efflorescence, which resembles a heavy h.o.a.r frost; this, called _salitre_, being a sort of impure saltpetre, left after the evaporation and subsidence of the floods.

They have entered this cheerless waste, and are about midway across it, when the cry of alarm is heard; he who gave utterance to it being older than the others, and credited with greater knowledge of things. That which had caught his attention, eliciting the cry, is but a phenomenon of Nature, though not one of an ordinary kind; still, not so rare in the region of the Chaco; since all of them have more than once witnessed it.

But the thing itself is not yet apparent save to him who has shouted, and this only by the slightest sign giving portent of its approach. For it is, in truth, a storm.

Even after the alarmist has given out his warning note, and stands on his horse's hips, gazing off in a certain direction, the others, looking the same way, can perceive nothing to account for his strange behaviour.

Neither upon the earth, nor in the heavens, does there appear anything that should not be there. The sun is coursing through a cloudless sky, and the plain, far as eye can reach, is without animate object upon it; neither bird nor beast having its home in the _salitre_. Nothing observable on that wide, cheerless waste, save the shadows of themselves and their horses, cast in dark _silhouette_ across the h.o.a.ry expanse, and greatly elongated; for it is late in the afternoon, and the sun almost down to the horizon.

”What is it?” asks Aguara, the first to speak, addressing himself to the Indian who gave out the cry. ”You appear to apprehend danger?”

”And danger there is, chief,” returns the other. ”Look yonder!” He points to the level line between earth and sky, in the direction towards which they are travelling. ”Do you not see something?”

”No, nothing.”

”Not that brown-coloured stripe just showing along the sky's edge, low, as if it rested on the ground?”

”Ah, yes; I see that. Only a little mist over the river, I should say.”

”Not that, chief. It's a cloud, and one of a sort to be dreaded. See!

it's rising higher, and, it I'm not mistaken, will ere long cover the whole sky.”

”But what do you make of it? To me it looks like smoke.”