The Rover of the Andes Part 27

A jump of several hundreds of miles at one mighty bound may seem difficult, perhaps impossible, but if the reader will kindly put on the gra.s.shopper legs of imagination which we now provide, such a jump will be found not only possible, but, perchance, agreeable.

We pa.s.s at one fell spring, then, from the thick forests of Bolivia to the wide rolling pampas, or plains, of South America.

You are still within sight of the Andes, good reader. You may travel from north to south if you will--from the equatorial regions of the Mexican Gulf to the cold and stormy cape at Tierra del Fuego--without losing sight of that magnificent backbone of the grand continent.

We have reached a frontier town which lies among the undulating hills at the base of the mountains, yet within sight of the outskirts of the gra.s.sy pampas. A small town it is, with little white houses and a church glittering in the suns.h.i.+ne. A busy town, too, with a mixed population fluttering in the streets in the variegated trappings and plumage of merchants, and priests, and muleteers, and adventurers, and dark-eyed senhoras, enveloped in all the mysterious witchery that seems inseparable from Spanish mantillas and fans.

It was evening when our travellers arrived at the town. They were on horseback now, having, a considerable time previously, forsaken the rivers for the roads--if we may call by such a name those unmade highways which are merely marked out through the wilderness by the pa.s.sage of men. Bells were ringing in the steeple as they entered the town, for some fete or holiday was in process of celebration, and the presence of a considerable number of men in uniform gave to the place the appearance of a garrison town.

There were so many odd-looking and striking characters in the streets that the arrival of our party made no particular impression on the people, save that Manuela's elegant little figure and pretty brown face drew some attention--admiration on the part of the men, scorn on that of a few--a very few--of the senhoras. You see, in all parts of the world some people are found who seem to hold, (though they would find it difficult to say why), that G.o.d's creatures with brown and black skins ought to be looked down upon and held in contempt by His creatures who chance to have white skins! You will generally find that the people who think thus also hold the almost miraculous opinion that those who wear superfine clothing, and possess much money, have a sort of indefinable, but unquestionable, right to look down upon and lord it over those who own little money and wear coa.r.s.e garments!

You will carefully observe, unprejudiced reader, that we use the word "some" in speaking of those people. We are very far from pitting the poor against the rich. We are bound to recognise the fact that amongst both cla.s.ses there are gems of brightest l.u.s.tre, irradiated by rays from the celestial sun, while in both there are also found qualities worthy of condemnation. But when we record the fact that some of the white senhoras looked with jealousy and scorn upon our sweet little Indian heroine, we ought to recognise the undeniable truth that they themselves, (so long as actuated by such a spirit), were beneath contempt--fit subjects only for pity.

As they pa.s.sed along, much interested and somewhat excited by the comparatively novel sights around them, Pedro rode up to a mounted soldier and accosted him in Spanish.

He returned to his party with a gleam of stronger excitement in his eyes than Lawrence had observed since they became acquainted. Riding alongside of Manuela, who was in advance, he entered into earnest and animated conversation with her. Then, reining back until he was abreast of Lawrence, he said--

"Part of the object of my journey has been accomplished sooner than I had expected, Senhor Armstrong."

"Indeed? I hope it has been satisfactorily accomplished."

"Well, yes, as far as it goes. The fact is, I find that there has been a raid of the Indians into this part of the country, and a body of troops has been sent to quell them under Colonel Marchbanks. Now this colonel, as his name will suggest, is an Englishman, in the service of the Argentine army, under whose orders I have been serving, and to communicate with whom was one of my chief reasons for undertaking this journey."

"Will that, then, render your journey to Buenos Ayres unnecessary?"

asked Lawrence, a slight feeling of anxiety creeping over him.

"No, it won't do that, but it will greatly modify my plans. Among other things, it will oblige me to leave Manuela behind and push on alone as fast as possible. I suppose you will have no objection to a tearing gallop of several hundred miles over the Pampas?" said Pedro, while a smile of peculiar meaning played for an instant on his handsome face.

"Objections!" exclaimed our hero, with great energy, "of course not. A tearing gallop over the Pampas is--a--most--"

He stopped, for a strange, unaccountable feeling of dissatisfaction which he could not understand began to overwhelm him. Was it that he was really in love after all with this Indian girl, and that the thought of final separation from her--impossible! No, he could not credit such an idea for a moment. But he loved her spirit--her soul, as it were-- and he could not be blamed for being so sorry, so very sorry, to part with _that_ thus suddenly--thus unexpectedly. Yes, he was _not_ in love. It was a fraternal or paternal--a Platonic feeling of a strong type. He would just see her once more, alone, before starting, say good-bye, and give her a little, as it were, paternal, or fraternal, or Platonic advice.

"Senhor Armstrong is in a meditative mood," said Pedro, breaking the thread of his meditations.

"Yes, I was thinking--was wondering--that is--by the way, with whom will you leave Manuela?"

"With a friend who lives in a villa in the suburbs."

"You seem to have friends wherever you go," said Lawrence.

"Ay, and enemies too," returned Pedro with a slight frown. "However, with G.o.d's blessing, I shall circ.u.mvent the latter."

"When do you start?" asked Lawrence, with an air of a.s.sumed indifference.

"To-morrow or next day, perhaps, but I cannot tell until I meet Colonel Marchbanks. I am not, indeed, under his command--being what you may call a sort of freelance--but I work with him chiefly, that is, under his directions, for he and I hold much the same ideas in regard to most things, and have a common desire to see something like solid peace in the land. Look, do you see that villa with the rustic porch on the cliff; just beyond the town?"

"Yes--it is so conspicuous and so beautifully situated that one cannot help seeing and admiring it."

"That is where the friend lives with whom I shall leave Manuela."

"Indeed," said Lawrence, whose interest in the villa with the rustic porch was suddenly intensified, "and shall we find her there on our return?"

"I was not aware that Senhor Armstrong intended to return!" said Pedro, with a look of surprise.

Lawrence felt somewhat confused and taken aback, but his countenance was not p.r.o.ne to betray him.

"Of course I mean, will _you_ find her there when you return? Though, as to my returning, the thing is not impossible, when one considers that the wreck of part of my father's property lies on the western side of the Andes."

"Ah! true. I forgot that for a moment. Well, I suppose she will remain here till my return," said Pedro, "unless the Indians make a successful raid and carry her off in the meantime!" he added, with a quick glance at his companion.

"And are we to stay to-night at the same villa?"

"No, we shall stay at the inn to which we are now drawing near. I am told that the Colonel has his headquarters there."

The conversation closed abruptly at this point, for they had reached the inn referred to. At the door stood a tall, good-looking young man, whose shaven chin, cut of whisker, and Tweed shooting costume, betokened him an Englishman of the sporting cla.s.s.

Addressing himself to this gentleman with a polite bow, Pedro asked whether Colonel Marchbanks was staying there.

"Well--aw--I'm not quite sure, but there is--aw--I believe, a military man of--aw--some sort staying in the place."

Without meaning to be idiotic, this sporting character was one of those rich, plucky, languid, drawly-wauly men, who regard the world as their special hunting-field, affect free-and-easy nonchalance, and interlard their ideas with "aw" to an extent that is absolutely awful.

The same question, put to a waiter who immediately appeared, elicited the fact that the Colonel did reside there, but was absent at the moment.

"Well, then," said Pedro, turning quickly to Lawrence, "you had better look after rooms and order supper, while I take Manuela to the villa."

For the first time since they met, Lawrence felt inclined to disobey his friend. A gush of indignation seemed to surge through his bosom for a moment, but before he could reply, Pedro, who did not expect a reply, had turned away. He remounted his steed and rode off, meekly followed by the Indian girl. Quashy took the bridles of his own and his master's horse, and stood awaiting orders; while Spotted Tiger, who was not altogether inexperienced in the ways of towns, led his animal and the baggage-mules round to the stables.

"So," thought Lawrence, bitterly, "I am ordered to look after things here, and Manuela goes quietly away without offering to say good-bye-- without even a friendly nod, although she probably knows I may have to start by daybreak to-morrow, and shall never see her again. Bah! what else could I expect from a squaw--a black girl! But no matter. It's all over! It was _only_ her spirit I admired, and I don't care even for that now."

It will be observed that our poor hero did not speak like himself here, so grievous was the effect of his disappointment. Fortunately he did not speak at all, but only muttered and looked savage, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the sportsman, who stood leaning against the door-post of the inn, regarding him with much interest.

"Will you sup, senhor?" asked a waiter, coming up just then.

"Eh! no--that is--yes," replied Lawrence, savagely.

"How many, senhor?"

"How many? eh! How should I know? As many as you like. Come here."

He thundered off along a pa.s.sage, clanking his heels and spurs like a whole regiment of dragoons, and without an idea as to whither the pa.s.sage led or what he meant to do.

"Aw--quite a wemarkable cweature. A sort of--aw--long-legged curiosity of the Andes. Mad, I suppose, or drunk."

These remarks were partly a soliloquy, partly addressed to a friend who had joined the sportsman, but they were overheard by Quashy, who, with the fire of a free negro and the enthusiasm of a faithful servant, said--

"No more mad or drunk dan you'self--you whitefaced rac.o.o.n!"

Being unable conveniently to commit an a.s.sault at the moment, our free negro contented himself with making a stupendous face at the Englishman, and glaring defiance as he led the cattle away. As the reader knows, that must have been a powerful glare, but its only effect on the sportsman was to produce a beaming smile of Anglo-Saxon good-will.