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Next day, the 22nd of October, at eight o’clock in the morning, Thalcave gave the signal for departure. The travelers made good progress and about four o’clock the Cordilleras lay full forty miles behind them. They were all somewhat fatigued with the journey, and glad enough to halt for the night on the banks of the Neuquem.
No incident of any importance occurred that night or the following day. They rode well and fast, finding the ground firm, and the temperature bearable.
It was the 20th of October, and the tenth day since they had left Talcahuano. They were still ninety miles from the point where the Rio Colorado crosses the thirty-seventh parallel, that is to say, about two days’ journey. Glenarvan kept a sharp lookout for the appearance of any Indians, intending to question them, through Thalcave, about Captain Grant, as Paganel could not speak to him well enough for this.
In the evening the Patagonian stopped Paganel by a gesture, and asked:
“You are in search of a prisoner?”
“Yes,” replied Paganel.
Glenarvan requested him to ask the Patagonian if he had heard of any foreigners who had fallen into the hands of the Indians of the Pampas.
Paganel did so, and waited an answer.
“Perhaps I have.”
The reply was no sooner translated than the Patagonian found himself surrounded by the seven men questioning him with eager glances. Paganel was so excited, he could hardly find words, and he gazed at the grave Indian as if he could read the reply on his lips.
Each word spoken by Thalcave was instantly translated.
“And what about the prisoner?” asked Paganel.
“He was a foreigner.”
“You have seen him?”
“No; but I have heard the Indian speak of him. He is brave; he has the heart of a bull.”
“The heart of a bull!” said Paganel. “Ah, this magnificent Patagonian language. You understand him, my friends, he means a courageous man.”
“My father!” exclaimed Robert Grant, and, turning to Paganel, he asked what the Spanish was for, “Is it my father.”
“Es mio padre,” replied the geographer.
Immediately taking Thalcave’s hands in his own, the boy said, in a soft tone: “Es mio padre.”
“Suo padre,” replied the Patagonian.
He took the child in his arms, lifted him up on his horse, and gazed at him with peculiar sympathy.
“This prisoner, who was he? What was he doing? When had Thalcave heard of him?” asked Paganel.
He had not long to wait for an answer, and learned that the European was a slave in one of the tribes that roamed the country between the Colorado and the Rio Negro.
“But where was the last place he was in?”
“With the Cacique Calfoucoura.”
“And who is this Cacique?”
“The chief of the Poyuches Indians, a man with two tongues and two hearts.”
“That’s to say false in speech and false in action,” said Paganel. “And when did you last hear of him?”
“A long while ago; the sun has brought two summers since then to the Pampas.”
The joy of Glenarvan can not be described. This reply agreed perfectly with the date of the document. But one question still remained for him to put to Thalcave.
“You spoke of a prisoner,” he said; “but were there not three?”
“I don’t know,” said Thalcave.
“And you know nothing of his present situation?”
“Nothing.”
This ended the conversation.
The Argentine Pampas extend from the thirty-fourth to the fortieth degree of southern latitude. The word “pampa” signifies “grass plain”, and justly applies to the whole region. The mimosas growing on the western part, and the substantial herbage on the eastern, give those plains a peculiar appearance. The soil is composed of sand and red or yellow clay, and this is covered by a layer of earth.
The horses went on at a good pace through the thick grass of the Pampas, so high and thick that the Indians find shelter in it from storms. Thalcave went first to beat the bushes and frighten away the dangerous snakes, the bite of which kills an ox in less than an hour.
For two days they plodded steadily across this arid and deserted plain. The dry heat became severe.
When the Argentines travel in the Pampas they generally dig wells, and find water a few feet below the surface. But the travelers could not fall back on this resource, not having the necessary implements. They were therefore obliged to use the small provision of water they had still left.
Their slumbers were invaded by a swarm of mosquitoes, which allowed them no peace. Their presence indicated a change of wind which shifted to the north.
There was a brief interruption this day to the monotony of the journey. Mulrady, who was in front of the others, rode hastily back to report the approach of a troop of Indians. The news was received with very different feelings by Glenarvan and Thalcave. The Scotchman was glad of the chance of gleaning some information about his shipwrecked countryman, while the Patagonian hardly cared to encounter the Indians of the prairie, knowing their bandit propensities. He wanted to avoid them, and gave orders to his party to have their arms in readiness for any trouble.
Presently the Indians came in sight, they were only ten in number. They came within a hundred yards of them, and stopped. They were dressed in skins, and carried lances twenty feet long, knives, slings, and lassos.
Glenarvan determined to go up to them; but he had no sooner moved forward than the whole band wheeled round, and disappeared with incredible speed.
“The cowards!” exclaimed Paganel. “Who are these Indians, Thalcave?”
“Gauchos.”
“The Gauchos!” cried Paganel, and, turning to his companions, added: “There was nothing to fear.”
“How is that?” asked McNabbs.
“Because the Gauchos are inoffensive peasants.”
“You believe that, Paganel?”
“Certainly I do. They took us for robbers, and fled in terror.”
“I rather think they did not dare to attack us,” replied Glenarvan.
“That’s my opinion too,” said the Major, “for if I am not mistaken, instead of being harmless, the Gauchos are formidable bandits. I believe you are wrong, Paganel.”
“Wrong?” replied Paganel.
“Yes. Thalcave took them for robbers, and he knows what he is talking about.”
“Well, Thalcave was mistaken this time,” retorted Paganel. “The Gauchos are agriculturists and shepherds, and nothing else.”
The streams of fresh water were all dried up; the burning sun had drunk up every thing liquid. Some action must be taken immediately, however; for what little water still remained was almost bad, and could not quench thirst. Hunger and fatigue were forgotten in the face of this imperious necessity.
Paganel asked Thalcave what he thought was best to be done. A rapid conversation followed, a few words of which were intelligible to Glenarvan. Thalcave spoke calmly, but the lively Frenchman gesticulated enough for both. After a little, Thalcave sat silent and folded his arms.
“What does he say?” asked Glenarvan. “I fancied he was advising us to separate.”
“Yes, into two parties. Those of us whose horses are done out with fatigue and thirst are to continue the route as they best can, while the others, whose steeds are fresher, are to push on in advance toward the river. If there should be water enough in the river, they are to wait on the banks till their companions reach them; but should it be dried up, they will hasten back.”
“And what will we do then?” asked Austin.
“Then we shall have to go seventy-two miles south, where rivers abound.”
“It is wise counsel. I shall accompany Thalcave.”
“Oh, my Lord, take me,” said Robert.
“But would you be able for it, my boy?”
“Oh, please, my Lord, take me.”
“Come, then, my boy,” said Glenarvan, delighted not to leave Robert behind. “If we three don’t find out fresh water somewhere,” he added, “we must be very stupid.”
“Well, well, and what about me?” said Paganel.
“Oh, my dear Paganel, you must stay with the reserve corps,” replied the Major. “You are too well acquainted with the 37th parallel and the river and the whole Pampas for us to let you go.”
“I resign myself,” said the geographer.
“But mind, Paganel, no distractions,” added the Major. “Don’t you take us to the wrong place—to the borders of the Pacific, for instance.”
“Oh, you insufferable Major,” replied Paganel, laughing. “But how will you understand what Thalcave says, Glenarvan?” he continued.
“I suppose,” replied Glenarvan, “the Patagonian and I won’t have much to talk about; besides, I know a few Spanish words.”
The three horses went forward. Thalcave sat motionless in the saddle, but often turned his head to look at Robert, and gave him a shout of encouragement and approval, as he saw how well he rode. Certainly the boy deserved praise.
“Bravo! Robert,” said Glenarvan. “Thalcave is evidently congratulating you, my boy, and paying you compliments.”
“What for, my Lord?”
“For your good horsemanship.”
“What would papa say to that?” said Robert, laughing. “He wants me to be a sailor.”
“The one won’t hinder the other.”
“Poor father,” said Robert; “how he will thank you for saving his life.”
“You love him very much, Robert?”
“Yes, my Lord, dearly. He was so good to me and my sister. We were his only thought: and whenever he came home from his voyages, we were sure of some souvenir from all the places he had been to; and, better still, of loving words and caresses. Ah! If you knew him you would love him, too. Mary is most like him. He has a soft voice, like hers. That’s strange for a sailor, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Robert, very strange.”
“Good, brave papa,” the boy went on, as if speaking to himself. “He put me to sleep on his knee. Ah, my Lord, how we loved him. You will find him?”
“Yes, we’ll find him,” was Glenarvan’s reply, “Thalcave has set us on the track, and I have great confidence in him.”
“Thalcave is a brave Indian, isn’t he?” said the boy.
“That indeed he is.”
“Do you know something, my Lord?
“What is it?”
“That all the people you have with you are brave. Lady Helena, whom I love so, and the Major, with his calm manner, and Captain Mangles, and Monsieur Paganel, and all the sailors on the Duncan. How courageous and devoted they are.”
“Yes, my boy, I know that,” replied Glenarvan.
“And do you know that you are the best of all.”
“No, most certainly I don’t know that.”
About three o’clock a white line appeared in a dip of the road, and seemed to tremble in the sunlight.
“Water!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes, yes! It is water!” shouted Robert.
They were right; and the horses knew it too, for there was no need now to urge them on.
“Oh, how delicious this is!” exclaimed Robert, taking a deep draught.
“Drink moderately, my boy,” said Glenarvan.
Thalcave drank very quietly, without hurrying himself, taking small gulps. Then he prepared an encampment.
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