Chapter Nineteen.
Chasing Wild Horses—Ostrich-Stalking—A Moonlight Ride—A Deed of Blood—Los Indios!—The Fight—Victory and Pursuit.
Knowing, as we do, how good a horseman Frank was, it is almost needless to say that before he was one month in this country he was as handy with bolas or lassoo as one of the natives. The former he preferred: it quitted his hands like stone from a sling, next moment the llama or guanaco was down; there was no dragging, no cruelty.
The battue he did not like. But chasing wild horses was quite another thing. This was a manly and a useful sport; the very hunted horses themselves seemed to like it, and used to stand in herds on heights sniffing the air, as much as to say, “catch me if you can, but I don’t mean to be caught napping.” Nor were they; and a chase of this kind was sometimes most exciting. The poor colts that were lassooed were broken in speedily enough, it must be allowed, but in a manner that was cruel in the extreme; but brutality to animals is the order of the day in the Pampas. The bullocks are treated horribly; so, too, are their dogs, and every animal that comes under the native’s domination. The estancia, where our heroes dwelt, was about two hundred yards square; there was a fort at one end of it, surrounded by a strong wall covered with a ditch filled with water—the whole of the little village being near the river. In case of trouble with the Indians, all the colony could take refuge here, and draw up the bridge. The servants were Gauchos. On the arrival of Mr McDonald and his kinsmen, there had at first been many broils with Los Indios. These treacherous Indians are a flat-faced copper-hued race, with most forbidding countenances; and lying and thieving seem really to be part and parcel of their education. At all events, they are adepts at both.
Chisholm wanted one day to go ostrich-stalking, or rhea-hunting you might better term it. These curious birds are as fleet as the wind, you cannot ride them down in the open; but you can approach them near enough with mules, to get a shot when fires are lit here and there on the plain, and the creatures get confused. It had been a long day’s sport; and the moon had arisen, and was flooding all the beautiful country with its soft and mellow light, ere the party had got within two leagues of the estancia. But they knew the welcome that there awaited them, and so on they rode, slowly but cheerfully, singing as they went. There would have been less music at their hearts, had they seen the expression of mingled hate and cunning on the faces of those fiends behind the cactus bush. What were they lurking there for? Why did they not come boldly forth?
Lizzie and her sister met them at the garden gate. They had been watching for the cavalcade for fully an hour, and were rejoiced when their song fell upon their listening ears. Everyone was extremely happy and lively that evening; and it was quite ten o’clock before any one thought of retiring. Silence at last fell on the estancia. Higher and higher rose the moon, flooding the land with light; there isn’t a sound to be heard, save the buzz of insect, the call of wild drake, or the mournful cry of the owl.
And the night wore on.
It must have been considerably past midnight when suddenly from down the glade where the horses were grazing, there arose a shriek so piercing, so full of wild imploring grief, that it found a response in every heart in the estancia sleeping or awake. While they listened it was repeated only once, but this time it died away in a moan, that told the terrible tale that a deed of blood had been done.
“Los Indios? Los Indios?” That was the shout from the Gaucho camp.
“To arms, men, to arms!” roared patriarchal old McDonald, rushing sword in hand into our heroes’ bed-chamber.
There was bustle and hurry now, but no confusion. The women were got into the fort first, the men covering their retreat, and hardly was this effected ere there was a headlong rush of a dark cloud that swept upwards from the river’s brink.
“Fire, men!” cried McDonald. “Give it ’em.”
There was a rattling volley, and the cloud fell back with shouts and groans. In five minutes more every man was inside, and the drawbridge was up.
Foiled in their attempt to seize and occupy the estancia by a surprise, the Indians, who were over a hundred strong, would hardly dare to attack the fort before morning. Nor did they seem to want to, but twice they made attempts to creep towards the houses, intent on plunder, but such a contingency as this had been well considered while building the fort, and those who now made the attempt bitterly repented their rashness the very next moment.
The men in the fort were thirty in all; their rifles were twenty. Twenty rifles against a hundred spears, the odds were not so overwhelming; but those Indians are terribly cunning in their mode of warfare, as our heroes soon found out, for small balls of burning grass, thrown sling-fashion, attached to a stone and rope of skin, soon began to fall thick and fast into the garrison.
McDonald made up his mind he would wait no longer. The drawbridge was suddenly lowered, and out rushed the defenders. The surprise was sudden, the rout complete.
“To horse, to horse!” cried McDonald, who seemed to be everywhere in the fight. Then followed a wild stampede of the Indians, numbers of them bit the sod, and the rest scattered and disappeared. They seemed indeed to melt away.
When the victors returned it was so nearly day that no one would think of retiring, so breakfast was got ready.
This night’s adventure did not interfere in the least with the sport our heroes enjoyed, during the remainder of their stay. But the Indians never showed face again.