LOST!
They sat down to table; but the meal, in spite of Doña Marianna's efforts to enliven it, suffered from the anxiety which two of the party felt, and tried in vain to conceal. The tigrero was vexed with his foster sister for not letting him accompany her, for he had not liked to express his fears, lest the young lady on her return to the hacienda might meet the ferocious animals he had been pursuing for some days past, without being able to shoot them.
The jaguar, which, is very little known in Europe, is one of the scourges of Mexico, and would figure advantageously in zoological gardens. There is only one in the Parisian Jardin des Plantes, and that is a very small specimen. Let us describe this animal, which is more feared by the Indians and white men of North America, than is the lion by the Arabs. The jaguar (Felis onca, or onza) is, next to the tiger and lion, the largest of the animals of its genus; it is the great wild cat of Cuvier, and is called indiscriminately "the American tiger," and the "panther of the furriers." It is a quadruped of the feline race; its total length is about nine feet, and its height about twenty-seven inches. Its skin is handsome, and in great request; while of a bright tawny hue on the back, it is marked on the head, neck, and along the flanks with black spots: the lower part of the body is white, with irregular black spots.
But few animals escape the pursuit of the jaguar: it obstinately hunts horses, bulls, and buffaloes; it does not hesitate to leap into rivers to catch certain fish it is fond of, fights the alligator, devours otters and picas, and wages a cruel warfare with the monkeys, owing to its agility, which enables it to mount to the top of trees, even when they are devoid of branches, and upwards of eighty feet high. Although, like all the carnivora of the New World, it shuns the proximity of man, it does not hesitate to attack him when urged by hunger or tracked by hunters; in such cases it fights with the utmost bravery, and does not dream of flight.
Such were the animals the tigrero had been pursuing for the last few days, and had not been able to catch up. According to the sign he had found, the jaguars were four in number—the male, female, and two cubs. We can now understand what the young man's terror must be on thinking of the terrible dangers to which his foster sister ran a risk of being exposed on her return to the hacienda: but he knew Doña Marianna too well to hope he could make her recall her decision. Hence, he did not try to bring the conversation back to the subject, but resolved to follow her at a distance, in order to come to her aid if circumstances required it.
As always happens under such circumstances, Doña Marianna, seeing that no one referred again to the jaguars, was the first to talk about them, asking her foster brother the details of their appearance in the country, and the mischief they had done, in what way he meant to surprise them, and a multitude of other questions; to which the young man replied most politely, but limiting himself to brief answers, and without launching into details, which are generally so agreeable to a hunter. The tigrero displayed such laconism in the information he gave the young lady, that the latter, vexed in spite of herself at seeing him so cold upon a subject to which he had seemed to attach such importance a few moments before, began jeering him, and ended by saying, with a mocking look, that she was convinced he had only said what he did to frighten her, and that the jaguars had only existed in his imagination. Mariano gaily endured the raillery, confessed that he had perhaps displayed more anxiety than the affair deserved, and taking down a jarabe that hung on the wall, he began strumming a fandango with the back of his hand, in order to turn the conversation.
Several hours passed in laughing, talking, and singing. When the moment for departure at length arrived, Mariano went to the corral to fetch the young lady's horse, saddled it with the utmost care, and led it to the door of the rancho, after saddling his own horse, so that he might start so soon as Doña Marianna was out of sight of the rancho.
"You remained a long time in the corral, tocayo," she said with a laugh; "pray, have you discovered any suspicious sign?"
"No, Niña; but as I am also going to leave the rancho, after saddling your horse, I saddled mine."
"Of course you are going to hunt your strange jaguars again?"
"Oh, of course," he answered.
"Well," she said, with feigned terror, "if you do meet them, pray do not miss them."
"I will do all in my power to avoid that, because I desire to make you a present of their skins, in order to prove to you that they really existed."
"I thank you for your gallantry, Tocayo," she replied with a laugh; "but you know the proverb—'A hunter must not sell the skin of a—jaguar, before—'"
"Well, well, we shall soon know who is right, and who wrong," he interrupted her.
The maiden, still laughing, embraced the ranchero and his wife, lightly bounded into the saddle, and bending down gracefully offered her hand to Mariano.
"We part friends, tocayo," she said to him. "Are you coming my way?"
"I ought to do so."
"Then why not accompany me?"
"Because you would suppose, Niña, that I wished to escort you."
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" the young lady said, merrily; "I had forgotten your proposal of this morning. Well, I hope you will be successful in your bunt; and so, good-bye till tomorrow. Come, Negro."
After uttering these words, she gave a parting wave of the hand to her nurse, and started at a gallop. The young man, after watching her for a while, to be certain of the road she followed, then re-entered the rancho, took his gun, and loaded it with all the care which hunters display in this operation, when they believe that life depends on the accuracy of their aim.
"Are you really about to start at once?" his mother asked him, anxiously.
"At once, mother."
"Where are you going?"
"To follow my foster sister to the hacienda, without her seeing me."
"That is a good idea. Do you fear any danger for her?"
"Not the slightest. But it is a long distance from here to the hacienda; the Indians are moving, it is said. We are no great distance from the border, and, as no one can foresee the future, I do not wish my sister to be exposed to any chance encounter."
"Excellently reasoned, muchacho. The niña is wrong in thus crossing the forest alone."
"Poor child!" the ranchero said; "An accident happens so easily; lose no time, muchacho, but be off. On reflection, I think you ought to have insisted on accompanying her."
"You know, father, she would not have consented."
"That is true; it is better that it should be as it is, for she will be protected without knowing it. The first time I see Don Ruiz, I will recommend him not to let his sister go out thus alone, for times are not good."
But the young man was no longer listening to his father: so soon as his gun was loaded, he left the rancho, followed by his dog. Two minutes later he was in the saddle, and riding at full speed in the direction taken by Doña Marianna.
So soon as the young lady found herself at a sufficient distance from the rancho, she had checked her horse's pace, which was now proceeding at an amble. It was about five in the afternoon; the evening breeze was rising, and gently waving the tufted crests of the trees; the sun, now almost level with the ground, only appeared on the horizon in the shape of a reddish globe; the atmosphere, refreshed by the breeze, was perfumed by the gentle emanations from the flowers and herbs; the birds, aroused from the heavy lethargy produced by the heat, were singing beneath all the branches, and filling the air with their joyous songs.
Doña Marianna, whose mind was impressionable, and open to all sensations, gently yielded to the impressions of this scene, which was so full of ineffable harmony, and gradually forgetting where she was and surrounding objects, had fallen into a voluptuous reverie. What was she meditating? She certainly could not have said; she was yielding unconsciously to the influence of this lovely evening, and travelling into that glorious country of fancy of which life is but too often the nightmare. Doña Marianna was too young, too simple, and too pure yet to possess any memory either sad or sweet; her life had hitherto been an uninterrupted succession of sunshiny days; but she was a woman, and listened for the beatings of her heart, which she was surprised at not hearing. With that curiosity which is innate in her sex, the maiden tried with a timid hand to raise a corner of the veil that covered the future, and to divine mysteries which are incomprehensible, so long as love has not revealed them by sufferings, joy, or grief.
Doña Marianna had rather a long ride through the forest before reaching the plain; but she had so often ridden the road at all hours of the day, she was so thoroughly persuaded that no danger menaced her, that she let the bridle hang on her horse's neck, while she plunged deeper and deeper into the delicious reverie which had seized on her. In the meanwhile, the shades grew deeper; the birds had concealed themselves in the foliage, and ceased their songs; the sun had disappeared, and the hot red beams it had left on the horizon were beginning to die out; the wind blew with greater force through the branches, which uttered long murmurs; the sky was assuming deeper tints, and night was rapidly approaching. Already the shrill cries of the coyotes rose in the quebradas and in the unexplored depths of the forest; hoarse yells disturbed the silence, and announced the awakening of the savage denizens of the forest.
All at once a long, startling, strident howl, bearing some resemblance to the miauling of a cat, burst through the air, and fell on the maiden's ear with an ill-omened echo. Suddenly startled from her reverie, Doña Marianna looked up, and took an anxious glance around her. A slight shudder of fear passed over her body, for her horse, so long left to its own devices, had left the beaten track, and the maiden found herself in a part of the forest unknown to her—she had lost her way. A person lost in an American forest is dead!
These forests are generally entirely composed of trees of the same family, which render it impossible to guide oneself, unless gifted with that miraculous intuition which the Indians and hunters possess, and which enables them to march with certainty in the most inextricable labyrinths. Wherever the eye may turn, it only perceives immense arcades of verdure, infinitely prolonged, wearying the eye by their desperate monotony, and only crossed at intervals by the tracks of wild beasts, which are mixed strangely together, and eventually lead to unknown watering places, nameless streams, that run silently and gloomily beneath the covert, and whose windings cannot possibly be followed.
The spot where the maiden was, was one of the most deserted in the forest; the trees, of prodigious height and size, grew closely together, and were connected by a network of lianas, which, growing in every direction, formed an impassable wall; from the end of the branches hung, in long festoons to the ground, that greyish moss known as Spanish beard, while the tall straight grass that everywhere covered the ground, showed that human foot had not trodden the soil here for a lengthened period. The maiden felt an invincible terror seize upon her. Night had almost completely set in; then the stories her foster brother had told her in the morning about the jaguars returned to her mind in a flood, and were rendered more terrible by the darkness that surrounded her, and the mournful howling that burst forth on all sides. She shuddered, and turned pale as death at the thought of the fearful danger to which she had so imprudently exposed herself.
Then, collecting all her strength for a last appeal, she uttered a cry; but her voice died out without raising an echo. She was alone—lost in the desert by night. What could she do? What would become of her?
The maiden tried to find the route by which she had come, but the road followed haphazard through the herbage no longer existed; the grass trodden by her horse's hoof had sprung up again behind it. Moreover, the night was so dark that Doña Marianna could not see four paces ahead of her; and she soon found that her efforts to find the road would only result in leading her further astray. Under such circumstances, a man would have been in a comparatively far less dangerous position. He could have lit a fire to combat the night chill, and keep the wild beasts at bay; in the event of an attack, his weapons would have allowed him to defend himself: but Doña Marianna had not the means to light a fire; she had no weapons, and had she possessed them, she would not have known how to use them. She was forced to remain motionless at the spot where she was for the whole night, at the hazard of dying of cold or terror.
This position was frightful. How she now regretted her imprudent confidence, which was the cause of what was now occurring! But it was too late; neither complaints nor recrimination aught availed. She must yield to her fate. With energetic natures, however little accustomed they may be to peril, when that peril proves inevitable, and they recognise that nothing can protect them from it, a reaction takes place; their thoughts become clearer, their courage grows with their will, and they accept, with a proud and resolute resignation, all the consequences of the danger they are compelled to confront, however terrible they may be. This was what happened to the maiden when she perceived that she was really lost. A profound despair seized upon her—for a moment the weakness natural to her sex gained the upper hand, and she fell sobbing on the ground; but gradually the reaction set in, and, pious as all Spanish women are, she clasped her bands, and addressed a fervent and touching prayer to God, who was her last hope.
It has been justly said that prayer not only consoles, but strengthens and restores hope. Prayer, with those who sincerely believe, is the expression of the real feelings of the soul; only those who have looked death in the face, either on the battlefield or during a storm at sea, will understand the sublimity of prayer—the last appeal of the weak victim to the omnipotent Intelligence which can alone save him. Doña Marianna prayed, and then rose calmer, and, above all, stronger. She had placed herself in the hands of Deity, and, in her simple faith, was convinced that He would not abandon her.
Her horse, whose bridle she had not let loose, was standing motionless by her side. The maiden gently patted the noble animal, the only friend left to her; then, by a sudden inspiration, she began unfastening the girths, tearing her little hands without knowing it, and lacerating her fingers with the iron tongues of the buckles.
"Poor Negro," she said, in a soft voice, as she removed the trappings, "you must not be the victim of my imprudence; resume your liberty; for the noble instinct with which your Creator has endowed you will perhaps enable you to find your road. Go, my poor Negro; you are now free."
The animal gave a whinnying of delight, made a prodigious leap, and disappeared in the darkness. Doña Marianna was alone—really alone, now.