On the Llanos.
Only a moment ago the land had been folded in the mantle of darkness. Now, a flaming eye rises from the ground at some immeasurable distance, like an outburst of volcanic fire. It grows apace, chasing away the night and casting a ruddy glow on, as it seems, a vast and waveless sea, as still as the painted ocean of the poem, as silent as death, a sea without ships and without life, mournful and illimitable, and as awe-inspiring and impressive as the Andes or the Alps.
So complete is the illusion that did I not know we were on the verge of the llanos I should be tempted to believe that supernatural agency had transported us while we slept to the coasts of the Caribbean Sea or the yet more distant shores of the Pacific Ocean.
Six days are gone by since we left our bivouac by the mountain-tarn: three we have wandered in the woods under the guidance of Gahra, three sought Mejia and his guerillas, who, being always on the move, are hard to find. Last night we reached the range of hills which form, as it were, the northern coast-line of the vast series of savannas which stretch from the tropics to the Straits of Magellan; and it is now a question whether we shall descend to the llanos or continue our search in the sierra.
“It was there I left him,” said Carmen, pointing to a quebrada some ten miles away.
“Where we were yesterday?”
“Yes; and he said he would be either there or hereabout when I returned, and I am quite up to time. But Mejia takes sudden resolves sometimes. He may have gone to beat up Griselli’s quarters at San Felipe, or be making a dash across the llanos in the hope of surprising the fortified post of Tres Cruces.”
“What shall we do then; wait here until he comes back?”
“Or ride out on the llanos in the direction of Tres Cruces. If we don’t meet Mejia and his people we may hear something of them.”
“I am for the llanos.”
“Very well. We will go thither. But we shall have to be very circumspect. There are loyalist as well as patriot guerillas roaming about. They say that Morales has collected a force of three or four thousand, mostly Indios, and they are all so much alike that unless you get pretty close it is impossible to distinguish patriots from loyalists.”
“Well, there is room to run if we cannot fight.”
“Oh, plenty of room,” laughed Carmen. “But as for fighting—loyalist guerillas are not quite the bravest of the brave, yet I don’t think we three are quite a match for fifty of them, and we are not likely to meet fewer, if we meet any. But let us adventure by all means. Our horses are fresh, and we can either return to the sierra or spend the night on the llanos, as may be most expedient.”
Ten minutes later we were mounted, and an hour’s easy riding brought us to the plain. It was as pathless as the ocean, yet Carmen, guided by the sun, went on as confidently as if he had been following a beaten track. The grass was brown and the soil yellow; particles of yellow dust floated in the air; the few trees we passed were covered with it, and we and our horses were soon in a like condition. Nothing altered as we advanced; sky and earth were ever the same; the only thing that moved was a cloud, sailing slowly between us and the sun, and when Carmen called a halt on the bank of a nearly dried-up stream, it required an effort to realize that since we left our bivouac in the hills we had ridden twenty miles in a direct line. Hard by was a deserted hatto, or cattle-keeper’s hut, where we rested while our horses grazed.
“No sign of Mejia yet,” observed Carmen, as he lighted his cigar with a burning-glass. “Shall we go on toward Tres Cruces, or return to our old camping-ground in the hills?”
“I am for going on.”
“So am I. But we must keep a sharp lookout. We shall be on dangerous ground after we have crossed the Tio.”
“Where is the Tio?”
“There!” (pointing to the attenuated stream near us).
“That! I thought the Tio was a river.”
“So it is, and a big one in the rainy season, as you may have an opportunity of seeing. I wish we could hear something of Mejia. But there is nobody of whom we can inquire. The country is deserted; the herdsmen have all gone south, to keep out of the way of guerillas and brigands, all of whom look on cattle as common property.”
“Somebody comes!” said Gahra, who was always on the lookout.
“How many?” exclaimed Carmen, springing to his feet.
“Only one.”
“Keep out of sight till he draws near, else he may sheer off; and I should like to have a speech of him. He may be able to tell us something.”
The stranger came unconcernedly on, and as he stopped in the middle of the river to let his horse drink, we had a good look at him. He was well mounted, carried a long spear and a macheto (a broad, sword-like knife, equally useful for slitting windpipes and felling trees), and wore a broad-brimmed hat, shirt, trousers, and a pair of spurs (strapped to his naked feet).
As he resumed his journey across the river, we all stepped out of the hatto and gave him the traditional greeting, “Buenas dias, señor.”
The man, looking up in alarm, showed a decided disposition to make off, but Carmen spoke him kindly, offered him a cigar, and said that all we wanted was a little information. We were peaceful travellers, and would much like to know whether the country beyond the Tio was free from guerillas.
The stranger eyed us suspiciously, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, said that he had heard that Mejia was “on the war-path.”
“Where?” asked Carmen.
“They say he was at Tres Cruces three days ago; and there has been fighting.”
“And are any of Morale’s people also on the war-path?”
“That is more than I can tell you, señores. It is very likely; but as you are peaceful travellers, I am sure no one will molest you. Adoiso, señores.”
And with that the man gave his horse a sudden dig with his spurs, and went off at a gallop.
“What a discourteous beggar he is!” exclaimed Carmen, angrily. “If it would not take too much out of my mare I would ride after him and give him a lesson in politeness.”
“I don’t think he was intentionally uncivil. He seemed afraid.”
“Evidently. He did not know what we were, and feared to commit himself. However, we have learned something. We are on Mejia’s track. He was at Tres Cruces three days since, and if we push on we may fall in with him before sunset, or, at any rate, to-morrow morning.”
“Is it not possible that this man may have been purposely deceiving us, or be himself misinformed?” I asked.
“Quite. But as we had already decided to go on it does not matter a great deal whether he is right or wrong. I think, though, he knew more about the others than he cared to tell. All the more reason for keeping a sharp lookout and riding slowly.”
“So as to save our horses?”
“Exactly. We may have to ride for our lives before the sun goes down. And now let us mount and march.”
Our course was almost due west, and the sun being now a little past the zenith, its ardent rays—which shone right in our faces—together with the reverberations from the ground, made the heat almost insupportable. The stirrup-irons burned our feet; speech became an effort; we sat in our saddles, perspiring and silent; our horses, drooping their heads, settled into a listless and languid walk. The glare was so trying that I closed my eyes and let Pizarro go as he would. Open them when I might, the outlook was always the same, the same yellow earth and blue sky, the same lifeless, interminable plain, the same solitary sombrero palms dotting the distant horizon.
This went on for an hour or two, and I think I must have fallen into a doze, for when, roused by a shout from Gahra, I once more opened my eyes the sun was lower and the heat less intense.
“What is it,” asked Carmen, who, like myself, had been half asleep. “I see nothing.”
“A cloud of dust that moves—there!” (pointing).
“So it is,” shading his eyes and looking again. “Coming this way, too. Behind that cloud is a body of horsemen. Be they friends or enemies—Mejia and his people or loyalist guerillas?”
“That is more than I can say, señor. Mejia, I hope.”
“I also. But hope is not certainty, and until we can make sure we had better hedge away toward the north, so as to be nearer the hills in case we have to run for it.”
“You think we had better make for the hills in that case?” I asked.
“Decidedly. Mejia is sure to return thither, and Morale’s men are much less likely to follow us far in that direction than south or east.”
So, still riding leisurely, we diverged a little to the right, keeping the cloud-veiled horsemen to our left. By this measure we should (if they proved to be enemies) prevent them from getting between us and the hills, and thereby cutting off our best line of retreat.
Meanwhile the cloud grew bigger. Before long we could distinguish those whom it had hidden, without, however, being able to decide whether they were friends or foes.
Carmen thought they numbered at least two hundred, and there might be more behind. But who they were he could, as yet, form no idea.
The nearer we approached them the greater became our excitement and surprise. A few minutes and we should either be riding for our lives or surrounded by friends. We looked to the priming of our pistols, tightened our belts and our horses’ girths, wiped the sweat and dust from our faces, and, while hoping for the best, prepared for the worst.
“They see us!” exclaimed Carmen. “I cannot quite make them out, though. I fear…. But let us ride quietly on. The secret will soon be revealed.”
A dozen horsemen had detached themselves from the main body with the intention, as might appear, of intercepting our retreat in every direction. Four went south, four north, and four moved slowly round to our rear.
“Had we not better push on?” I asked. “This looks very like a hostile demonstration.”
“So it does. But we must find out—And there is no hurry. We shall only have the four who are coming this way to deal with, the others are out of the running. All the same, we may as well draw a little farther to the right, so as to give them a longer gallop and get them as far from the main body as may be.”
The four were presently near enough to be distinctly seen.
“Enemies! Vamonos!” cried Carmen, after he had scanned their faces. “But not too fast. If they think we are afraid and our horses tired they will follow us without waiting for the others, and perhaps give us an opportunity of teaching them better manners. Your horse is the fleetest, señor Fortescue. You had better, perhaps, ride last.”
On this hint I acted; and when the four guerillas saw that I was lagging behind they redoubled their efforts to overtake me, but whenever they drew nearer than I liked, I let Pizarro out, thereby keeping their horses, which were none too fresh, continually on the stretch. The others were too far in the rear to cause us concern. We had tested the speed of their horses and knew that we could leave them whenever we liked.
After we had gone thus about a couple of miles Carmen slackened speed so as to let me come up with him and Gahra.
“We have five minutes to spare,” he said. “Shall we stop them?”
I nodded assent, whereupon we checked our horses, and wheeling around, looked our pursuers in the face. This brought them up short, and I thought they were going to turn tail, but after a moment’s hesitation they lowered their lances and came on albeit at no great speed, receiving as they did so a point-blank volley from our pistols, which emptied one of their saddles. Then we drew our swords and charged, but before we could get to close quarters the three men sheered off to the right and left, leaving their wounded comrade to his fate. It did not suit our purpose to follow them, and we were about to go on, when we noticed that the other guerillas, who a few minutes previously were riding hotly after us, had ceased their pursuit, and were looking round in seeming perplexity. The main body had, moreover, come to a halt, and were closing up and facing the other way. Something had happened. What could it be?
“Another cloud of dust,” said Gahra, pointing to the north-west.
So there was, and moving rapidly. Had our attention been less taken up with the guerillas this new portent would not so long have escaped us.
“Mejia! I’ll wager ten thousand piasters that behind that cloud are Mejia and his braves,” exclaimed Carmen, excitedly. Hijo de Dios! Won’t they make mince-meat of the Spaniard? How I wish I were with them! Shall we go back Señor Fortescue?”
“If you think—”
“Think! I am sure. I can see the gleam of their spears through the dust. By all means, let us join them. The Spaniards have too much on their hands just now to heed us. But I must have a spear.”
And with that Carmen slipped from his horse and picked up the lance of the fallen guerilla.
“Do you prefer a spear to a sword?” I asked, as we rode on.
“I like both, but in a charge on the llanos I prefer a spear decidedly. Yet I dare say you will do better with the weapon to which you have been most accustomed. If you ward off or evade the first thrust and get to your opponent’s left rear you will have him at your mercy. Our llaneros are indifferent swordsmen; but once turn your back and you are doomed. Hurrah! There is Mejia, leading his fellows on. Don’t you see him? The tall man on the big horse. Forward, señors! We may be in time for the encounter even yet.”