In addition to the pack-horses he had brought two others to ride—one for himself and the other for Samaro. This guide went on first, then Tom and the others followed in Indian file.
It was a delightful morning, with a breeze blowing from the distant mountain slopes of Chimborazo; and the throng of Indians spear-armed and clad in their gay-coloured ponchos, the huts and houses, the cattle, horses, and strange-looking llamas, the greenery of the shrubs and bushes, the jagged hills and blue sky above, flecked with many a fleecy cloud, made up a scene that was both beautiful and picturesque.
But all was soon left behind, and solitude reigned supreme.
The pack-horses and men were lagging behind. Samaro was a long way ahead, and when Tom pulled rein and looked about him, hearing nothing but the rustling of the wind through the wild corn and dark-leaved aloe bushes, he realized for the first time that he was really on his way to the wilderness.
All the year round the sun sets about six o’clock in the land of Ecuador, and a full hour before that time Tom gave orders for the halt; and not far from the banks of a river the tent or toldo was erected, and supper prepared. It would have been easy to have pushed on a few miles farther to the village of Penipe, but for the time-being at all events Tom was independent of villages of any kind. Nor did he have a very high opinion of the cooking and accommodation to be obtained therein. Certainly in a town a greater amount of so-called civilization was to be met with; but there the insects were more civilized too. That is how Tom Talisker argued. Out in the open country, even in the bush, although these plagues were to be met with in every shape and form—flying beetles, gigantic mosquitoes, cockroaches, earwigs, scorpions, centipeds, and winged bugs, to say nothing of a host of other creepie-creepies,—they were wild; while, on the other hand, those that dwelt in houses were tame, disgustingly so, and au fait in all the ways of the world. Besides, there was in the open the blessings obtainable from fresh air.
I have already said that hermit hunter though he was Tom did not despise his comforts. On my honour now, I think he would have been a fool if he had. What good would it have done himself or anybody else had he dressed in sackcloth and ashes? He could have gotten plenty of both in Ecuador had his fancy led him to adopt so sad a costume. But it did not. He preferred alpaca and fine linen, and he actually carried an excellent hunting watch. Every night, too, while in the wilderness he had his tent erected, his hammock slung, and the whole of the latter neatly surrounded by a mosquito curtain. If ever, dear reader, you go to the wilds, I advise you to adopt the same plan.
Well then, after Samaro had tucked his master in, as you might say, he threw up one side of the tent, and lo! the sweet pure air of heaven swept in. The creepies came too—some of them at all events. The scorpions and centipeds had not a chance, and the flying “ferlies” could only grind their mandibles outside the curtain. Mosquitoes are very insinuating though, and if there had been a hole in the curtain big enough to admit the end of a pencil some enterprising mosquito would have found it out and forthwith started a limited liability company, thousands would have joined, and before morning Tom’s face would have been a sight to see in the looking-glass—that is, if seeing was any longer a possibility.
“Stay and talk with me to-night,” said Tom, after Samaro had tucked him in. “Throw up the tent that I may see the stars. That’s right. Now smoke.”
“Is this going to be the order of our evenings?” said Samaro.
It will be observed that this man talked excellent English, and well he might: he had lived in every country under the sun.