When night comes, the muleteers and ox drivers find precarious shelter in the post houses—a kind of tambas or caravanseries, built, at considerable distances apart, in the Pampas. The galeras, detached from the oxen, are ranged in single file; the burdens of the mules are piled up in a circle; then, if the corral (stables) be full, if there be many travellers at the post house, beasts and men encamp together, and spend the night under the open sky,—a mode of sleeping which is no hardship in a country where cold is almost unknown. Then commence, by the fantastic light of the bivouac fires, the long tales of the Pampas, interspersed with joyous bursts of laughter, with songs, and words of love uttered in whispers.
Yet it is rare for the night to pass over without a quarrel of some sort arising between the muleteers and the drivers, who are by nature jealous of each other, and enemies by profession. Then blood flows, the consequence of a navajada or two; for the knife always plays a too active part among these men, whom no fear of consequences restrains in their unbridled frenzy.
Now, on the night of the day on which our story begins, the last post house on the Portillo road, when you leave the Pampas, going to Buenos Aires, was overfilled with travellers. Two numerous recuas de mulas (strings of mules), which a month before had crossed the Alto de Cumbre, and encamped on the Rio de la Cucoa, close to the Inca's Bridge, one of the most singular natural curiosities in the country, had lighted their fires before the post house, close to two or three convoys of galeras, whose oxen were quietly lying in the interior of the circle formed by the wagons.
The post house was a building of considerable extent, constructed of adobas (sundried bricks.) The entrance was furnished with a portico—a species of peristyle formed of the trunks of four large trees, planted in the ground in lieu of pillars, and supporting a veranda broad enough to afford shelter from the piercing rays of the sun.
In the interior of the toldo, as they call these miserable hovels, resounded the songs and laughter of the drivers and muleteers, mingling with the notes of a vihuela (Spanish guitar), scraped with the knuckles of the hand in a manner sufficient to drive one to despair, and with the sharp and clamorous outcry of the postmaster, whose squeaking voice strove in vain to quell the uproar, and regulate the disorder.
Just at this moment the rapid gallop of many horses was heard; and two parties of riders, coming from points diametrically opposite, stopped, as with one accord, before the porch of the toldo, after passing with great dexterity through the encampments before the post house, the approaches to which were vastly obstructed by the galeras.
The first of these parties, consisting of only six riders, came from the direction of Mendoza; the second from the opposite side, from the heart of the Pampas: the latter comprised some thirty individuals at least.
The unexpected arrival of the newcomers stopped, as by enchantment, the clamour which the ranchero, or owner of the house, had been unable to still, and a sudden silence seized on the company, which had been so joyously uproarious a few minutes before.
The muleteers and drivers glided like shadows out of the house, and, with furtive steps, regained their respective encampments, exchanging uneasy looks amongst themselves; so that the room was empty in a twinkling, and the ranchero was able to come forward and receive the guests who had arrived so unexpectedly. But he had scarcely reached the threshold, and cast a glance outside, when a mortal pallor overspread his visage, a convulsive shudder shook his frame, and his tones were almost unintelligible, as he managed to stutter forth the essential phrase of welcome in South America; "¡Ave, María purísima!" (Hail, purest Mary!)
"¡Sin pecado concebida!" (immaculately conceived) answered the rough voice of a tall cavalier, with harsh features and a ferocious eye, who seemed to be the leader of the more numerous party.