This was the saddest perplexity yet. There was nothing to be done but to wait for daylight to take Victoriano home. In the meantime, a fire was made near his bed. His limbs were wrapped in warm blankets; he drank a large cup of warm coffee and lay down to wait for the dawn of day to appear.
As soon as all the herders had drank plenty of warm coffee, all mounted their horses, and the work of rousing the cattle began.
The shouts of the vaqueros, bellowing of cattle and barking of dogs resounded throughout the valley, the echo repeating them from hill to hill and mountain side. In a short time everything living was in motion, and the peaceful little valley seemed the battle-ground where a fiercely contested, hand-to-hand fight was raging. The great number of fires burning under the shelter of trees, seen through the falling snow as if behind a thick, mysterious veil, gave to the scene a weird appearance of unreality which the shouts of men, bellowing of cattle and barking of dogs did not dispel. It all seemed like a phantom battle of ghostly warriors or enchanted knights evoked in a magic valley, all of which must disappear with the first rays of day.
Don Mariano and his two brothers also mounted their horses, but remained near Victoriano's bed to keep him from being trampled by cattle that might rush in that direction.
About four o'clock the vaqueros had a recess. They had put the cattle in motion, and could conscientiously think of cooking breakfast. By the time that breakfast was over, daylight began to peep here and there through the thick curtains of falling snow. Giving to the mayordomo the last instructions regarding the management of the cattle, Don Mariano got Victoriano ready to start on their forlorn ride homeward. It was no easy task to put him in the saddle, but once there, he said he was all right.
“I am a miserable chicken from my knees down, but a perfect gentleman from my knees up. Don't be sad, father; I'll be all right again soon,” said he, cheerfully.
The snow had not ceased falling for one moment, and if the mayordomo had not been so good a guide they might not have found their way out, for every trail was completely obliterated, and no landmarks could be seen. After a while, Don Mariano himself, aided by a pocket compass, got the bearings correctly. The entire band of cattle were driven back, so that all began their retreating march together, preceded by Victoriano, with his limbs wrapped up in pieces of blanket, an expedient which he found very ridiculous and laughable, suggesting many witticisms to him.
About ten o'clock they came to a grove of oak trees which covered a broad space of ground and afforded good shelter for man and animals. Don Mariano told his mayordomo that he thought this would be a good place for him to stay with the stock until the storm had passed, for although the snow might fall on the uncovered ground, there would be shelter for all under the trees.
After resting for an hour and eating a good luncheon, Don Mariano, aided by his brothers, again put Victoriano on horseback and started homeward, all the country being still enveloped in snow. About nightfall the snow was succeeded by rain, and this was much worse, for it came accompanied by a violent wind which seemed as if it would blow them away with their horses. Having left the mayordomo and all but one vaquero with the cattle, Don Mariano had with him only this one mozo to wait on them, and his two brothers to assist him in the care of Tano. The night was passed again under the friendly shelter of trees, but in the morning it was found necessary to ride out into the storm, for now Victoriano's limbs ached frightfully at times, and it was imperative to reach home. This was not done until the following day, when Victoriano's malady had assumed a very painful character, and when Don Mariano himself had taken a severe cold in his lungs. A doctor was immediately sent for, and now Doña Josefa had two invalids more to nurse.
For six weeks Don Mariano was confined to his bed with a severe attack of pneumonia, followed by a lung fever, which clung to him for many days. In the latter part of January, however, he was convalescing. Not so Victoriano; his strange malady kept him yet a close prisoner. When his father was out already, driving and riding about the rancho, poor Tano had to be content with sitting by the window in an arm-chair, and looking at that other window which he knew was in Alice's room. Everett came daily to sit with him, to read to him, or play chess or cards, and he helped the invalid to take a few steps, and little by little, Tano began to walk.