The Llaneros soon alighted at the door, where they were met by the Ranchero, and the insensible stranger was carried in.
Like all the houses of the Ranchas of South America, this was an extensive wooden building, built of only one storey—a necessary measure against the ravages of the frequent earthquakes which shake so terribly those tropical regions.
The large and shady fronds of the beautiful palms that decorate the level and grassy Savannahs, were cleverly sewn together to form a covering, which was as effectual in excluding the dews and rains, as it was in itself romantic. No ceiling concealed the beams and rafters which supported this primitive roof; but from the exigences of the climate, and probably from the unwillingness to raise highly finished structures in the wilds, where the inhabitant scarcely ever saw the face of any one beside those of the Llaneros who tended his numerous and half-wild herds, the space between the low flooring and the roof was entirely unoccupied. The apartments were extensive, and as airy as such a climate required. Windows opened in all directions, and the winds of heaven swept freely through every crevice of the house. The furniture seemed to be as simple and as primitive as the building that contained it. A few heavy chairs, made of the hides of the oxen, that formed the wealth of the Ranchero, were placed about, here and there, more for the service of the few individuals who occupied the place, than for the accommodation of visitors or strangers, both of whom were exceedingly rare, if ever seen in those solitary wilds. Indian hammocks hung in several places, and moved to and fro, before the power of the wind that blew into the apartment; and on supports from the walls, rested beautiful Spanish saddles, whose bows and stirrups of massive silver, attracted immediate attention. Around the house stood some magnificent trees, under the shady boughs of which, herds of oxen, which were partially reclaimed from the wild state in which they had been bred, now quietly chewed their cud, not without, however, casting from time to time, a wistful look on the strong pallisades that fenced them in. Wild looking undressed horses, restively cropped the short grass that grew around the house, and now and then tugged with evident impatience, the tethers of cowskin, that restrained their liberty.
Away, at a short distance from the inhabited house itself, stood also pens for cattle, and apparently a slaughter-house, on whose roof the large heavy vultures of South America, pressed and fought and nibbled each other for a footing, while around it were strewed a thousand horns, the spoils of the fierce natives of the plains, that had fallen there under the Picador’s knife. To complete the peculiarity of the scene a few half naked and fierce looking individuals, loitered here and there, carelessly smoking their cigars; or leaned against the fences, and criticised the ruminating oxen within, as objects among which their entire life had been spent, and with such apparent skill and earnestness, as to leave one to fancy that the world contained nothing that deserved so much interest in their estimation as the animals which formed the tissue of their associations, and of their fathers’ before them. The horses that were tied in their rude accoutrements, to the posts of the fences, and the huge spurs of solid silver, which were tightly thonged to the naked heels of those men, showed that they belonged entirely to the plains, and were probably there, only for the purpose of receiving the orders of the master.
“Feliciana,” cried the Ranchero, as Appadocca was carried into the large chamber that formed, what in Europe, would be called the with-drawing room—“Feliciana ben aca,—Feliciana, come hither.”
At this call, a beautiful young lady appeared, and started back as she beheld the pallid, wasted, and haggard, but still beautiful face of Appadocca, while, at the same time, the low interjection of “Jesu!” escaped her lips.
“Que se haga todo necessario por ese infeliz,” “Let every thing be done for this unhappy man,” said the Ranchero, who even in the half barbarous life that he led, did not entirely lose the distinguishing politeness of his people.
CHAPTER XXI.
“O, thou didst then ne’er love so heartily: