“Has no one been into the house?” I asked at length. “Perhaps they are there. They may, alas! have been murdered.”
We rode back, and after searching round I found a window open. Gerald and Tim scrambled in, and I waited, expecting to have my worst anticipations confirmed. I was indeed relieved when they came back saying that they could find no one. There was still some hope that the padre might be alive; though had he been carried off by the Spaniards, his fate might be that of many others.
As we could not longer delay, we set off, in order to reach the house of a native acquaintance of Gerald’s before dark. He was a great sportsman, Gerald told us; and having had several encounters with jaguars and pumas, he would be delighted to recount his adventures.
The house was situated some way up the mountains on the right. To reach it we had frequently to get off our horses and lead them along the rugged path. Our friend’s abode was not a grand one; it consisted but of one room, which was ornamented with his trophies of the chase. He maintained himself chiefly by keeping a large flock of goats, which lived secure from jaguars and pumas among the rugged rocks. The savage animals sometimes came, however, to try and catch them, but generally paid the penalty of their audacity with their lives. He gave us a kid for supper, and told us some wonderful stories. Even lately, a jaguar, which was crouching behind a rock, suddenly sprang out on him, and seized him by the arm. With his knife he attempted to strike the brute, when they both rolled over the precipice, and he lost all consciousness. On recovering, the jaguar was gone; but there were marks of blood, which showed that it must have been severely wounded.
I did not fail to mention Padre Pacheco’s absence, and asked if he could divine what had become of him.
“I do not think the Gothos have got him,” he answered; “for, to say the truth, I gave him information that they were coming, and, as the padre is a wise man, he would not have waited for their visit. Where he has gone I cannot tell.”
I was somewhat relieved by this information, though I pictured to myself the jovial padre wandering about the wilds without food or shelter.
The next day, by starting at dawn, we reached home at an early hour. The doctor’s first inquiry was for his patient; when, to our astonishment, we heard that he had rapidly gained strength, and on the previous night had made his escape. In consequence of his evident weakness, he had been left unguarded, and no one supposed that he had even any wish to quit the house where he had been so kindly treated. Only the day before, he had, with evident sincerity, expressed his gratitude to Norah, and taking her hand had pressed it to his lips, vowing that he would be ready to die to do her any service.
“And so I am sure he would,” exclaimed Norah, when our father told us this. “Could he write, he would have left a message explaining why he has left us; and we shall hear some day that he had good reason for doing so. Still, I was as much surprised as any one else when I found this morning that he had actually fled. Probably he was afraid that he might be stopped should he express his wish to go, and therefore thought it wiser to steal off secretly. We shall hear from him before long, depend on it. I cannot believe that he is ungrateful, or had any bad motive for running away.”
I fully agreed with Norah. Still, the act was so like the ordinary conduct of Indians, that it was not surprising the rest of the party should believe him to be ungrateful.