learned companion would always anticipate the answer of the guide, who
then gazed at him with a look of amazement.

That same day they met a road which crossed the line that they had
hitherto pursued. Lord Glenarvan naturally asked its name of their
guide, and Paganel as naturally answered,--

"The road from Yumbel to Los Angelos."

Glenarvan looked at the catapaz.

"Exactly," replied he.

Then, addressing the geographer, he said,--

"You have traveled in this country?"

"Certainly," replied Paganel gravely.

"On a mule?"

"No; in an arm-chair."

The catapaz did not understand, for he shrugged his shoulders and
returned to the head of the troop.

At five o'clock in the afternoon they stopped in a shallow gorge, a
few miles above the little town of Loja; and that night the travelers
encamped at the foot of the first slopes of the Andes.

CHAPTER XII.

ELEVEN THOUSAND FEET ALOFT.

The route through Chili had as yet presented no serious obstacles; but
now the dangers that attend a journey across the mountains suddenly
increased, the struggle with the natural difficulties was about to
begin in earnest.

An important question had to be decided before starting. By what pass
could they cross the Andes with the least departure from the prescribed
course? The catapaz was questioned on this subject.

"I know," he replied, "of but two passes that are practicable in this
part of the Andes."

"Doubtless the pass of Arica," said Paganel, "which was discovered by
Valdivia Mendoza."

"Exactly."

"And that of Villarica, situated to the south of Nevado."

"You are right."

"Well, my friend, these two passes have only one difficulty; they will
carry us to the south, or the north, farther than we wish."

"Have you another pass to propose?" asked the major.

"Yes," replied Paganel; "the pass of Antuco."

"Well," said Glenarvan; "but do you know this pass, catapaz?"

[Sidenote: ATTAINING TO EMINENCE.]

"Yes, my lord, I have crossed it, and did not propose it because it is
only a cattle-track for the Indian herdsmen of the eastern slopes."

"Never mind, my friend," continued Glenarvan; "where the herds of the
Indians pass, we can also; and, since this will keep us in our course,
let us start for the pass of Antuco."

The signal for departure was immediately given, and they entered the
valley of Los Lejos between great masses of crystalized limestone, and
ascended a very gradual slope. Towards noon they had to pass around
the shores of a small lake, the picturesque reservoir of all the
neighboring streams which flowed into it.

Above the lake extended vast "llanos," lofty plains, covered with
grass, where the herds of the Indians grazed. Then they came upon a
swamp which extended to the south and north, but which the instinct
of the mules enabled them to avoid. Soon Fort Ballenare appeared on a
rocky peak which it crowned with its dismantled walls. The ascent had
already become abrupt and stony, and the pebbles, loosened by the hoofs
of the mules, rolled under their feet in a rattling torrent.

The road now became difficult, and even perilous. The steepness
increased, the walls on either side approached each other more and
more, while the precipices yawned frightfully. The mules advanced
cautiously in single file, with their noses to the ground, scenting the
way.

Now and then, at a sudden turn, the madrina disappeared, and the little
caravan was then guided by the distant tinkling of her bell. Sometimes,
too, the capricious windings of the path would bend the column into
two parallel lines, and the catapaz could talk to the peons, while a
crevasse, scarcely two fathoms wide, but two hundred deep, formed an
impassable abyss between them.

Under these conditions it was difficult to distinguish the course. The
almost incessant action of subterranean and volcanic agency changes
the road, and the landmarks are never the same. Therefore the catapaz
hesitated, stopped, looked about him, examined the form of the rocks,
and searched on the crumbling stones for the tracks of Indians.

Glenarvan followed in the steps of his guide. He perceived, he _felt_,
his embarrassment, increasing with the difficulties of the way. He did
not dare to question him, but thought that it was better to trust to
the instinct of the muleteers and mules.

For an hour longer the catapaz wandered at a venture, but always
seeking the more elevated parts of the mountain. At last he was forced
to stop short. They were at the bottom of a narrow valley,--one of
those ravines that the Indians call "quebradas." A perpendicular wall
of porphyry barred their exit.

[Sidenote: CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN.]

The catapaz, after searching vainly for a passage, dismounted, folded
his arms, and waited. Glenarvan approached him.

"Have you lost your way?" he asked.

"No, my lord," replied the catapaz.

"But we are not at the pass of Antuco?"

"We are."

"Are you not mistaken?"

"I am not. Here are the remains of a fire made by the Indians, and the
tracks left by their horses."

"Well, they passed this way?"

"Yes; but we cannot. The last earthquake has made it impracticable."

"For mules," replied the major; "but not for men."

"That is for you to decide," said the catapaz. "I have done what I
could. My mules and I are ready to turn back, if you please, and search
for the other passes of the Andes."

"But that will cause a delay."

"Of three days, at least."

Glenarvan listened in silence to the words of the catapaz, who had
evidently acted in accordance with his engagement. His mules could go
no farther; but when the proposal was made to retrace their steps,
Glenarvan turned towards his companions, and said,--

"Do you wish to go on?"

"We will follow you," replied Tom Austin.

"And even precede you," added Paganel. "What is it, after all? To scale
a chain of mountains whose opposite slopes afford an unusually easy
descent. This accomplished, we can find the Argentine laqueanos, who
will guide us across the Pampas, and swift horses accustomed to travel
over the plains. Forward, then, without hesitation."

"Forward!" cried his companions.

"You do not accompany us?" said Glenarvan to the catapaz.

"I am the muleteer," he replied.

"As you say."

"Never mind," said Paganel; "on the other side of this wall we shall
find the pass of Antuco again, and I will lead you to the foot of the
mountain as directly as the best guide of the Andes."

Glenarvan accordingly settled with the catapaz, and dismissed him, his
peons, and his mules. The arms, the instruments, and the remaining
provisions, were divided among the seven travelers. By common consent
it was decided that the ascent should be undertaken immediately, and
that, if necessary, they should travel part of the night. Around the
precipice to the left wound a steep path that mules could not ascend.
The difficulties were great; but, after two hours of fatigue and
wandering, Glenarvan and his companions found themselves again in the
pass of Antuco.

They were now in that part of the Andes properly so called, not far
from the main ridge of the mountains; but of the path traced out, of
the pass, nothing could be seen. All this region had just been thrown
into confusion by the recent earthquakes.

They ascended all night, climbed almost inaccessible plateaus, and
leaped over broad and deep crevasses. Their arms took the place of
ropes, and their shoulders served as steps. The strength of Mulready
and the skill of Wilson were often called into requisition. Many times,
without their devotion and courage, the little party could not have
advanced.

Glenarvan never lost sight of young Robert, whose youth and eagerness
led him to acts of rashness, while Paganel pressed on with all the
ardor of a Frenchman. As for the major, he only moved as much as
was necessary, no more, no less, and mounted the path by an almost
insensible motion. Did he perceive that he had been ascending
for several hours? It is not certain. Perhaps he imagined he was
descending.

[Sidenote: PRACTICING "EXCELSIOR."]

At five o'clock in the morning the travelers had attained a height of
seven thousand five hundred feet. They were now on the lower ridges,
the last limit of arborescent vegetation. At this hour the aspect of
these regions was entirely changed. Great blocks of glittering ice, of
a bluish color in certain parts, rose on all sides, and reflected the
first rays of the sun.

The ascent now became very perilous. They no longer advanced without
carefully examining the ice. Wilson had taken the lead, and with his
foot tested the surface of the glaciers. His companions followed
exactly in his footsteps, and avoided uttering a word, for the least
sound might have caused the fall of the snowy masses suspended eight
hundred feet above their heads.

They had reached the region of shrubs, which, four hundred and fifty
feet higher, gave place to grass and cactuses. At eleven thousand feet
all traces of vegetation disappeared. The travelers had stopped only
once to recruit their strength by a hasty repast, and with superhuman
courage they resumed the ascent in the face of the ever-increasing
dangers.

[Illustration: Two hours more of terrible exertion followed. They kept
ascending, in order to reach the highest summit of this part of the
mountain.]

[Sidenote: SOMEWHAT SERIOUS.]

The strength of the little troop, however, in spite of their courage,
was almost gone. Glenarvan, seeing the exhaustion of his companions,
regretted having engaged in the undertaking. Young Robert struggled
against fatigue, but could go no farther.

Glenarvan stopped.

"We must take a rest," said he, for he clearly saw that no one else
would make this proposal.

"Take a rest?" replied Paganel; "how? where? we have no shelter."

"It is indispensable, if only for Robert."

"No, my lord," replied the courageous child; "I can still walk--do not
stop."

"We will carry you, my boy," said Paganel, "but we must, at all
hazards, reach the eastern slope. There, perhaps, we shall find some
hut in which we can take refuge. I ask for two hours more of travel."

"Do you all agree?" asked Glenarvan.

"Yes," replied his companions.

"I will take charge of the brave boy," added the equally brave Mulready.

They resumed their march towards the east. Two hours more of terrible
exertion followed. They kept ascending, in order to reach the highest
summit of this part of the mountain.

Whatever were the desires of these courageous men, the moment now came
when the most valiant failed, and dizziness, that terrible malady of
the mountains, exhausted not only their physical strength but their
moral courage. It is impossible to struggle with impunity against
fatigues of this kind. Soon falls became frequent, and those who fell
could only advance by dragging themselves on their knees.

Exhaustion was about to put an end to this too prolonged ascent; and
Glenarvan was considering with terror the extent of the snow, the cold
which in this fatal region was so much to be dreaded, the shadows that
were deepening on the solitary peaks, and the absence of a shelter for
the night, when the major stopped him, and, in a calm tone, said,--

"A hut!"

CHAPTER XIII.

A SUDDEN DESCENT.

Any one but MacNabb would have passed by, around, or even over this
hut a hundred times without suspecting its existence. A projection on
the surface of the snow scarcely distinguished it from the surrounding
rocks. It was necessary to uncover it; after half an hour of persistent
labor, Wilson and Mulready had cleared away the entrance to the
"casucha," and the little party stepped in.

[Sidenote: A "RESTAURANT" REOPENED.]

This casucha, constructed by the Indians, was made of adobes, a kind
of bricks dried in the sun. Ten persons could easily find room inside,
and, if its walls had not been sufficiently water-tight in the rainy
season, at this time, at least, they were some protection against the
severity of the cold. There was, besides, a sort of fireplace with a
flue of bricks very poorly laid, which enabled them to kindle a fire,
and thus withstand the external temperature.

"Here is a shelter, at least," said Glenarvan, "even if it is not
comfortable. Providence has led us hither, and we cannot do better than
accept this fortune."

"Why," replied Paganel, "it is a palace. It only wants sentries and
courtiers. We shall get along admirably here."

"Especially when a good fire is blazing on the hearth," said Tom
Austin; "for, if we are hungry, we are none the less cold it seems to
me; and, for my part, a good fagot would delight me more than a slice
of venison."

"Well, Tom," said Paganel, "we will try to find something combustible."

"Something combustible on the top of the Andes?" said Mulready, shaking
his head doubtfully.

"Since a chimney has been made in this hut," replied the major, "there
is probably something here to burn."

"Our friend is right," added Glenarvan. "Prepare everything for supper;
and I will play the part of wood-cutter."

"I will accompany you with Wilson," said Paganel.

"If you need me----," said Robert, rising.

"No, rest yourself, my brave boy," replied Glenarvan. "You will be a
man when others are only children."

Glenarvan, Paganel, and Wilson went out of the hut. It was six o'clock
in the evening. The cold was keen and cutting, in spite of the calmness
of the air. The azure of the sky was already fading, and the sun
shedding his last rays on the lofty peaks of the mountains.

Reaching a hillock of porphyry, they scanned the horizon in every
direction. They had now gained the summit of the Andes, which commanded
an extended prospect. To the east the sides of the mountains declined
by gentle gradations, down which they could see the peons sliding
several hundred feet below. In the distance extended long lines of
scattered rocks and stones that had been crowded back by glacial
avalanches. The valley of the Colorado was already growing dim in the
increasing twilight; the elevations of land, the crags and the peaks,
illumined by the rays of the sun, gradually faded, and darkness covered
the whole eastern slope of the Andes.

Towards the north undulated a succession of ridges that mingled
together insensibly. To the south, however, the view was magnificent;
and, as night descended, the grandeur was inimitable. Looking down
into the wild valley of Torbido, you saw Mount Antuco, whose yawning
crater was two miles distant. The volcano, like some enormous monster,
belched forth glowing smoke mingled with torrents of bright flame. The
circle of the mountains that inclosed it seemed to be on fire. Showers
of incandescent stones, clouds of reddish vapors, and streams of lava,
united in glittering columns. A loud rumbling that increased every
moment, and was followed by a dazzling flash, filled this vast circuit
with its sharp reverberations, while the sun, his light gradually
fading, disappeared as a star is extinguished in the shadows of the
horizon.

[Sidenote: FOOD BROUGHT TO THE DOOR.]

Paganel and Glenarvan would have remained a long time to contemplate
this magnificent struggle of the fires of earth with those of heaven,
and the improvised wood-cutters were becoming admirers of nature; but
Wilson, less enthusiastic, reminded them of their situation. Wood was
wanting, it is true, but fortunately a scanty and dry moss clothed the
rocks. An ample supply was taken, as well as of a plant whose roots
were quite combustible. This precious fuel was brought to the hut, and
piled in the fire-place; but it was difficult to kindle the fire, and
especially to keep it burning.

When the viands were prepared, each one drank several mouthfuls of
hot coffee with delight. As for the dried meat, it appeared a little
unsatisfactory, which provoked on the part of Paganel a remark as
useless as it was true.

"Indeed," said he, "I must confess a llama-steak would not be bad just
now."

"What!" cried the major, "are you not content with our supper, Paganel?"

"Enchanted, my good major; but I acknowledge a plate of venison would
be welcome."

"You are a sybarite," said MacNabb.

"I accept the title, major; but you yourself, whatever you may say,
would not be displeased with a beefsteak."

"Probably not."

"And if you were asked to take your post at the cannon, you would go
without a word."

"Certainly: and, although it pleases you----"

His companions had not heard any more, when distant and prolonged howls
were heard. They were not the cries of scattered animals, but those of
a herd approaching with rapidity. Would Providence, after furnishing
them with shelter, give them their supper? Such was the thought of the
geographer. But Glenarvan humbled his joy somewhat by observing that
the animals of the Andes were never met with in so elevated a region.

"Whence comes the noise, then?" asked Tom Austin. "Hear how it
approaches!"

"An avalanche!" said Mulready.

"Impossible! these are real howls!" replied Paganel.

"Let us see," cried Glenarvan.

"Let us see like hunters," answered the major, as he took his rifle.

All rushed out of the hut. Night had come. It was dark, but the sky was
studded with stars. The moon had not yet shown her disk. The peaks
on the north and east were lost in the darkness, and the eye only
perceived the grotesque outlines of a few towering rocks.

The howls--those of terrified animals--were redoubled. They came from
the dark side of the mountain. What was going on?

Suddenly there came a furious avalanche, but one of living creatures,
mad with terror. The whole plateau seemed to tremble. There were
hundreds, perhaps thousands, of these animals. Were they wild beasts
of the Pampas, or only llamas? The whole party had only time to throw
themselves to the earth, while this living whirlwind passed a few feet
above them.

At this moment the report of a fire-arm was heard. The major had shot
at a venture. He thought that a large animal fell a few paces from
him, while the whole herd, carried along by their resistless motion,
disappeared down the slopes illumined by the volcano.

"Ah, I have them!" cried a voice, that of Paganel.

"What have you?" asked Glenarvan.

"My glasses, to be sure!"

"You are not wounded?"

"No, a little kick,--but by what?"

"By this," replied the major, dragging after him the animal he had shot.

Each one hastened to gain the hut; and by the light of the fire
MacNabb's prize was examined. It was a pretty animal, resembling a
little camel without a hump. It had a small head, flat body, long legs
and claws, fine coffee-colored hair, and its breast was spotted with
white.

Scarcely had Paganel looked at it when he exclaimed,--

"It is a guanaco!"

"What is that?" asked Glenarvan.

"An animal that eats itself."

"And is it good?"

[Sidenote: "A DISH FOR THE GODS."]

"Delicious! a dish for the gods! I knew well that you would like fresh
meat for supper. And what meat this is! But who will dress the animal?"

"I will," said Wilson.

"Well, I will engage to broil it," replied Paganel.

"You are a cook, then, Monsieur Paganel?" said Robert.

"Certainly, my boy. A Frenchman is always a cook."

In a little while Paganel placed large slices of meat on the coals,
and, in a short time, served up to his companions this appetizing
viand. No one hesitated, but each attacked it ravenously. To the great
amazement of the geographer, a general grimace accompanied by a "pwah!"
followed the first mouthful.

"It is horrible!" said one.

"It is not eatable!" replied another.

The poor geographer, whatever was the difficulty, was forced to agree
that this steak was not acceptable even to starving men. They therefore
began to launch jokes at him, and deride his "dish for the gods," while
he himself sought a reason for this unaccountable result.

"I have it!" he cried. "I have it!"

"Is the meat too old?" asked MacNabb, calmly.

"No, my intolerant major; but it has traveled too much. How could I
forget that?"

"What do you mean?" asked Tom Austin.

"I mean that the animal is not good unless killed when at rest. I
can affirm from the taste that it has come from a distance, and,
consequently, the whole herd."

"You are certain of this?" said Glenarvan.

"Absolutely so."

"But what event could have terrified these animals so, and driven them
at a time when they ought to be peacefully sleeping in their lairs."

"As to that, my dear Glenarvan," said Paganel, "it is impossible for me
to say. If you believe me, let us search no farther. For my part I am
dying for want of sleep. Let us retire, major!"

"Very well, Paganel."

Thereupon each wrapped himself in his poncho, the fuel was replenished
for the night, and soon all but Glenarvan were buried in profound
repose.

He alone did not sleep. A secret uneasiness held him in a state of
wakeful fatigue. He could not help thinking of that herd, flying in one
common direction, of their inexplicable terror. They could not have
been pursued by wild beasts: at that height there were scarcely any,
and yet fewer hunters. What fright had driven them over the abysses
of Antuco, and what was the cause of it? He thought of their strange
situation, and felt a presentiment of coming danger.

However, under the influence of a partial drowsiness, his ideas
gradually modified, and fear gave place to hope. He saw himself in
anticipation, on the morrow, on the plain at the foot of the Andes.
There his actual search was to begin; and success was not, perhaps, far
distant. He thought of Captain Grant and his two sailors, delivered
from a cruel slavery.

These images passed rapidly before his mind, every instant interrupted
by a flash of fire, a spark, a flame, illumining the faces of his
sleeping companions, and casting a flickering shadow over the walls of
the hut. Then his presentiments returned with more vividness, while
he listened vaguely to the external sounds so difficult to explain on
these solitary summits.

At one moment he thought he heard distant rumblings, dull and
threatening like the rollings of thunder. These sounds could be caused
only by a tempest, raging on the sides of the mountain. He wished to
convince himself, and left the hut.

The moon had risen, and the sky was clear and calm. Not a cloud was to
be seen either above or below, only now and then the moving shadows of
the flames of the volcano. At the zenith twinkled thousands of stars,
while the rumblings still continued. They seemed to approach, and run
along the chain of the mountains.

[Illustration: The internal rumblings, the din of the avalanche, the
crash of the blocks of granite, and the whirlwinds of snow, rendered
all communication with each other impossible.]

Glenarvan returned more uneasy than before, seeking to divine what
relation there was between these subterranean noises and the flight of
the guanacos. He looked at his watch; it was two o'clock.

However, having no certain knowledge of immediate danger, he did not
wake his companions, whom fatigue held in a deep repose, but fell
himself into a heavy sleep that lasted several hours.

All at once a violent crash startled him to his feet. It was a
deafening roar, like the irregular noise of innumerable artillery
wagons rolling over a hollow pavement. Glenarvan suddenly felt the
earth tremble beneath his feet. He saw the hut sway and start open.

"Look out!" he cried.

His companions, awakened and thrown into confusion, were hurried down
a rapid descent. The day was breaking, and the scene was terrible. The
form of the mountains suddenly changed, their tops were truncated,
the tottering peaks disappeared, as if a pitfall had opened at their
base. A mass, several miles in extent, became detached entire, and slid
towards the plain.

"An earthquake!" cried Paganel.

He was not mistaken. It was one of those phenomena frequent on the
mountain frontier of Chili. This portion of the globe is disturbed
by subterranean fires, and the volcanoes of this chain afford only
insufficient outlets for the confined vapors.

In the meantime the plateau, to which seven stunned and terrified men
clung by the tufts of moss, glided with the rapidity of an express.
Not a cry was possible, not a movement of escape. They could not hear
each other. The internal rumblings, the din of the avalanche, the crash
of the blocks of granite, and the whirlwinds of snow, rendered all
communication with each other impossible.

[Sidenote: A STEEP GRADIENT.]

At one time the mass would slide without jolts or jars; at another,
seized with a pitching and rolling motion like the deck of a vessel
shaken by the billows, it would run along the edge of the abysses
into which the fragments of the mountain fell, uproot the trees of
centuries, and level with the precision of an enormous scythe all the
inequalities of the eastern slope.

How long this indescribable scene lasted, no one could tell; in what
abyss all were to be engulfed, no one was able to foresee. Whether they
were all there alive, or whether one of them was lying at the bottom of
a crevasse, no one could say. Stunned by the swiftness of the descent,
chilled by the keenness of the cold, blinded by the whirlwinds of snow,
they panted, exhausted and almost inanimate, and only clung to the
rocks by the supreme instinct of preservation.

All at once a shock of unusual violence arrested their gliding vehicle.
They were thrown forward and rolled upon the last declivities of the
mountains. The plateau had stopped short.

For a few moments no one stirred. At last one rose, deafened by the
shock, but yet firm. It was the major. He shook off the snow that
blinded him, and looked around. His companions were not very far from
one another. He counted them. All but one lay on the ground. The
missing one was Robert Grant.

CHAPTER XIV.

PROVIDENTIALLY RESCUED.

The eastern side of the Andes consists of long slopes, declining
gradually to the plain upon which a portion of the mass had suddenly
stopped. In this new country, garnished with rich pastures and adorned
with magnificent vegetation, an incalculable number of apple-trees,
planted at the time of the conquest, glowed with their golden fruit
and formed true forests. It seemed as if a part of beautiful Normandy
had been cast into these monotonous regions, and under any other
circumstances the eye of a traveler would have been struck with this
sudden transition from desert to oasis, from snowy peak to verdant
prairie, from winter to summer.

The earth had regained an absolute immobility, and the earthquake had
ceased. But without doubt the subterranean forces were still exerting
their devastating action at a distance, for the chain of the Andes is
always agitated or trembling in some part. This time, however, the
commotion had been of extreme violence. The outline of the mountains
was entirely changed; a new view of summits, crests, and peaks was
defined against the azure of the sky; and the guide of the Pampas would
have sought in vain for his accustomed landmarks.

[Sidenote: COMEDY CHANGED TO TRAGEDY.]

A wonderfully beautiful day was breaking. The rays of the sun, issuing
from their watery bed in the Atlantic, glittered over the Argentine
plains and were already silvering the waves of the other ocean. It was
eight o'clock in the morning.

Glenarvan and his companions, revived by the aid of the major,
gradually recovered consciousness. Indeed, they had only undergone
a severe giddiness. The mountain was descended, and they would have
applauded a means of locomotion which had been entirely at nature's
expense, if one of the feeblest, Robert Grant, had not been missing.
Every one loved the courageous boy: Paganel was particularly attached
to him; the major, too, in spite of his coldness; but especially
Glenarvan.

When the latter learned of Robert's disappearance, he was desperate. He
pictured to himself the poor child engulfed in some abyss, and calling
vainly for him whom he considered his second father.

"My friends," said he, scarcely restraining his tears, "we must search
for him, we must find him! We cannot abandon him thus! Every valley,
every precipice, every abyss must be explored to the very bottom! You
shall tie a rope around me and let me down! I will do it, you hear me,
I will! May Heaven grant that Robert is still living! Without him,
how could we dare find his father? What right have we to save Captain
Grant, if his rescue costs the life of his child?"

His companions listened without speaking. They felt that he was seeking
in their looks some ray of hope, and they lowered their eyes.

"Well," continued Glenarvan, "you understand me; you are silent! You
have no more hope!"

A few moments of silence ensued, when MacNabb inquired:

"Who of you, my friends, remembers when Robert disappeared?"

To this question no answer was given.

"At least," continued the major, "you can tell with whom the boy was
during the descent."

"With me," replied Wilson.

"Well, at what moment did you last see him with you? Recall the
circumstances. Speak."

"This is all that I remember. Robert Grant was at my side, his hand
grasping a tuft of moss, less than two minutes before the shock that
caused our descent."

"Less than two minutes? Remember, Wilson, the minutes may have seemed
long to you. Are you not mistaken?"

"I think not--yes, it is so, less than two minutes."

"Well," said MacNabb; "and was Robert on your right, or on your left?"

"On my left. I remember that his poncho flapped in my face."

"And where were you situated in reference to us?"

"On the left also."

"Then Robert could have disappeared only on this side," said the major,
turning towards the mountain, and pointing to the right. "And also
considering the time that has elapsed since his disappearance, the
child must have fallen at a high part of the mountain. There we must
search, and, by taking different ways, we shall find him."

Not a word more was said. The six men, scaling the declivities of the
mountain, stationed themselves at different heights along the ridge,
and began their search. They kept always to the right of their line of
descent, sounding the smallest fissures, descending to the bottom of
precipices half filled with fragments of the mass; and more than one
came forth with his garments in shreds, his feet and hands lacerated,
at the peril of his life.

[Sidenote: A SLEEPLESS NIGHT.]

All this portion of the Andes, except a few inaccessible plateaus,
was carefully explored for many hours without one of these brave men
thinking of rest. But it was a vain search. The child had not only
found death in the mountains, but also a tomb, the stone of which,
made of some enormous rock, was forever closed over him.

Towards noon Glenarvan and his companions, bruised and exhausted, found
themselves again in the valley. The former was a prey to the most
violent grief. He scarcely spoke, and from his lips issued only these
words, broken by sighs,--"I will not go; I will not go!"

Each understood this determination, and respected it.

"We will wait," said Paganel to the major and Tom Austin. "Let us take
some rest, and recruit our strength. We shall need it, whether to begin
our search or continue our journey."

"Yes," replied MacNabb, "let us remain, since Edward wishes it. He
hopes: but what does he hope?"

"God knows!" said Tom Austin.

"Poor Robert!" replied Paganel, wiping his eyes.

Trees thronged the valley in great numbers. The major chose a group of
lofty carob-trees, under which was established a temporary encampment.
A few blankets, the arms, a little dried meat, and some rice, was
all that remained to the travelers. A stream, which flowed not far
off, furnished water, still muddy from the effects of the avalanche.
Mulready kindled a fire on the grass, and soon presented to his master
a warm and comforting repast. But Glenarvan refused it, and remained
stretched on his poncho in profound prostration.

Thus the day passed. Night came, clear and calm as the preceding. While
his companions lay motionless, although wakeful, Glenarvan reascended
the mountain. He listened closely, still hoping that a last cry might
reach him. He ventured alone and afar, pressing his ear to the ground,
listening, restraining the beatings of his heart, and calling in a
voice of despair.

The whole night long he wandered on the mountain. Sometimes Paganel,
sometimes the major, followed him, ready to help him on the slippery
summits, or on the edge of the chasms, where his rashness led him. But
his last efforts were fruitless; and to the cry of "Robert! Robert!" a
thousand times repeated, echo alone replied.

Day dawned, and it was necessary to go in search of Glenarvan on
the mountain, and bring him in spite of his reluctance back to the
encampment. His despair was terrible. Who would now dare to speak
to him of departure, and propose leaving this fatal valley? But the
provisions were failing. They would soon meet the Argentine guides
and horses to take them across the Pampas. To retrace their steps was
more difficult than to advance. Besides, the Atlantic was the place
appointed to meet the Duncan. All these reasons did not permit a longer
delay, and it was for the interest of all that the hour for departure
should be no longer deferred.

MacNabb attempted to draw Glenarvan from his grief. For a long time he
spoke without his friend appearing to hear him. Glenarvan shook his
head. At length, words escaped his lips.

"Go?" said he.

"Yes, go."

"One hour more!"

"Well, one hour more," replied the worthy major.

When it had passed, Glenarvan asked for another. You would have thought
a condemned man was praying for his life. Thus it continued till about
noon, when MacNabb, by the advice of all, would no longer hesitate, and
told Glenarvan that they must go, the lives of his companions depended
upon a prompt decision.

"Yes, yes," replied Glenarvan, "we will go, we will go!"

But as he spoke his eyes were turned away from MacNabb. His gaze was
fixed upon a black speck in the air. Suddenly his hand rose, and
remained immovable, as if petrified.

"There! there!" cried he. "See! see!"

[Illustration: The bird had raised him by his garments, and was now
hovering in mid-air at least one hundred and fifty feet above the
encampment. He had perceived the travelers, and was violently striving
to escape with his heavy prey.] All eyes were raised towards the sky,
in the direction so imperatively indicated. At that moment the black
speck visibly increased. It was a bird hovering at a measureless height.

"A condor," said Paganel.

"Yes, a condor," replied Glenarvan. "Who knows? He is coming, he is
descending! Let us wait."

What did Glenarvan hope? Was his reason wandering? He had said, "Who
knows?" Paganel was not mistaken. The condor became more distinct every
moment.

This magnificent bird, long revered by the Incas, is the king of
the southern Andes. In these regions he attains an extraordinary
development. His strength is prodigious; and he often precipitates
oxen to the bottom of the abysses. He attacks sheep, goats, and calves
wandering on the plain, and carries them in his talons to a great
height. Sometimes he hovers at an elevation beyond the limit of human
vision, and there this king of the air surveys, with a piercing look,
the regions below, and distinguishes the faintest objects with a power
of sight that is the astonishment of naturalists.

What had the condor seen? A corpse,--that of Robert Grant? "Who knows?"
repeated Glenarvan, without losing sight of him. The enormous bird
approached, now hovering, now falling with the swiftness of inert
bodies. He soon described circles of larger extent, and could be
perfectly distinguished. He measured fifteen feet across his wings,
which supported him in the air almost without motion, for it is the
peculiarity of these great birds to sail with a majestic calmness
unlike all others of the winged tribes.

The major and Wilson had seized their rifles, but Glenarvan stopped
them with a gesture. The condor was approaching in the circles of his
flight a sort of inaccessible plateau a quarter of a mile distant.
He was turning with a vertical rapidity, opening and closing his
formidable claws, and shaking his cartilaginous neck.

[Sidenote: SOMETHING WORSE.]

"There! there!" cried Glenarvan.

Then suddenly a thought flashed through his mind.

"If Robert is still living!" exclaimed he, with a cry of terror, "this
bird! Fire, my friends, fire!"

But he was too late. The condor had disappeared behind the lofty
boulders. A second passed that seemed an eternity. Then the enormous
bird reappeared, heavily laden, and rising slowly.

A cry of horror was uttered. In the claws of the condor an inanimate
body was seen suspended and dangling. It was Robert Grant. The bird had
raised him by his garments, and was now hovering in mid-air at least
one hundred and fifty feet above the encampment. He had perceived the
travelers, and was violently striving to escape with his heavy prey.

"May Robert's body be dashed upon these rocks," cried Glenarvan,
"rather than serve----"

He did not finish, but, seizing Wilson's rifle, attempted to take aim
at the condor. But his arm trembled; he could not sight the piece. His
eyes were dimmed.

"Let me try," said the major.

With clear eye, steady hand, and motionless body, he aimed at the bird,
that was already three hundred feet above him. But he had not pressed
the trigger, when a report resounded in the valley. A light smoke
curled up between two rocks, and the condor, shot in the head, fell,
slowly turning, sustained by his broad outspread wings. He had not
released his prey, and at last reached the ground, ten paces from the
banks of the stream.

"Quick! quick!" said Glenarvan; and without seeking whence this
providential shot had come, he rushed towards the condor. His
companions closely followed him.

[Sidenote: "THE LOST IS FOUND."]

When they arrived the bird was dead, and the body of Robert was hidden
under its great wings. Glenarvan threw himself upon the child, released
him from the talons of the condor, stretched him on the grass, and
pressed his ear to his breast.

Never did a wilder cry of joy issue from human lips than when Glenarvan
rose, exclaiming:

"He lives! he lives!"

In an instant Robert was stripped of his garments, and his face bathed
with fresh water. He made a movement, opened his eyes, looked around,
and uttered a few words:

"You, my lord--my father!----"

Glenarvan could not speak. Emotion stifled him, and, kneeling, he wept
beside this child so miraculously saved.

CHAPTER XV.

THALCAVE.

After the great danger that he had just escaped, Robert incurred
another, no less great,--that of being overwhelmed with caresses.
However feeble he was still, not one of these good people could refrain
from pressing him to his heart. But it must be confessed that these
well-meant embraces are not fatal, for the boy did not die.

When his rescue was certain, thought reverted to his rescuer, and the
major very naturally thought of looking around him. Fifty paces from
the stream, a man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on one
of the first ledges of the mountain. A long gun lay at his feet. This
individual, who had so suddenly appeared, had broad shoulders, and
long hair tied with leathern thongs. His height exceeded six feet, and
his bronzed face was red between his eyes and mouth, black below his
eyelids, and white on his forehead. After the manner of the Patagonians
of the frontiers, the native wore a splendid cloak, decorated with
red arabesques, made of the skin of a guanaco, its silky fur turned
outward, and sewed with ostrich-tendons. Under his cloak a tippet of
fox-skin encircled his neck and terminated in a point in front. At his
girdle hung a little bag containing the colors with which he painted
his face. His leggings were of ox-hide, and fastened to the ankle with
straps regularly crossed.

The figure of this Patagonian was fine, and his face denoted real
intelligence in spite of the colors that adorned (!) it. He waited in
an attitude full of dignity, and, seeing him so motionless and stern on
his pedestal of rocks, you would have taken him for a statue.

The major, as soon as he perceived him, pointed him out to Glenarvan,
who hastened towards him. The Patagonian took two steps forward;
Glenarvan took his hand, and pressed it. There was in the latter's
look, in his physiognomy, such a feeling, such an expression of
gratitude, that the native could not mistake it. He inclined his head
gently, and uttered a few words that neither the major nor his friend
could understand.

The Patagonian, after regarding the strangers attentively, now changed
the language; but whatever it was, this new idiom was no better
understood than the first. However, certain expressions which he used
struck Glenarvan. They seemed to belong to the Spanish language, of
which he knew several common words.

"Spanish?" said he.

The Patagonian nodded.

"Well," said the major, "this is our friend Paganel's business. It is
fortunate that he thought of learning Spanish."

Paganel was called. He came at once and with all the grace of a
Frenchman saluted the Patagonian, to which the latter paid no
attention. The geographer was informed of the state of affairs, and was
only too glad to use his diligently-acquired knowledge.

[Sidenote: SOMETHING WRONG.]

"Exactly," said he. And opening his mouth widely in order to articulate
better, he said, in his best Spanish,--

"You--are--a--brave--man."

The native listened, but did not answer.

"He does not understand," said the geographer.

"Perhaps you do not pronounce well," replied the major.

"Very true! Curse the pronunciation!"

And again Paganel began, but with no better success.

"I will change the expression," said he. And pronouncing with
magisterial slowness, he uttered these words,--

"A--Patagonian,--doubtless?"

The native remained mute as before.

"Answer!" added Paganel.

The Patagonian did not reply.

"Do--you--understand?" cried Paganel, violently enough to damage his
organs of speech.

It was evident that the Indian did not understand, for he answered, but
in Spanish,--

"I do not understand."

It was Paganel's turn now to be astonished, and he hastily put on his
glasses, like one irritated.

"May I be hanged," said he, "if I understand a word of this infernal
jargon! It is certainly Araucanian."

"No," replied Glenarvan; "this man answered in Spanish."

And, turning to the Patagonian, he repeated,--

"Spanish?"

"Yes," replied the native.

Paganel's surprise became amazement. The major and Glenarvan looked at
him quizzingly.

"Ah, my learned friend!" said the major, while a half smile played
about his lips, "you have committed one of those blunders peculiar to
you."

"What!" cried the geographer, starting.

"Yes, it is plain that this Patagonian speaks Spanish."

"He?"

[Illustration: A man of lofty stature was standing, motionless, on
one of the first ledges of the mountain. This individual had broad
shoulders, and long hair tied with leathern thongs.]

[Sidenote: A PENINSULAR BABEL.]

"Yes. By mistake you have learnt another language, while thinking that
you studied----"

MacNabb did not finish. A loud "Oh!" from the geographer, accompanied
by shrugs of the shoulders, cut him short.

"Major, you are going a little too far," said Paganel in a very dry
tone.

"To be sure, since you do not understand."

"I do not understand because this native speaks so badly!" answered the
geographer, who began to be impatient.

"That is to say, he speaks badly, because you do not understand,"
returned the major, calmly.

"MacNabb," said Glenarvan, "that is not a probable supposition. However
abstracted our friend Paganel may be, we cannot suppose that his
blunder was to learn one language for another."

"Now, my dear Edward, or rather you, my good Paganel, explain to me
what the difficulty is."

"I will not explain," replied Paganel, "I insist. Here is the book
in which I practice daily the difficulties of the Spanish language!
Examine it, major, and you will see whether I impose upon you."

So saying, Paganel groped in his numerous pockets. After searching a
few moments, he drew forth a volume in a very bad state, and presented
it with an air of assurance. The major took the book, and looked at it.

"Well, what work is this?" he asked.

"The Lusiad," replied Paganel; "an admirable poem which----"

"The Lusiad!" cried Glenarvan.

"Yes, my friend, the Lusiad of the immortal Camoëns, nothing more or
less."

"Camoëns!" repeated Glenarvan; "but, unfortunate friend, Camoëns was
a Portuguese! It is Portuguese that you have been studying for six
weeks."

"Camoëns! Lusiad! Portuguese!"

Paganel could say no more. His eyes wandered, while a peal of Homeric
laughter rang in his ears.

The Patagonian did not wink; he waited patiently for the explanation of
this event, which was totally incomprehensible to him.

"Insensate! fool!" cried Paganel, at last. "What! is it so? Is it not
a mere joke? Have I done this? It is the confusion of languages, as at
Babel. My friends! my friends! to start for India and arrive at Chili!
to learn Spanish and speak Portuguese! this is too much, and, if it
continues, I shall some day throw myself out of the window instead of
my cigar."

To hear Paganel take his blunder thus, to see his comical actions, it
was impossible to keep serious. Besides, he set the example himself.

"Laugh, my friends," said he, "laugh with a will! you cannot laugh as
much as I do at myself."

And he uttered the most formidable peal of laughter that ever issued
from the mouth of a geographer.

"But we are none the less without an interpreter," said the major.

"Oh, do not be troubled," replied Paganel. "The Portuguese and Spanish
resemble each other so much that I made a mistake. However, this very
resemblance will soon enable me to rectify my error, and in a short
time I will thank this worthy Patagonian in the language he speaks so
well."

Paganel was right, for he could soon exchange a few words with the
native. He even learned that his name was Thalcave, a word which
signifies in Araucanian "the thunderer." This surname was doubtless
given to him for his skill in the use of fire-arms.

[Sidenote: BETTER PROSPECTS.]

But Glenarvan was particularly rejoiced to discover that the Patagonian
was a guide, and, moreover, a guide of the Pampas. There was,
therefore, something so providential in this meeting that the success
of the enterprise seemed already an accomplished fact, and no one any
longer doubted the rescue of Captain Grant.

In the meantime the travelers and the Patagonian had returned to
Robert. The latter stretched his arms towards the native, who, without
a word, placed his hand upon his head. He examined the child and felt
his wounded limbs. Then, smiling, he went and gathered on the banks
of the stream a few handfuls of wild celery, with which he rubbed the
boy's body. Under this treatment, performed with an extreme gentleness,
the child felt his strength revive, and it was plain that a few hours
would suffice to restore him.

It was therefore decided that that day and the following night should
be passed at the encampment. Besides, two important questions remained
to be settled--food, and means of conveyance. Provisions and mules were
both wanting.

Fortunately Thalcave solved the difficulty. This guide, who was
accustomed to conduct travelers along the Patagonian frontiers, and
was one of the most intelligent baqueanos of the country, engaged to
furnish Glenarvan all that his little party needed. He offered to take
him to a "tolderia" (encampment) of Indians, about four miles distant,
where they would find everything necessary for the expedition. This
proposal was made partly by gestures, partly by Spanish words which
Paganel succeeded in understanding. It was accepted, and Glenarvan and
his learned friend, taking leave of their companions, reascended the
stream under the guidance of the Patagonian.

They proceeded at a good pace for an hour and a half, taking long
strides to keep up to the giant Thalcave. All the region was charming,
and of a rich fertility. The grassy pastures succeeded each other,
and could easily have fed thousands of cattle. Large ponds, united by
a winding chain of streams, gave these plains a verdant moisture.
Black-headed swans sported on the mirror-like surface, and disputed the
empire of the waters with numberless ostriches that gamboled over the
plains, while the brilliant feathered tribes were in wonderful variety.

Jacques Paganel proceeded from admiration to ecstasy. Exclamations
of delight continually escaped his lips, to the astonishment of the
Patagonian, who thought it very natural that there should be birds in
the air, swans on the lakes, and grass on the prairies. The geographer
had no reason to regret his walk, or complain of its length. He
scarcely believed himself started, or that the encampment would soon
come in sight.

This tolderia was at the bottom of a narrow valley among the mountains.
Here in huts of branches lived thirty wandering natives, grazing
large herds of milch cows, sheep, cattle and horses. Thus they roamed
from one pasture to another, always finding a repast ready for their
four-footed companions.

[Sidenote: GLENARVAN GOING TO MARKET.]

Thalcave took upon himself the negotiation, which was not long. In
return for seven small Argentine horses, all saddled, a hundred pounds
of dried meat, a few measures of rice, and some leathern bottles for
water, the Indians received twenty ounces of gold, the value of which
they perfectly understood. Glenarvan would have bought another horse
for the Patagonian, but he intimated that it was unnecessary.

The bargain concluded, Glenarvan took leave of his new "providers," as
Paganel expressed it, and returned to the encampment. His arrival was
welcomed by cries of joy at sight of the provisions and horses. Every
one ate with avidity. Robert partook of some nourishment; he had almost
entirely regained his strength, and the remainder of the day was passed
in perfect rest. Various subjects were alluded to: the absent dear
ones, the Duncan, Captain Mangles, his brave crew, and Harry Grant who
was, perhaps, not far distant.

As for Paganel, he did not leave the Indian. He became Thalcave's
shadow, and could not remain quiet in the presence of a real
Patagonian, in comparison with whom he would have passed for a dwarf.
He overwhelmed the grave Indian with Spanish phrases, to which the
latter quietly listened. The geographer studied this time without a
book, and was often heard repeating words aloud.

"If I do not get the accent," said he to the major, "you must not be
angry with me. Who would have thought that one day a Patagonian would
teach me Spanish!"

CHAPTER XVI.

NEWS OF THE LOST CAPTAIN.

At eight o'clock the next morning Thalcave gave the signal for
departure. The slope was gradual, and the travelers had only to descend
a gentle declivity to the sea.

When the Patagonian declined the horse that Glenarvan offered him, the
latter thought that he preferred to go on foot, according to the custom
of certain guides; and indeed, his long legs ought to have made walking
easy. But he was mistaken.

At the moment of departure Thalcave whistled in a peculiar manner.
Immediately a magnificent Argentine horse, of superb form, issued from
a small wood near by, and approached at the call of his master. The
animal was perfectly beautiful. His brown color indicated a sound,
spirited and courageous beast. He had a small and elegantly poised
head, widely opening nostrils, a fiery eye, large hams, swelling
withers, broad breast, long pasterns, in short, all the qualities that
constitute strength and suppleness. The major, like a perfect horseman,
admired unreservedly this specimen of the horses of the plains. This
beautiful creature was called Thaouka, which means "bird" in the
Patagonian language, and he justly merited this appellation.

[Sidenote: A FRESH START.]

When Thalcave was in the saddle, the horse pranced with spirited grace,
and the Patagonian, a skillful rider, was magnificent to behold. His
outfit comprised two weapons of the chase, the "bolas" and the lasso.
The bolas consists of three balls tied together by a leathern string,
which are fastened to the front of the saddle. The Indians frequently
throw them the distance of a hundred paces at the animal or enemy that
they are pursuing, and with such precision that they twist about their
legs and bring them to the ground. It is, therefore, in their hands a
formidable instrument, and they handle it with surprising dexterity.
The lasso, on the contrary, does not leave the hand that wields it. It
consists simply of a leathern thong thirty feet in length, terminating
in a slip-noose which works upon an iron ring. The right hand throws
the slip-noose, while the left hand holds the remainder of the lasso,
the end of which is firmly tied to the saddle. A long carbine in a
sling completed the Patagonian's armament.

Thalcave, without observing the admiration caused by his natural
grace, ease and courage, took the lead, and the party advanced, now
at a gallop, and now at a walk, for their horses seemed entirely
unaccustomed to trotting. Robert mounted with much boldness, and
speedily convinced Glenarvan of his ability to keep his seat.

On issuing from the gorges of the Andes, they encountered a great
number of sand-ridges, called "medanos," real waves incessantly
agitated by the wind, when the roots of the herbage did not confine
them to the earth. This sand is of an extreme fineness; and, at the
least breath, they saw it float away in light clouds, or form regular
sand-columns which rose to a considerable height. This spectacle caused
pleasure as well as annoyance to the eyes. Pleasure, for nothing was
more curious than these columns, wandering over the plain, struggling,
mingling, sinking and rising in inexpressible confusion; and annoyance,
since an impalpable dust emanated from these innumerable medanos and
penetrated the eyelids, however tightly they were closed.

This phenomenon continued during a great part of the day. Nevertheless,
they advanced rapidly, and towards six o'clock the Andes, forty miles
distant, presented a darkish aspect already fading in the mists of the
evening.

The travelers were a little fatigued with their journey, and,
therefore, saw with pleasure the approach of the hour for retiring.
They encamped on the shores of a turbulent stream, enclosed by lofty
red cliffs. Toward noon of the next day, the sun's rays became very
oppressive, and at evening a line of clouds on the horizon indicated
a change in the weather. The Patagonian could not be deceived, and
pointed out to the geographer the western portion of the sky.

"Good, I know," said Paganel, and addressing his companions: "A change
in the weather is about to take place. We shall have a 'pampero.'"

[Sidenote: TALKING LIKE A BOOK.]

He explained that this pampero is frequent on the Argentine Plains. It
is a very dry wind from the southwest. Thalcave was not mistaken, and
during the night, which was quite uncomfortable for people sheltered
with a simple poncho, the wind blew with great violence. The horses lay
down on the ground, and the men near them in a close group. Glenarvan
feared they would be delayed if the storm continued; but Paganel
reassured him after consulting his barometer.

"Ordinarily," said he, "this wind creates tempests, which last for
three days; but when the barometer rises as it does now, you are free
from these furious hurricanes in a few hours. Be assured, then, my dear
friend; at break of day the sky will have resumed its usual clearness."

"You talk like a book, Paganel," replied Glenarvan.

"And I am one," replied Paganel, "which you are free to consult as much
as you please."

He was not mistaken. At one o'clock in the morning the wind suddenly
subsided, and every one was able to enjoy an invigorating sleep. The
next morning they rose bright and fresh, especially Paganel, who
displayed great cheerfulness and animation.

During this passage across the continent, Lord Glenarvan watched with
scrupulous attention for the approach of the natives. He wished to
question them concerning Captain Grant, by the aid of the Patagonian,
with whom Paganel had begun to converse considerably. But they
followed a path little frequented by the Indians, for the trails over
the Pampas, which lead from the Argentine Republic to the Andes, are
situated too far to the north. If by chance a wandering horseman
appeared in the distance, he fled rapidly away, little caring to come
in contact with strangers.

However, although Glenarvan, in the interest of his search, regretted
the absence of the Indians, an incident took place which singularly
justified the interpretation of the document.

Several times the course pursued by the expedition crossed paths on
the Pampas, among others quite an important road--that from Carmen to
Mendoza--distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses,
sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and
lay bleaching in the sun. There were thousands of them, and, without
doubt, more than one human skeleton had added its bones to those of
these humbler animals.

Hitherto Thalcave had made no remark concerning the line so rigorously
followed. He understood, however, that if they kept no definite
course over the Pampas, they would not come to cities or villages.
Every morning they advanced towards the rising sun, without deviating
from the straight line, and every evening the setting sun was behind
them. In his capacity of guide, Thalcave must, therefore, have been
astonished to see that not only he did not guide them, but that they
guided him. Nevertheless, if he was astonished, with the reserve
natural to the Indians he made no remark. But to-day arriving at the
above-mentioned road, he stopped his horse, and turned towards Paganel.

"Road to Carmen," said he.

"Yes, my good Patagonian," replied the geographer, in his purest
Spanish; "road to Carmen and Mendoza."

"We do not take it?" resumed Thalcave.

"No," answered Paganel.

"And we are going----?"

"Always to the east."

"That is going nowhere."

"Who knows?"

Thalcave was silent, and gazed at the geographer with profound
surprise. He did not admit, however, that Paganel was joking the least
in the world. An Indian, with his natural seriousness, never imagines
that you are not speaking in earnest.

"You are not going to Carmen then?" he added, after an instant of
silence.

[Sidenote: A PROFESSORIAL DIFFICULTY.]

"No," replied Paganel.

"Nor to Mendoza?"

"No."

At this moment Glenarvan, rejoining Paganel, asked what Thalcave said,
and why he had stopped.

When he had told him, Glenarvan said,--

"Could you not explain to him the object of our expedition, and why we
must always proceed toward the east?"

"That would be very difficult," answered Paganel, "for an Indian
understands nothing of geography."

"But," said the major seriously, "is it the history, or the historian,
that he cannot understand?"

"Ah, MacNabb," said Paganel, "you still doubt my Spanish!"

"Try, my worthy friend."

"Very well."

Paganel turned to the Patagonian, and began a discourse, frequently
interrupted for want of words and from the difficulty of explaining to
a half-ignorant savage details which were rather incomprehensible to
him.

The geographer was just then a curious sight. He gesticulated,
articulated, and exerted himself in a hundred ways, while great
drops of sweat rolled down his face. When his tongue could no longer
move, his arm came to his aid. He dismounted, and traced on the
sand a geographical map, with lines of latitude and longitude, the
two oceans, and the road to Carmen. Never was professor in such
embarrassment. Thalcave watched these manoeuvres without showing whether
he comprehended or not.

The lesson in geography lasted more than half an hour. At last Paganel
ceased, wiped his face, which was wet with perspiration, and looked at
the Patagonian.

"Did he understand?" inquired Glenarvan.

"We shall see," replied Paganel; "but, if he did not, I give it up."

[Sidenote: "PERHAPS!"]

Thalcave did not stir. He no longer spoke. His eyes were fixed upon
the figures traced on the sand, which the wind was gradually effacing.

[Illustration: An important road--that from Carmen to
Mendoza--distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses,
sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and
lay bleaching in the sun.]

"Well?" asked Paganel.

Thalcave did not appear to hear him. Paganel already saw an ironical
smile forming upon the lips of the major, and, wishing to save
his reputation, had begun with renewed energy his geographical
demonstrations, when the Patagonian stopped him with a gesture.

"You are searching for a prisoner?" he said.

"Yes," replied Paganel.

"And exactly on the line from the setting to the rising sun?" said
Thalcave, indicating by a comparison, in the Indian manner, the course
from west to east.

"Yes, yes, that is it!"

"And it is your God," said the Patagonian, "who has confided to the
waves of the vast ocean the secrets of the prisoner?"

"God himself."

"May his will be accomplished then!" replied Thalcave, with a certain
solemnity. "We will go to the east, and, if necessary, even to the sun."

Paganel, in his exultation over his pupil, immediately translated to
his companions the replies of the Indian.

Glenarvan requested Paganel to ask the Patagonian if he had heard
of any strangers falling into the hands of the Indians, which was
accordingly done.

"Perhaps," replied the Patagonian.

As soon as this word was translated, Thalcave was surrounded by the
seven travelers, who gazed at him with questioning looks. Paganel,
excited and scarcely finding his words, resumed these interesting
interrogatories, while his eyes, fixed upon the grave Indian, strove
to anticipate his reply before it issued from his lips. Every word the
Patagonian said he repeated in English, so that his companions heard
the Indian speak, as it were, in their own language.

"And this prisoner?" inquired Paganel.

"He was a stranger," replied Thalcave slowly; "a European."

"You have seen him?"

"No, but he is mentioned in the accounts of the Indians. He was a brave
man."

"You understand, my friends," said Paganel; "a courageous man!"

"My father!" cried Robert Grant.

Then, addressing Paganel:

"How do you say 'It is my father,' in Spanish?" he asked.

"_Es mio padre_," answered the geographer.

Immediately Robert, taking Thalcave's hands, said in a sweet voice,--

"_Es mio padre!_"

"_Suo padre!_" replied the Patagonian, whose look brightened.

He took the boy in his arms, lifted him from his horse, and gazed at
him with the most curious sympathy. His intelligent countenance became
suffused with a peaceful emotion.

But Paganel had not finished his inquiries. Where was this prisoner?
What was he doing? When had Thalcave heard of him? All these questions
thronged his mind at once. He did not have to wait long for answers,
but learnt that the European was a slave of one of the Indian tribes
that scour the plains.

"But where was he last?" asked Paganel.

"With the cazique Calfoucoura," answered Thalcave.

"On the line we have been following?"

"Yes."

"And who is this cazique?"

"The chief of the Poyuches Indians; a man with two tongues and two
hearts."

[Sidenote: A SCIENTIFIC BATH.]

"That is to say, false in word and in deed," said Paganel, after
translating to his companions this beautiful metaphor of the Indian
language. "And can we rescue our friend?" he added.

"Perhaps so, if your friend is still in the hands of the Indians."

"And when did you hear of him?"

"A long time ago, and, since then, the sun has brought back two summers
to the sky."

Glenarvan's joy could not be described. This answer coincided exactly
with the date of the document. But one question remained to be asked.

"You speak of a prisoner," said Paganel; "but were there not three?"

"I do not know," replied Thalcave.

"And you know nothing of their actual situation?"

"Nothing."

This last word ended the conversation. It was possible that the three
prisoners had been separated a long time. But the substance of the
Patagonian's information was that the Indians spoke of a European who
had fallen into their power. The date of his captivity, the place where
he must have been, everything, even to the Patagonian phrase used to
express his courage, related evidently to Captain Harry Grant.

Their progress was now somewhat slow and difficult; their next object
being to reach and cross the river Colorado, to which at length
their horses brought them. Here Paganel's first care was to bathe
"geographically" in its waters, which are colored by a reddish clay. He
was surprised to find the depth so great as it really was, this being
the result of the snow having melted rapidly under the first heat of
summer. The width likewise of this stream was so considerable that it
was almost impossible for their horses to swim across; but they happily
discovered a sort of weir-bridge, of wattles looped and fastened
together, which the Indians were in the habit of using; and by its aid
the little troop was enabled to pass over to the left bank, where they
rested for the night.

CHAPTER XVII.

A SERIOUS NECESSITY.

They set out at daybreak. The horses advanced at a brisk pace among
the tufts of "paja-brava," a kind of grass that serves the Indians
as a shelter during the storms. At certain distances, but less and
less frequent, pools of shallow water contributed to the growth of
willows and a certain plant which is found in the neighborhood of
fresh water. Here the horses drank their fill, to fortify themselves
for the journey. Thalcave, who rode in advance, beat the bushes, and
thus frightened away the "cholinas" (vipers), while the agile Thaouka
bounded over all obstacles, and aided his master in clearing a passage
for the horses that followed.

[Illustration: They set out at daybreak. The horses advanced at a brisk
pace among the tufts of "paja-brava," a kind of grass that serves the
Indians as a shelter during the storms.]

Early in the afternoon, the first traces of animals were
encountered--the bones of an innumerable drove of cattle, in whitened
heaps. These fragments did not extend in a winding line, such as
animals exhausted and falling one by one would leave behind them. Thus
no one, not even Paganel, knew how to explain this chain of skeletons
in a space comparatively circumscribed. He therefore questioned
Thalcave, who was not at a loss for a reply.

"What is this?" they asked, after Paganel had inquired of the Indian.

"The fire of heaven," replied the geographer.

"What! the lightning could not have produced such a disaster," said Tom
Austin, "and stretched five hundred head of cattle on the earth!"

But Thalcave reaffirmed it, and he was not mistaken; for the storms of
the Pampas are noted for their violence.

At evening they stopped at an abandoned rancho, made of interlaced
branches plastered with mud and covered with thatch. This structure
stood within an inclosure of half-rotten stakes which, however,
sufficed to protect the horses during the night against the attacks of
the foxes. Not that they had anything to fear personally from these
animals, but the malicious beasts gnawed the halters, so that the
horses could escape.

A few paces from the rancho, a hole was dug which served as a kitchen
and contained half-cooled embers. Within, there was a bench, a bed of
ox-hide, a saucepan, a spit, and a pot for boiling maté. The maté is
a drink very much in use in South America. It is the Indian's tea,
consisting of a decoction of leaves dried in the fire, and is imbibed
through a straw. At Paganel's request, Thalcave prepared several
cups of this beverage, which very agreeably accompanied the ordinary
eatables, and was declared excellent.

[Sidenote: A CHANGE FOR THE WORSE.]

The next day they resumed their journey towards the east. About noon
a change took place in the appearance of the Pampas, which could
not escape eyes wearied with its monotony. The grass became more and
more scanty, and gave place to sickly burdocks and gigantic thistles;
while stunted nettles and other thorny shrubs grew here and there.
Heretofore, a certain moisture, preserved by the clay of the prairie,
freshened the meadows; the vegetation was thick and luxuriant. But now
a patchy growth, bare in many places, exposed the earth, and indicated
the poverty of the soil. These signs of increasing dryness could not be
mistaken, and Thalcave called attention to them.

"I am not sorry at this change," said Tom Austin; "to see always grass,
nothing but grass, becomes tiresome before long."

"But where there is grass there is water," replied the major.

"Oh, we are not in want," said Wilson, "and shall find some river on
our course."

However, when Wilson said that the supply of water would not fail
he had not calculated for the unquenchable thirst that consumed his
companions all that day; and, when he added that they would meet with
some stream in their journey he had anticipated too much. Indeed, not
only were rivers wanting, but even the artificial wells dug by the
Indians were empty. On seeing these indications of dryness increase
from mile to mile, Paganel asked Thalcave where he expected to find
water.

"At Lake Salinas," replied the Indian.

"And when shall we arrive there?"

"To-morrow evening."

The natives ordinarily, when they travel on the Pampas, dig wells, and
find water a few feet below the surface; but the travelers, destitute
of the necessary implements, could not employ this expedient. It was
therefore necessary to obtain a supply in some other way, for, if they
did not absolutely suffer from the tormenting desire for drink, no one
could entirely allay his thirst.

At evening they halted, after a journey of thirty miles. Every one
relied upon a good night to recruit himself after the fatigues of
the day; but they were greatly annoyed by a very persistent swarm of
mosquitoes, which disappeared, however, after the wind changed.

If the major preserved his calmness in the midst of the petty
annoyances of life, Paganel, on the contrary, could not treat the
matter so indifferently. He fought the mosquitoes, and sadly regretted
the absence of his acid-water, which would have soothed the pain of
their bites. Although the major endeavored to console him, he awoke in
a very bad humor.

However, he was very easily persuaded to set out at daybreak, for it
was important to arrive at Lake Salinas the same day. The horses were
very much exhausted: they were dying of thirst; and, although their
riders had denied themselves on their account, still their share of
water had been very limited. The dryness was to-day even greater, and
the heat no less intolerable, with the dusty wind, the simoom of the
Pampas.

[Sidenote: INDIANS AHEAD!]

During the day the monotony of the journey was interrupted. Mulready,
who rode in advance, turned back, signaling the approach of a party of
Indians. This meeting elicited different opinions. Glenarvan thought
of the information that these natives might furnish concerning the
shipwrecked seamen of the Britannia. Thalcave, for his part, scarcely
enjoyed meeting in his journey the wandering Indians of the plains.
He considered them plunderers and robbers, and only sought to avoid
them. According to his orders, the little party collected together, and
made ready their fire-arms. It was necessary to be prepared for any
emergency.

The Indian detachment was soon perceived. It consisted of only ten
men, which fact reassured the Patagonian. They approached within a
hundred paces, so that they could be easily distinguished. Their high
foreheads, prominent rather than receding, their tall forms, and their
olive color, showed them to be magnificent types of the Indian race.
They were clad in the skins of guanacos, and carried various weapons of
war and the chase, while their dexterity in horsemanship was remarkable.

Having halted, they appeared to hold a conference, crying and
gesticulating. Glenarvan advanced toward them; but he had not proceeded
two yards, when the detachment wheeled about and disappeared with
incredible swiftness. The tired horses of the travelers could never
have overtaken them.

"The cowards!" cried Paganel.

"They fly too fast for honest men," said MacNabb.

"What are these Indians?" inquired Paganel of Thalcave.

"Gauchos!" replied the Patagonian.

"Gauchos!" repeated Paganel, turning toward his companions, "Gauchos!
We had no need, then, to take such precautions. There was nothing to
fear!"

"Why?" asked the major.

"Because the Gauchos are inoffensive peasants."

"Do you think so, Paganel?"

"Certainly. They took us for robbers, and fled."

Glenarvan was quite disappointed in not speaking with them, as he
expected to obtain additional tidings of the lost sailors; but it
was necessary to push on, if they would reach their destination that
evening.

At eight o'clock Thalcave, who had gone a little in advance, announced
that the lake so long desired was in sight. A quarter of an hour
afterward the little party descended the high banks. But here a serious
disappointment awaited them,--the lake was dry!

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN SEARCH OF WATER.

Lake Salinas terminates the cluster of lagoons that adjoin the Ventana
and Guamini mountains. Numerous expeditions are made to this place
to obtain supplies of salt, with which these waters are strongly
impregnated. But now the water had evaporated under the heat of the
sun, and the lake was only a vast glittering basin.

When Thalcave announced the presence of a drinkable liquid at Lake
Salinas, he meant the streams of fresh water that flow from it in
many places. But at this time its affluents were as dry as itself.
The burning sun had absorbed everything. Hence, the consternation was
general when the thirsty party arrived at the parched shores of Lake
Salinas.

It was necessary to take counsel. The little water in the leathern
bottles was half spoiled, and could not quench their thirst, which
began to make itself acutely felt. Hunger and fatigue gave place to
this imperative want. A "roukah," a kind of upright tent, of leather,
which stood in a hollow, and had been abandoned by the natives, served
as a refuge for the travelers, while their horses, stretched on the
muddy shores of the lake, ate the saline plants and dry reeds, although
reluctantly.

When each had sat down in the roukah, Paganel asked Thalcave's advice
as to what was best to be done. A rapid conversation, of which
Glenarvan caught a few words, ensued between the geographer and the
Indian. Thalcave spoke calmly, while Paganel gesticulated for both.
This consultation lasted a few minutes, and then the Patagonian folded
his arms.

"What did he say?" inquired Glenarvan. "I thought I understood him to
advise us to separate."

"Yes, into two parties," replied Paganel. "Those of us whose horses are
so overcome with fatigue and thirst that they can scarcely move will
continue the journey as well as possible. Those who are better mounted,
on the contrary, will ride in advance, and reconnoitre the Guamini
River, which empties into Lake San Lucas. If there is sufficient water
there, they will wait for their companions on the banks of the stream;
if not, they will return to save the rest a useless journey."

"And then?" asked Tom Austin.

"Then we must go southward to the first branches of the Ventana
mountains, where the rivers are numerous."

"The plan is good," replied Glenarvan, "and we will follow it without
delay. My horse has not suffered so much yet from want of water, and I
offer to accompany Thalcave."

"Oh, my lord, take me!" cried Robert, as if a pleasure excursion were
in question.

"But can you keep up with us, my child?"

"Yes, I have a good beast that asks nothing better than to go in
advance. Will you, my lord? I beseech you!"

"Come then, my boy," said Glenarvan, delighted not to be separated from
Robert. "And we three," he added, "will be very stupid if we do not
discover some clear and fresh stream."

"And I?" said Paganel.

"Oh, you, my dear Paganel!" replied the major, "you will remain with
the reserve detachment. You know the course, the Guamini River, and the
Pampas, too well to abandon us. Neither Wilson, Mulready, nor myself
are capable of rejoining Thalcave at his rendezvous, unless we advance
confidently under the guidance of the brave Jacques Paganel."

[Illustration: "Poor father!" exclaimed Robert; "how he will thank you
when you have found him!" And, so saying, he took his lordship's hand
and pressed it to his lips.]

"I resign," said the geographer, very much flattered to obtain a higher
command.

"But no distractions!" added the major. "Do not lead us where we have
nothing to do, and bring us back to the shores of the Pacific!"

"You would deserve it, my intolerable major," said Paganel, smiling.
"But tell me, my dear Glenarvan, how will you understand Thalcave's
language?"

"I suppose," answered Glenarvan, "that the Patagonian and I will not
need to talk. Besides, with the few Spanish words that I know, I shall
succeed well enough on an emergency in giving him my opinion and
understanding his."

"Go then, my worthy friend," replied Paganel.

"Let us eat first," said Glenarvan, "and sleep till the hour of
departure."

They ate supper without drink, which was rather unrefreshing, and then
fell asleep. Paganel dreamed of torrents, cascades, streams, rivers,
ponds, brooks, nay even full bottles, in short, of everything which
generally contains water. It was a real nightmare.

The next morning at six o'clock the horses were saddled. They gave them
the last drink of water left, which they took with more dislike than
pleasure, for it was very nauseating. The three horsemen then mounted.

"_Au revoir!_" said the major, Austin, Wilson, and Mulready.

Soon the Patagonian, Glenarvan, and Robert (not without a certain
throbbing of the heart) lost sight of the detachment confided to the
sagacity of the geographer.

[Sidenote: THE YOUNG SAILOR ON HORSEBACK.]

Thalcave was right in first proceeding towards the Guamini, since this
stream lay on the prescribed course, and was the nearest. The three
horses galloped briskly forward. These excellent beasts perceived,
doubtless, by instinct, whither their masters were guiding them.
Thaouka, especially, showed a spirit that neither fatigue nor thirst
could overcome. The other horses followed, at a slower pace, but
incited by his example.

The Patagonian frequently turned his head to look at Robert Grant, and,
seeing the young boy firm and erect, in an easy and graceful position,
testified his satisfaction by a word of encouragement.

"Bravo, Robert!" said Glenarvan. "Thalcave seems to congratulate you.
He praises you, my boy!"

"And why, my lord?"

"Because of the way you ride."

"Oh, I merely keep firm; that is all," replied Robert, who blushed with
pleasure at hearing himself complimented.

"That is the main point, Robert," said Glenarvan; "but you are too
modest, and I am sure you cannot fail to become an accomplished
equestrian."

"Well," said Robert, "but what will papa say, who wishes to make a
sailor of me?"

"The one does not interfere with the other. If all horsemen do not make
good sailors, all sailors may certainly make good horsemen. To ride on
the yards, you must learn to keep yourself firm. As for knowing how to
manage your horse, that comes more easily."

"Poor father!" exclaimed Robert; "how he will thank you when you have
found him!" And, so saying, he took his lordship's hand and pressed it
to his lips.

"You love him well, Robert?"

"Yes, my lord; he was so kind to sister and me. He thought only of us,
and every voyage brought us a memento of the countries he visited, and,
what was better, tender caresses and kind words, on his return. Ah!
you will love him too, when you know him! Mary resembles him. He has a
sweet voice like her. It is singular for a sailor, is it not?"

"Yes, very singular, Robert," said Glenarvan.

"I see him still," replied the boy, as if speaking to himself. "Good
and brave papa! He rocked me to sleep on his knees, when I was little,
and kept humming an old Scottish song which is sung around the lakes of
our country. I sometimes recall the air, but indistinctly. How we loved
him, my lord! Well, I think one must be very young to love his father
well."

"And old to reverence him, my child," replied Glenarvan, quite moved by
the words that came from this young heart.

During this conversation, their horses had relaxed their pace and
fallen behind the other; but Thalcave called them, and they resumed
their former gait. It was soon evident, however, that, with the
exception of Thaouka, the horses could not long maintain this speed. At
noon it was necessary to give them an hour's rest.

Glenarvan grew uneasy. The signs of dryness did not diminish, and the
want of water might result in disastrous consequences. Thalcave said
nothing, but probably thought that if the Guamini was dry it would then
be time to despair, if indeed an Indian's heart has ever experienced
such an emotion.

They therefore kept on, and by use of whip and spur the horses were
induced to continue their journey, but they could not quicken their
pace. Thalcave might easily have gone ahead, for in a few hours Thaouka
could have carried him to the banks of the stream. He doubtless thought
of it, but probably did not like to leave his two companions alone in
the midst of this desert, and, that he might not outstrip them, he
forced Thaouka to lessen his speed. It was not, however, without much
resistance, prancing and neighing, that Thalcave's horse consented to
keep pace with the others. It was not so much the strength as the voice
of his master which restrained him; the Indian actually talked to his
horse; and the animal, if he did not answer, at least comprehended
him. The Patagonian must have used excellent arguments, for, after
"discussing" some time, Thaouka yielded, and obeyed his master's
commands.

[Sidenote: GAINED AT LAST.]

But, if Thaouka understood Thalcave, Thalcave had none the less
understood Thaouka. The intelligent animal, through his superior
instincts, had perceived a moisture in the air. He inhaled it eagerly,
and kept moving his tongue, as if it were steeped in a grateful liquid.
The Patagonian could not be deceived; water was not far distant.

He therefore encouraged his companions by explaining the impatience of
his horse, which the others were not long in understanding. They made a
final effort, and galloped after the Indian.

About three o'clock a bright line appeared in a hollow of the plain. It
trembled under the rays of the sun.

"Water!" cried Glenarvan.

"Water, yes, water!" cried Robert.

They had no more need to urge their horses. The poor beasts, feeling
their strength renewed, rushed forward with an irresistible eagerness.
In a few moments they had reached the Guamini River, and, saddled as
they were, plunged to their breasts into the cooling stream. Their
masters imitated their example, without reluctance, and took an
afternoon bath which was as healthful as it was pleasant.

"Ah, how good it is!" said Robert, as he quenched his thirst in the
middle of the river.

"Be moderate, my boy," said Glenarvan, who did not set a good example.

Nothing was heard but the sound of rapid drinking. As for Thalcave,
he drank quietly, without hurrying, long and deeply, till they might
perhaps fear that the stream would be drained.

"Well," said Glenarvan, "our friends will not be disappointed in their
expectations. They are sure, on arriving at the Guamini, to find an
abundance of clear water, if Thalcave leaves any!"

"But could we not go to meet them?" asked Robert. "We could spare them
several hours of anxiety."

"Doubtless, my boy; but how carry the water? Wilson has charge of the
water-bottles. No, it is better to wait, as we agreed. Calculating the
necessary time, and the slow pace of the horses, our friends will be
here at night. Let us, then, prepare them a safe shelter and a good
repast."

Thalcave had not waited for Glenarvan's orders to search for a place
to encamp. He had very fortunately found on the banks of the river a
"ramada," a kind of inclosure designed for a cattle-fold and shut in
on three sides. The situation was excellent for the purpose, so long
as one did not fear to sleep in the open air; and that was the least
anxiety of Thalcave's companions. Thus they did not seek a better
retreat, but stretched themselves on the ground in the sun to dry their
water-soaked garments.

"Well, since here is shelter," said Glenarvan, "let us think of supper.
Our friends must be satisfied with the couriers whom they have sent
forward; and, if I am not greatly mistaken, they will have no reason
to complain. I think an hour's hunting will not be time lost. Are you
ready, Robert?"

"Yes, my lord," replied he, with gun in hand.

[Sidenote: AN EVENING'S SPORT.]

Glenarvan had conceived this idea because the banks of the Guamini
seemed to be the haunt of the game of the surrounding plains.
"Tinamous," a kind of partridge, plovers called "teru-teru," yellow
rails, and water-fowl of magnificent green were seen rising in flocks.
As for quadrupeds, they did not make their appearance; but Thalcave,
pointing to the tall grass and thick coppice, explained that they
were hidden there. The hunters had only to take a few steps to find
themselves in one of the best game-coverts in the world.

They began to hunt, therefore, and, disdaining the feathered tribe,
their first attempts were made upon the large game of the Pampas. Soon
hares and guanacos, like those that had attacked them so violently on
the Andes, started up before them by hundreds; but these very timid
animals fled with such swiftness that it was impossible to come within
gun-shot. The hunters, therefore, attacked other game that was less
fleet. A dozen partridges and rails were brought down, and Glenarvan
shot a peccary, which was very good eating.

In less than half an hour they had obtained without difficulty all the
game they needed. Robert captured a curious animal called an armadillo,
which was covered with a sort of helmet of movable bony pieces and
measured a foot and a half in length. It was very fat, and would be an
excellent dish, as the Patagonian said; while Robert was proud of his
success.

As for Thalcave, he showed his companions a "nandou" hunt. This bird,
peculiar to the Pampas, is a kind of ostrich, whose swiftness is
marvelous.

The Indian did not try to decoy so nimble an animal, but urged his
horse to a gallop, straight towards the bird, so as to overtake it
at once, for, if the first attack should fail, the nandou would soon
fatigue both horse and rider with its giddy backward and forward
movements.

Thalcave, arriving at a proper distance, launched his "bolas" with a
strong hand, and so skillfully that they twisted about the legs of
the ostrich and paralyzed its efforts. In a few moments it lay on
the ground. The Indian soon captured his prize and contributed it
to the common repast. The string of partridges, Thalcave's ostrich,
Glenarvan's peccary, and Robert's armadillo were brought back to camp.
The ostrich and the peccary were immediately stripped of their skin
and cut into small slices. As for the armadillo, it is a dainty animal
which carries its roasting dish with it, and it was, accordingly,
placed in its own bony covering on the glowing embers.

The three hunters were satisfied with the partridges for supper, and
kept the rounds of beef for their friends. This repast was washed down
with clear water, which was then considered superior to all the wines
in the world.

The horses were not forgotten. A great quantity of dry fodder, piled in
the ramada, served them for food and bedding.

[Sidenote: DESERT SILENCE.]

When everything was ready, Glenarvan, Robert, and the Indian wrapped
themselves in their ponchos, and stretched their limbs on a bundle of
alfafares, the usual bed of the hunters of the Pampas.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE RED WOLVES.

Night came,--the night of the new moon, only the uncertain light of
the stars illumined the plain. On the horizon the zodiacal light faded
away in a dark mist. The waters of the Guamini flowed without a murmur,
while birds, quadrupeds, and reptiles reposed after the fatigues of
the day. The silence of the desert reigned on the vast expanse of the
Pampas.

Glenarvan, Robert, and Thalcave had yielded to the common law, and,
stretched on their thick beds of grass, they enjoyed a refreshing
sleep. The horses, overcome with fatigue, had lain down on the ground:
Thaouka alone, like a true blooded horse, slept standing, spirited in
repose as in action, and ready to start at the least sign from his
master. Perfect tranquillity reigned within the inclosure, and the
embers of the night-fire, as they gradually died out, cast their last
rays over the silent obscurity.

About ten o'clock, after a short sleep, the Indian awoke. His eyes
became fixed beneath his lowered eyebrows, and his head was turned in a
listening attitude towards the plain. He seemed endeavoring to detect
some scarcely perceptible sound. A vague uneasiness was soon expressed
on his face, usually so calm. Had he perceived the approach of prowling
Indians, or the coming of jaguars, water-tigers, and other formidable
beasts which are numerous in the neighborhood of rivers? This last
possibility doubtless appeared plausible to him, for he cast a rapid
glance over the combustible materials piled in the inclosure, and his
anxiety increased. In fact, all this dry bedding would quickly be
consumed, and could not long intimidate the audacious animals.

According to this conjecture, Thalcave had only to await the progress
of events, which he did, half reclining, his head resting on his hands,
his elbows on his knees, his eyes motionless, in the attitude of a man
whom a sudden anxiety has awakened from sleep.

An hour passed. Any other person but Thalcave, reassured by the outward
silence, would have lain down again. But where a stranger would have
suspected nothing, the highly-trained senses and natural instinct of
the Indian foresaw the coming danger.

While he was listening and watching, Thaouka gave a low neigh. His
nose was stretched towards the entrance to the ramada. The Patagonian
suddenly started.

"Thaouka has scented some enemy," said he.

He arose and scanned the plain attentively. Silence still reigned, but
not tranquillity. Thalcave discerned shadows moving noiselessly among
the tufts of grass. Here and there glittered luminous points, which
spread on all sides, now fading away, and now gleaming forth again. You
would have thought fantastic elves were dancing on the surface of an
immense lagoon. A stranger would doubtless have taken these flitting
sparks for glow-worms, which shine, when night comes, in many parts of
the Pampas. But Thalcave was not deceived; he knew with what enemies he
had to deal. He loaded his carbine, and took a position near the first
stakes of the inclosure.

He did not wait long. A strange cry, a mingling of barks and howls,
resounded over the plain. The report of the carbine answered it,
and was followed by a hundred frightful yelps. Glenarvan and Robert
suddenly awoke.

[Sidenote: FEARFUL ODDS.]

"What is the matter?" asked Robert.

"Indians?" said Glenarvan.

"No," replied Thalcave, "aguaras."

Robert looked at Glenarvan.

"Aguaras?" said he.

"Yes," replied Glenarvan, "the red wolves of the Pampas."

Both seized their weapons, and joined the Indian. The latter pointed
to the plain, from which arose a series of formidable howls. Robert
involuntarily took a step backward.

"You are not afraid of the wolves, my boy?" said Glenarvan.

"No, my lord," replied Robert, in a firm tone. "With you I fear
nothing."

"So much the better. These aguaras are not very formidable beasts; and
were it not for their numbers I should not even think of them."

"What does it matter?" replied Robert. "We are well armed. Let them
come."

"And they shall be well received."

Speaking thus, Glenarvan endeavored to reassure the lad; but he did
not think without a secret terror of that dense horde of exasperated
beasts. Perhaps there were hundreds of them; and these three, however
well armed, could not advantageously contend against so many and such
antagonists.

By the howls that resounded over the Pampas, and by the multitude of
shadows that flitted about the plain, Glenarvan could not be mistaken
as to the number. These animals had scented a sure prey, horse-flesh or
human flesh, and not one among them would return to his lair without
having his portion. The situation was, therefore, very alarming.

Meanwhile the circle of wolves grew gradually narrower. The horses,
awakened, gave signs of the liveliest terror. Thaouka alone pawed the
ground, seeking to break his halter, and ready to rush out. His master
succeeded in calming him only by whistling continually.

Glenarvan and Robert had stationed themselves so as to defend the
entrance of the ramada, and with their loaded rifles were about to fire
at the first ranks of wolves, when Thalcave turned aside their weapons
already poised for a shot.

"What does Thalcave wish?" asked Robert.

"He prohibits us from firing," answered Glenarvan.

"Why?"

"Perhaps he does not consider it the proper time."

This was not, however, the motive which actuated the Indian, but a
graver reason, which Glenarvan understood when Thalcave, raising his
powder-flask and inverting it, showed that it was almost empty.

"Well?" said Robert.

"We must economize our ammunition. Our hunt to-day has cost us dear,
and we are deficient in powder and shot. We have not twenty charges
left."

The boy answered nothing.

"You are not afraid, Robert?"

"No, my lord."

"Very well, my boy."

At this moment another report resounded. Thalcave had brought down a
too bold enemy. The wolves that were advancing in close ranks recoiled,
and gathered together again a hundred paces from the inclosure.

[Sidenote: THE LAST HOUR.]

Glenarvan, at a sign from the Indian, took his place at once, while the
latter, collecting the bedding, grass, and all combustible materials,
piled them at the entrance of the ramada and threw on a burning ember.
Soon a curtain of flame was defined against the dark background of the
sky, and through the openings the plain appeared illumined by great
moving reflections. Glenarvan could therefore judge of the great number
of animals against which they had to defend themselves. Never had so
many wolves been seen together before, nor so excited by rapacity. The
fiery barrier that Thalcave had just opposed to them had redoubled
their fury. Some, however, advanced to the very fire, crowded by
the rear ranks, and burned their paws. From time to time a shot was
necessary to check the howling horde, and at the end of an hour fifteen
bodies lay on the prairie.

The besieged were now in a situation relatively less dangerous. So long
as their supplies lasted, so long as the barrier of fire stood at the
entrance to the ramada, invasion was not to be feared. But what was to
be done if all these methods of repelling the wolves should fail at the
same time?

Glenarvan gazed at Robert, and felt his heart beat quick with
excitement. He forgot himself, and thought only of this poor child, who
displayed a courage beyond his years. Robert was pale, but his hand did
not leave his weapon, and he awaited with firm bearing the assault of
the enraged wolves.

Meantime, Glenarvan, after coolly considering the situation, resolved
to do something decisive.

"In one hour," said he, "we shall have no more powder, shot, or fire.
We must not wait till then to make a sally."

He turned towards Thalcave, and, recalling a few words of Spanish,
began a conversation with the Indian, frequently interrupted by the
cracks of the rifle.

It was not without difficulty that these two men succeeded in
understanding each other. Glenarvan, fortunately, knew the habits of
the red wolf. Without this knowledge he could not have interpreted the
words and gestures of the Patagonian.

Nevertheless, a quarter of an hour passed before he could give to
Robert the meaning of Thalcave's answer. He had questioned the Indian
concerning their situation.

"And what did he answer?" inquired Robert.

"He said that, cost what it may, we must hold out till daybreak. The
aguara goes out only at night, and when morning comes he returns to
his lair. He is the wolf of darkness, a cowardly beast that fears the
daylight."

"Well, let us defend ourselves till day."

"Yes, my boy, and with our knives if we can no longer use our guns."

Already Thalcave had set the example, and when a wolf approached the
fire, the long knife of the Patagonian was thrust through the flames
and drawn back again red with blood.

However, the means of defense were failing. About two o'clock in the
morning, Thalcave threw into the fire the last armful of fuel, and the
besieged had only five charges left.

Glenarvan cast about him a sorrowful glance. He thought of the child
who was there, of his companions, of all whom he loved. Robert said
nothing; perhaps the danger did not appear imminent to his hopeful
spirit. But Glenarvan pictured to himself that terrible event, now
apparently inevitable, the being devoured alive! He was not master of
his emotion; he drew the child to his breast, he clasped him to his
heart, he pressed his lips to his forehead, while tears flowed from his
eyes.

Robert gazed at him with a smile. "I am not afraid," said he.

"No, my boy, no," replied Glenarvan; "and you are right. In two hours,
day will appear, and we shall be saved! Well done, Thalcave, my brave
Patagonian!" cried he, as the Indian killed with the butt of his gun
two enormous beasts that were attempting to cross the glowing barrier.

[Sidenote: A DYING HOPE.]

But at this moment the dying light of the fire showed him the aguaras
advancing in a dense body to assail the ramada. The dénouement of the
bloody drama was approaching. The fire gradually subsided, for want
of fuel; the flames sank; the plain, before illumined, now relapsed
into shadow, and in the shadow reappeared the terrible eyes of the red
wolves. A few moments more, and the whole drove would rush into the
inclosure.

Thalcave discharged his carbine for the last time, stretched out one
more of their enemies, and, as his ammunition was exhausted, folded
his arms. His head sank upon his breast; he appeared to be questioning
himself. Was he searching for some bold, novel, or rash scheme for
repelling this furious herd? Glenarvan did not venture to ask him.

At this moment a change took place in the action of the wolves. They
seemed to be retreating, and their howls, so deafening before, suddenly
ceased. An ominous silence reigned over the plain.

"They are going," said Robert.

"Perhaps," replied Glenarvan, who was listening with intentness.

But Thalcave shook his head. He knew well that the animals would not
abandon a certain prey until at daybreak they returned to their holes
and dens.

However, the tactics of their enemies had evidently changed, they no
longer endeavored to force the entrance of the ramada; but their new
manoeuvres were already causing a still more imminent danger.

The wolves, abandoning their design of penetrating the inclosure by
this entrance, which was defended by weapon and fire, went to the
back of the ramada and sought to assail it in the rear. Their claws
were soon heard rattling against the half-decayed wood. Already their
powerful paws and bloody mouths had forced their way between the
shattered stakes. The horses, bewildered and panic-stricken, broke
their halters and dashed into the inclosure. Glenarvan seized Robert
in his arms, to defend him to the last extremity; and he would have
attempted a rash flight, and rushed out of the ramada, had not his eyes
fallen upon the Indian.

Thalcave, turning like a deer, had suddenly approached his horse,
which was neighing with impatience, and was beginning to saddle him
carefully, forgetting neither strap nor buckle. He seemed no longer to
care for the howls, that were now redoubled. Glenarvan gazed at him
with a dark foreboding.

"He is leaving us!" cried he, seeing Thalcave gather up his reins as
though he were about to mount.

"He? never!" said Robert.

In truth the Indian was about to make a venture, not to leave his
friends, but to save them by sacrificing himself. Thaouka was ready.
He champed his bit; he pranced; his eyes, full of a fiery spirit, shot
forth lightning flashes; he understood his master.

Just as the Indian was seizing the mane of his horse, Glenarvan caught
him by the arm with a convulsive grasp.

"You are going?" said he, pointing to the plain, which was now deserted.

"Yes," replied the Indian, who comprehended the gesture of his
companion; and, with vehement gesticulations which were however
perfectly intelligible, he added a few words in Spanish, which
signified: "Thaouka--good horse--swift--will draw the wolves after him."

[Illustration: Frightful howls resounded. The wolves, starting on the
track of the horse, fled into the darkness with a terrible speed.]

"Ha! Thalcave!" cried Glenarvan.

"Quick, quick!" continued the Indian; while Glenarvan said to Robert,
in a voice broken by emotion,--

"Robert, my lad, you hear! He will sacrifice himself for us; he will
rush out over the plain, and turn aside the fury of the wolves upon
himself."

"Friend Thalcave," replied Robert, looking imploringly at the
Patagonian, "friend Thalcave, do not leave us!"

"No," said Glenarvan, "he will not leave us."

And, turning to the Indian, he added, pointing to the terrified horses
crowding against the stakes,--

"Let us go together."

"No," said the Indian, who was not mistaken as to the meaning of these
words. "Bad beasts--frightened--Thaouka--good horse."

"Very well," said Glenarvan. "Thalcave shall not leave, Robert. He
shows me what I have to do. It is my duty to go, and his to remain with
you."

Then, seizing Thaouka's bridle, he added,--

"I will go."

"No," replied the Patagonian, calmly.

"I tell you," cried Glenarvan, taking the bridle from the hands of the
Indian, "I will go. Save this boy! I trust him to you, Thalcave!"

Glenarvan, in his excitement, mingled English and Spanish together. But
what matters the language? In such a terrible situation, signs tell
all, and men quickly understand each other.

[Sidenote: SAFETY FOR TWO.]

However, Thalcave resisted, and the discussion was prolonged. The
danger was increasing every moment. Already the broken stakes were
yielding to the teeth and claws of the wolves. But neither Glenarvan
nor Thalcave appeared willing to yield. The Indian had drawn Glenarvan
towards the entrance of the inclosure. He pointed to the plain, now
free from wolves. In his animated language, he explained that not a
moment was to be lost; that the danger, if this plan failed, would be
greater for those who remained; in short, that he alone knew Thaouka
well enough to employ his marvelous agility and speed for the common
safety. Glenarvan blindly persisted in his resolve to sacrifice
himself, when suddenly he was pushed violently back. Thaouka pranced,
reared on his hind legs, and all at once, with a spring, cleared the
barrier of fire and the rampart of bodies, while a boyish voice cried,--

"God save you, my lord!"

Glenarvan and Thalcave had scarcely time to perceive Robert, who,
clinging to the horse's mane, disappeared in the darkness.

"Robert, unfortunate!" cried Glenarvan.

But these words the Indian himself could not hear. Frightful howls
resounded. The wolves, starting on the track of the horse, fled into
the darkness with a terrible speed.

Thalcave and Glenarvan rushed out of the ramada. Already the plain had
resumed its tranquillity, and they could scarcely distinguish a moving
line which undulated afar in the shadows of the night.

Glenarvan sank upon the ground, overcome, in despair, clasping his
hands. He gazed at Thalcave, who smiled with his accustomed calmness.

"Thaouka--good horse--brave child--he will be saved!" he repeated,
nodding his head.

"But if he falls?" said Glenarvan.

"He will not fall!"

In spite of Thalcave's confidence, his companion passed the night in
terrible anguish. He was no longer even mindful of the danger still to
be feared from the wolves. He would have gone in search of Robert, but
the Indian restrained him, and explained that their horses could not
overtake the boy, that Thaouka must have distanced his enemies, and
could not be found in the darkness. They must wait for day to start in
search of Robert.

At four o'clock in the morning day began to break. The mists of the
horizon were soon tinged with pale rays. A sparkling dew covered the
plain, and the tall grass began to wave under the first breezes of the
dawn.

The moment of departure had arrived.

"Forward!" said the Indian.

Glenarvan did not reply, but sprang upon Robert's horse, and the two
were soon galloping towards the west in the direction from which their
companions were to come.

For an hour they traveled thus with great speed, gazing around for
Robert, and dreading at each step to behold his mangled body. Glenarvan
tortured the flanks of his horse with his spurs. Suddenly shots were
heard, and reports at regular intervals, like signals for recognition.

"It is they!" cried Glenarvan.

Thalcave and he urged their horses to a more rapid pace, and a few
moments afterwards they joined the party led by Paganel.

[Sidenote: LIVELY GRATITUDE.]

To Glenarvan's joy, Robert was there, alive, borne by the noble
Thaouka, who neighed with pleasure at seeing his master.

"Ah, my boy! my boy!" cried Glenarvan, with unspeakable tenderness; and
Robert and he, dismounting, rushed into each other's arms.

Then it was the Indian's turn to clasp to his breast the courageous son
of Captain Grant.

"He lives! he lives!" exclaimed Glenarvan.

"Yes," replied Robert, "thanks to Thaouka."

The Indian had not waited for these words of gratitude to embrace his
horse, but at that very moment he spoke to him and embraced him, as
if human blood flowed in the veins of the noble animal. Then, turning
towards Paganel, he pointed to young Robert.

"A brave boy!" said he.

Glenarvan, however, asked, even while he admired the lad,--

"Why, my son, did you not let Thalcave or me try this last chance of
saving you?"

"My lord," replied he, in accents of the liveliest gratitude, "was it
not my duty to sacrifice myself, when Thalcave has saved my life, and
you are going to save my father?"

CHAPTER XX.

STRANGE SIGNS.

After their first outbursts of joy at meeting were over, Paganel,
Austin, Wilson, and Mulready--all who had remained behind, except the
major--were conscious of one thing, namely, that they were suffering
from thirst. Fortunately, the Guamini flowed at no great distance.
They accordingly continued their journey, and at seven o'clock in the
morning the little party arrived at the ramada. On seeing its entrance
strewn with the bodies of the wolves, it was easy to understand the
violence of the attack and the vigor of the defense. The travelers,
after fully quenching their thirst, devoted their attention to
breakfast in the inclosure. The ostrich-steaks were declared excellent,
and the armadillo, roasted in its own covering, was a delicious dish.

"To eat reasonably of this," said Paganel, "would be ingratitude
towards Providence. We really must eat immoderately."

And he did so accordingly,--but was not sick, thanks to the clear water
of the Guamini, which appeared to possess superior digestive properties.

[Sidenote: AEROSTATIC EXPERIMENTS.]

At ten o'clock Glenarvan gave the signal for departure. The
water-bottles were filled, and they set out. The horses, being greatly
revived, evinced much spirit, and maintained an easy and almost
continuous canter. The next morning they crossed the boundary which
separates the Argentine Plains from the Pampas. Here Thalcave hoped
to meet the chiefs in whose hands he doubted not that he should find
Harry Grant and rescue him and his two companions from slavery.

Since they had left the Guamini, the travelers noticed, with great
satisfaction, a considerable change in the temperature, thanks to the
cold winds of Patagonia, which cause continual currents of air. Neither
man nor beast had any reason to complain, after suffering so much from
dryness and heat. They therefore pushed on with courage and confidence.
But, whatever might have been said, the country seemed to be entirely
uninhabited, or, to use a more exact word, "disinhabited."

Frequently they skirted the shores of fresh-water lagoons, on whose
banks, in the shelter of the bushes, tiny wrens skipped and melodious
larks warbled, in company with the brilliant-plumaged tanagers. These
pretty birds gayly fluttered about, heedless of the haughty starlings
that strutted on the banks like soldiers with their epaulettes and red
breasts. In the thorny coppices the nests of the annubis swung like
hammocks, and on the shores of the lagoons magnificent flamingoes,
marching in regular file, spread their fiery-colored wings to the wind.
Their nests were seen, by thousands together, like a small village, in
the shape of truncated cones a foot high. The birds were not startled
at the approach of the travelers, which was contrary to Paganel's
calculations.

"I have been curious for a long time," said he to the major, "to see a
flamingo fly."

"Well," said MacNabb.

"Now, since I have an opportunity, I shall profit by it."

"Do so, Paganel."

"Come with me, major, and you too, Robert; I need witnesses."

And Paganel, leaving his companions to go on, proceeded towards the
flock of flamingoes, followed by Robert and the major. Arriving within
range, Paganel fired a blank charge (for he would not needlessly
destroy even a bird), and all the flamingoes flew away, while the
geographer gazed at them attentively through his glasses.

"Well," said he to the major, when the flock had disappeared, "did you
see them fly?"

"Certainly," replied MacNabb; "you could not do otherwise, unless you
were blind. But let us hasten on, for we have fallen a mile behind."

When he had joined his companions, Paganel found Glenarvan in excited
conversation with the Indian, whom he did not appear to understand.
Thalcave had frequently stopped to examine the horizon, and each time
his countenance expressed a lively astonishment. Glenarvan, not seeing
his ordinary interpreter present, had attempted, but in vain, to
question the Patagonian. So, as soon as he perceived the geographer at
a distance, he cried,--

"Come, friend Paganel, Thalcave and I can scarcely succeed in
understanding each other."

Paganel conversed a few moments with the Indian, and, turning to
Glenarvan, said,--

"Thalcave is astonished at a circumstance that is really strange."

"What?"

"At meeting neither Indians, nor any traces of them, on these plains,
which are usually furrowed with their trails, whether they are driving
home the cattle stolen from the ranchos, or going to the Andes to sell
their zorillo carpets and whips of braided leather."

"And to what does Thalcave attribute this abandonment?"

"He cannot tell; he is astonished. That is all."

"But what Indians did he expect to find in this part of the Pampas?"

"The very ones who have had foreign prisoners; those natives who are
commanded by the caziques Calfoucoura, Catriel, and Yanchetruz."

"Who are these caziques?"

[Illustration: Arriving within range, Paganel fired a blank charge (for
he would not needlessly destroy even a bird), and all the flamingoes
flew away, while the geographer gazed at them attentively through his
glasses.]

"Chiefs of tribes that were very powerful thirty years ago, before they
were driven beyond the sierras. Since that time they have been subdued
as much as an Indian can be, and now scour the Pampas as well as the
province of Buenos Ayres. I am therefore astonished, like Thalcave,
at not encountering traces of them in a country where they generally
pursue the calling of plunderers."

"Well, then," inquired Glenarvan, "what course ought we to take?"

"I will see," replied Paganel.

After a few moments' conversation with Thalcave, he said,--

"This is his advice, which seems to me very wise. We must continue our
journey to the east as far as Fort Independence; and there, if we have
no news of Captain Grant, we shall at least know what has become of the
Indians of the plain."

"Is Fort Independence far?"

"No; it is situated at Tandil, sixty miles distant."

"And when shall we arrive there?"

"On the evening of the day after to-morrow."

Glenarvan was quite disconcerted at finding no Indians on the Pampas,
a circumstance which was little expected. There are ordinarily too
many of them. Some special cause must therefore have removed them.
But a serious question was to be considered. If Captain Grant was a
prisoner of one of these tribes, had he been carried to the north or
to the south? This problem harassed Glenarvan. It was advisable at all
hazards to keep track of the captain. In short, it was better to follow
Thalcave's advice and reach the village of Tandil, where at least they
could obtain information.

About four o'clock in the afternoon they approached a hill that might
have passed for a mountain in so level a country. It was Tapalquem
Sierra, and at its foot the travelers encamped for the night.

[Sidenote: GALLOPING GAUCHOS.]

The passage of this mountain was accomplished the next day with the
greatest ease. They followed the sandy undulations of a gradually
sloping terrace, which certainly did not present difficulties to
people who had scaled the Andes, and the horses scarcely relaxed their
rapid pace. At noon they reached the abandoned Fort Tapalquem, the
first of the chain of forts built on the southern frontier against the
plundering natives. But not a shadow of an Indian did they encounter,
to the increasing surprise of Thalcave; although, towards the middle of
the day, three rovers of the plain, well armed and mounted, gazed for
a moment at the little party, but prevented their approach, galloping
away with incredible rapidity. Glenarvan was furious.

"Gauchos," said the Patagonian.

"Ah! Gauchos," replied MacNabb. "Well, Paganel, what do you think of
these creatures?"

"I think they look like famous bandits," answered Paganel.

"And hence of course are, my dear geographer?"

"Of course, my dear major."

Paganel's avowal was followed by a general laugh, which did not
disconcert him at all.

According to Thalcave's orders, they advanced in close ranks, and
at evening encamped in a spacious abandoned rancho, where the chief
Catriel generally assembled his bands of natives. From an examination
of the ground and the absence of fresh tracks, the Patagonian knew that
it had not been occupied for a long time.

The next morning Glenarvan and his companions found themselves again
on the plain. The first estancias (vast establishments for raising
cattle), which border upon the Tandil, were descried; but Thalcave
resolved not to stop, but to keep straight on to Fort Independence,
where he wished to obtain information, especially concerning the
singular condition of this abandoned country.

The trees, so rare since leaving the Andes, now reappeared. The greater
part of these have been planted since the arrival of the Europeans
on the American continent. They generally surround "corrals," vast
cattle-inclosures protected with stakes. Here thousands of cattle,
sheep, cows, and horses, branded with the mark of the owner, graze
and fatten, while large numbers of huge dogs keep watch. The soil is
admirably adapted to raising cattle, and yields an excellent fodder.

The people lead the life of the shepherds of the Bible. Their flocks
are perhaps even more numerous than those which fed on the plains of
Mesopotamia; but the family element is wanting, and the owners of the
great folds of the Pampas have little to recommend themselves or their
manner of life.

Paganel explained all these particulars to his companions, and even
succeeded in interesting the major.

Thalcave, meanwhile, hastened their progress, as he wished to arrive
that evening at Fort Independence. The horses, urged on by their
masters, and following the example of Thaouka, dashed through the
tall grass. They passed several farms, fortified and defended by deep
ditches. The principal house was provided with an elevated terrace,
from which the inmates could fire upon the plunderers of the plain.
Glenarvan might perhaps have obtained here the information that he
sought; but it was wisest to go to the village of Tandil. They did not
stop, therefore, and soon the feet of the horses struck the grassy
sward of the first mountain slopes. An hour afterward the village
appeared at the bottom of a narrow gorge crowned by the embattled walls
of Fort Independence.

[Illustration: In fact, they were a dozen young children and boys who
were drilling very nicely. Their uniform consisted of a striped shirt
confined at the waist by a leathern girdle.]

CHAPTER XXI.

A FALSE TRAIL.

Paganel, after giving his companions a brief account of the village of
Tandil, added that they could not fail to obtain information there;
moreover, the fort was always garrisoned by a detachment of national
troops. Glenarvan, accordingly, put the horses into the stable of a
"fonda;" and Paganel, the major, Robert, and he, under the guidance of
Thalcave, proceeded towards Fort Independence.

After ascending the ridges of the mountains for a short time, they
arrived at the postern, rather carelessly guarded by a native sentinel.
They passed without difficulty, and inferred either great negligence or
extreme security. A few soldiers were exercising on the parade-ground
of the fort, the oldest of whom was not more than twenty and the
youngest scarcely ten. In fact, they were a dozen young children and
boys who were drilling very nicely. Their uniform consisted of a
striped shirt confined at the waist by a leathern girdle. The mildness
of the climate justified this light costume. Each of these young
soldiers carried a gun and a sword, which were too long and heavy for
the little fellows. All had a certain family resemblance, and the
corporal who commanded resembled them too: they were twelve brothers,
who were parading under the orders of the thirteenth.

[Sidenote: AN ARGENTINE COMMANDANT.]

Paganel was not astonished. He remembered his Argentine statistics, and
knew that in this country the average number of children in a family
exceeds nine. But what surprised him exceedingly was to see these
little soldiers practicing the French tactics, and to hear the orders
of the corporal given in his own native language.

"This is singular," said he.

But Glenarvan had not come to see boys drill, still less to occupy
himself with their nationality or relationship. He did not, therefore,
give Paganel time to express further astonishment, but besought him
to ask for the commander of the fortress. Paganel did so, and one of
the soldiers proceeded towards a small building which served as the
barracks.

A few moments after, the commander appeared in person. He was a man
of fifty, robust, with a military air, thick whiskers, prominent
cheek-bones, gray hair, and commanding look, so far as one could judge
through the clouds of smoke that issued from his short pipe.

Thalcave, addressing him, introduced Lord Glenarvan and his companions.
While he spoke, the commander kept scrutinizing Paganel with quite
embarrassing persistence. The geographer did not know what the trooper
meant, and was about to ask him, when the latter unceremoniously seized
his hand, and said, in a joyous tone, in his own language,--

"A Frenchman?"

"Yes, a Frenchman," replied Paganel.

"Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a Frenchman,"
cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with rather painful
violence.

"One of your friends?" asked the major of Paganel.

"Yes," replied he, with national pride; "we have friends in all parts
of the world!"

[Illustration: "Ah, I am delighted! Welcome, welcome! I am almost a
Frenchman," cried the commander, shaking the geographer's arm with
rather painful violence.]

[Sidenote: RAISING A REGIMENT.]

He then entered into conversation with the commander. Glenarvan would
gladly have put in a word in regard to his affairs, but the soldier
was telling his story, and was not in the mood to be interrupted.
This honest man had left France a long time before; and the native
language was no longer perfectly familiar to him: he had forgotten,
if not words, at least the manner of combining them. As his visitors
soon learned, he had been a sergeant in the French army. Since the
foundation of the fort he had not left it, and commanded it by
appointment from the Argentine government. He was by parentage a
Basque, and his name was Manuel Ipharaguerre. A year after his arrival
in the country, Sergeant Manuel was naturalized, joined the Argentine
army, and married an honest Indian woman, who had twins,--boys, to be
sure, for the sergeant's worthy consort would never present him with
daughters. Manuel did not think of any other calling than that of the
soldier, and hoped, in time, with the help of God, to offer to the
republic a whole battalion of young soldiers.

"You have seen them?" said he. "Charming fellows! Good soldiers! José!
Juan! Miguel! Pepe! Pepe is only seven years old, and is already biting
his cartridge!"

Pepe, hearing himself complimented, joined his two little feet, and
presented arms with perfect precision.

"He will do!" added the sergeant. "He will be a major--or
brigadier-general one day!"

This story lasted a quarter of an hour, to Thalcave's great
astonishment. The Indian could not understand how so many words could
come from a single throat. No one interrupted the commander; and even
a French sergeant had to conclude at last, though not without forcing
his guests to accompany him to his dwelling. Here they were introduced
to Madame Ipharaguerre, who appeared to be "a good-looking person," if
this expression may be employed in regard to an Indian.

When he had exhausted himself, the sergeant asked his guests to what he
owed the honor of their visit. And now it was their turn to explain.

Paganel, opening the conversation in French, told him of their journey
across the Pampas, and ended by asking why the Indians had abandoned
the country.

"War!" replied the sergeant.

"War?"

"Yes, civil war."

"Civil war?" rejoined Paganel.

"Yes, war between Paraguay and Buenos Ayres," answered the sergeant.

"Well?"

"Why, all the Indians of the north are in the rear of General Flores,
and those of the plains are plundering."

"But the caziques?"

"The caziques with them."

This answer was reported to Thalcave, who shook his head. Indeed,
he either did not know, or had forgotten, that a civil war, which
was afterwards to involve Brazil, was decimating two-thirds of the
republic. The Indians had everything to gain in these internal
struggles, and could not neglect such fine opportunities for plunder.
The sergeant, therefore, was not mistaken in attributing this desertion
of the Pampas to the civil war that was being waged in the northern
part of the Argentine Provinces.

But this event disconcerted Glenarvan's hopes. If Captain Grant was
a prisoner of the caziques, he must have been carried by them to the
northern frontiers. Yet how and where to find him? Must they attempt
a perilous and almost useless search to the northern limits of the
Pampas? It was a serious matter, which was to be earnestly considered.

However, one important question was still to be asked of the sergeant,
and the major thought of this, while his companions were looking at
each other in silence.

"Have you heard of any Europeans being retained as prisoners by the
caziques of the Pampas?"

Manuel reflected for a few moments, like a man who recalls events to
recollection.

"Yes," said he, at length.

"Ah!" cried Glenarvan, conceiving a new hope.

[Sidenote: REVELATIONS.]

Paganel, MacNabb, Robert, and he now surrounded the sergeant.

"Speak, speak!" cried they, gazing at him with eagerness even in their
looks.

"Several years ago," replied Manuel, "yes,--that is it,--European
prisoners--but have never seen them."

"Several years ago?" said Glenarvan. "You are mistaken. The date of the
shipwreck is definite. The Britannia was lost in June, 1862, less than
two years ago."

"Oh, more than that, my lord!"

"Impossible!" cried Paganel.

"Not at all. It was when Pepe was born. There were two men."

"No, three!" said Glenarvan.

"Two," replied the sergeant, in a positive tone.

"Two?" exclaimed Glenarvan, very much chagrined. "Two Englishmen?"

"No," continued the sergeant. "Who speaks of Englishmen? It was a
Frenchman and an Italian."

"An Italian who was massacred by the Indians?" cried Paganel.

"Yes, and I learned afterwards--Frenchman saved."

"Saved!" exclaimed Robert, whose very life seemed to hang on the
sergeant's lips.

"Yes, saved from the hands of the Indians," replied Manuel.

Each looked to the geographer, who beat his brow in despair.

"Ah! I understand," said he, at last. "All is clear, all is explained."

"But what is to be done?" asked Glenarvan, with as much anxiety as
impatience.

"My friends," answered Paganel, taking Robert's hands, "we must submit
to a severe misfortune. We have followed a false trail! The captive
in question is not the captain, but one of my countrymen (whose
companion, Marco Vazello, was actually assassinated by the Indians),
a Frenchman who often accompanied these cruel savages to the banks of
the Colorado, and who, after fortunately escaping from their hands,
returned to France. While thinking that we were on the track of Captain
Grant, we have fallen upon that of young Guinnard."

A profound silence followed this declaration. The mistake was palpable.
The sergeant's story, the nationality of the prisoner, the murder
of his companion, and his escape from the hands of the Indians, all
accorded with the evident facts. Glenarvan gazed at Thalcave with a
bewildered air. The Indian then resumed the conversation.

"Have you never heard of three English captives?" he asked the sergeant.

"Never," replied Manuel. "It would have been known at Tandil. I should
have heard of it. No, it cannot be."

Glenarvan, after this formal response, had nothing more to do at Fort
Independence. He and his friends, therefore, departed, not without
thanking the sergeant and shaking hands with him.

Glenarvan was in despair at this complete overthrow of his hopes.
Robert walked beside him in silence, with tearful eyes, while his
protector could not find a single word to console him. Paganel
gesticulated and talked to himself. The major did not open his lips.
As for Thalcave, his Indian pride seemed humbled at having gone astray
on a false trail. No one, however, thought of reproaching him for so
excusable an error.

They returned to the encampment, saddened indeed. Still, not one of
the courageous and devoted men regretted so many hardships uselessly
endured, so many dangers vainly incurred. But each saw all hope of
success annihilated in an instant. Could they find Captain Grant
between Tandil and the sea? No. If any prisoner had fallen into the
hands of the Indians on the Atlantic coast, Sergeant Manuel would
certainly have been informed. An event of such a nature could not
have escaped the natives who trade from Tandil to Carmen. Among the
traders of the Argentine Plains everything is known and reported. There
was therefore but one course now to take,--to join, without delay, the
Duncan at Cape Medano, the appointed rendezvous.

[Illustration: More than once during the journey, the attention and