home from his voyages, we were sure of some SOUVENIR from all the places he had been to; and, better still, of loving words and caresses. Ah! if you knew him you would love him, too. Mary is most like him. He has a soft voice, like hers. That’s strange for a sailor, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Robert, very strange.”
“I see him still,” the boy went on, as if speaking to himself. “Good, brave papa. He put me to sleep on his knee, crooning an old Scotch ballad about the lochs of our country. The time sometimes comes back to me, but very confused like. So it does to Mary, too. Ah, my Lord, how we loved him. Well, I do think one needs to be little to love one’s father like that.”
“Yes, and to be grown up, my child, to venerate him,” replied Glenarvan, deeply touched by the boy’s genuine affection.
During this conversation the horses had been slackening speed, and were only walking now.
“You will find him?” said Robert again, after a few minutes’ silence.
“Yes, we’ll find him,” was Glenarvan’s reply, “Thalcave has set us on the track, and I have great confidence in him.”
“Thalcave is a brave Indian, isn’t he?” said the boy.
“That indeed he is.”
“Do you know something, my Lord?”
“What is it, and then I will tell you?”
“That all the people you have with you are brave. Lady Helena, whom I love so, and the Major, with his calm manner, and Captain Mangles, and Monsieur Paganel, and all the sailors on the DUNCAN. How courageous and devoted they are.”
“Yes, my boy, I know that,” replied Glenarvan.
“And do you know that you are the best of all.”
“No, most certainly I don’t know that.”
“Well, it is time you did, my Lord,” said the boy, seizing his lordship’s hand, and covering it with kisses.
Glenarvan shook his head, but said no more, as a gesture from Thalcave made them spur on their horses and hurry forward.
But it was soon evident that, with the exception of Thaouka, the wearied animals could not go quicker than a walking pace. At noon they were obliged to let them rest for an hour. They could not go on at all, and refused to eat the ALFAFARES, a poor, burnt-up sort of lucerne that grew there.
Glenarvan began to be uneasy. Tokens of sterility were not the least on the decrease, and the want of water might involve serious calamities. Thalcave said nothing, thinking probably, that it would be time enough to despair if the Guamini should be dried up—if, indeed, the heart of an Indian can ever despair.
Spur and whip had both to be employed to induce the poor animals to resume the route, and then they only crept along, for their strength was gone.
Thaouka, indeed, could have galloped swiftly enough, and reached the RIO in a few hours, but Thalcave would not leave his companions behind, alone in the midst of a desert.
It was hard work, however, to get the animal to consent to walk quietly. He kicked, and reared, and neighed violently, and was subdued at last more by his master’s voice than hand. Thalcave positively talked to the beast, and Thaouka understood perfectly, though unable to reply, for, after a great deal of arguing, the noble creature yielded, though he still champed the bit.
Thalcave did not understand Thaouka, it turned out, though Thaouka understood him. The intelligent animal felt humidity in the atmosphere and drank it in with frenzy, moving and making a noise with his tongue, as if taking deep draughts of some cool refreshing liquid. The Patagonian could not mistake him now—water was not far off.
The two other horses seemed to catch their comrade’s meaning, and, inspired by his example, made a last effort, and galloped forward after the Indian.
About three o’clock a white line appeared in a dip of the road, and seemed to tremble in the sunlight.
“Water!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes, yes! it is water!” shouted Robert.
They were right; and the horses knew it too, for there was no need now to urge them on; they tore over the ground as if mad, and in a few minutes had reached the river, and plunged in up to their chests.
Their masters had to go on too, whether they would or not but they were so rejoiced at being able to quench their thirst, that this compulsory bath was no grievance.
“Oh, how delicious this is!” exclaimed Robert, taking a deep draught.
“Drink moderately, my boy,” said Glenarvan; but he did not set the example.
Thalcave drank very quietly, without hurrying himself, taking small gulps, but “as long as a lazo,” as the Patagonians say. He seemed as if he were never going to leave off, and really there was some danger of his swallowing up the whole river.
At last Glenarvan said:
“Well, our friends won’t be disappointed this time; they will be sure of finding clear, cool water when they get here— that is to say, if Thalcave leaves any for them.”
“But couldn’t we go to meet them? It would spare them several hours’ suffering and anxiety.”
“You’re right my boy; but how could we carry them this water? The leather bottles were left with Wilson. No; it is better for us to wait for them as we agreed. They can’t be here till about the middle of the night, so the best thing we can do is to get a good bed and a good supper ready for them.”
Thalcave had not waited for Glenarvan’s proposition to prepare an encampment. He had been fortunate enough to discover on the banks of the rio a ramada, a sort of enclosure, which had served as a fold for flocks, and was shut in on three sides. A more suitable place could not be found for their night’s lodging, provided they had no fear of sleeping in the open air beneath the star-lit heavens; and none of Thalcave’s companions had much solicitude on that score. Accordingly they took possession at once, and stretched themselves at full length on the ground in the bright sunshine, to dry their dripping garments.
“Well, now we’ve secured a lodging, we must think of supper,” said Glenarvan. “Our friends must not have reason to complain of the couriers they sent to precede them; and if I am not much mistaken, they will be very satisfied. It strikes me that an hour’s shooting won’t be lost time. Are you ready, Robert?”
“Yes, my Lord,” replied the boy, standing up, gun in hand.
Why Glenarvan proposed this was, that the banks of the Guamini seemed to be the general rendezvous of all the game in the surrounding plains. A sort of partridge peculiar to the Pampas, called TINAMOUS; black wood-hens; a species of plover, called TERU-TERU; yellow rays, and waterfowl with magnificent green plumage, rose in coveys. No quadrupeds, however, were visible, but Thalcave pointed to the long grass and thick brushwood, and gave his friends to understand they were lying there in concealment.
Disdaining the feathered tribes when more substantial game was at hand, the hunters’ first shots were fired into the underwood.
