The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America Read online

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  IN WHICH QUASHY IS COMMUNICATIVE AND AN ENEMY IS TURNED INTO A FRIEND.

  The pass which our travellers had just crossed merely led them over amountain chain which may be described as the Peruvian Cordillera.Beyond it lay a fruitful valley of considerable extent, which terminatedat the base of the great range, or backbone, of the Andes. Beyond thisagain lay another valley of greater extent than the first, which wasbounded by a third range or cordillera of inferior height, the easternslopes of which descended on one hand in varying undulations to thedense forests of equatorial Brazil, on the other, by easy gradations tothe level Pampas or plains which extend for hundreds of miles throughthe lands of the Argentine Confederation to the Atlantic.

  Two mountain passes, therefore, were still to be crossed, and LawrenceArmstrong began to think that if things went on as they had begun apretty lively experience probably lay before them.

  But in this he was mistaken, at least as regarded banditti, though insome other respects the journey was not quite devoid of stirringincidents--as we shall see.

  We have said that the good-nature of the young Englishman induced him toattempt conversation with the Indian girl, and at first Manuela appearedto be amused, if not interested, by his unsuccessful efforts; but afterone of these futile attempts Pedro made some remarks to the girl in theIndian tongue, and in a tone of remonstrance, which had the effect ofrendering her more silent and grave than before. Lawrence, therefore,finally ceased to address her, though his natural gallantry prompted himto offer assistance when it seemed necessary, and to accost her with ahearty good-night and good-morning each day.

  As Pedro, in his capacity of guide, usually rode a few paces in advance,and was frequently in a silent, abstracted mood, Lawrence was thusthrown almost entirely on the negro for companionship. Although theyoung Englishman may not have estimated his company very highly, nothingcould have been more satisfactory to Quashy, who, with delight expressedin every wrinkle and lineament of his black visage, fully availedhimself of his opportunities.

  "O Massa Lawrie!" he exclaimed, at the close of one of theirconversations, "how I does lub to talk ob de ole times when me an' youwas play togidder!"

  "Yes, it's very nice to recall old times," answered Lawrence, with ahalf-suppressed yawn, for they had by that time gone over the old timesso often that the novelty had rather worn off.

  "Yes, bery nice," repeated Quashy, with gleaming eyes, "when I tink obde ole fadder an' de ole mill an' de ole fun what me an' you carriedon--oh! my heart goes like to bu'st."

  "Don't let it bu'st here, whatever you do, Quashy, for you'll need allthe heart you possess to carry you safely over these mountain passes."

  Quashy opened his huge mouth, shut his eyes, and went off in a highfalsetto--his usual mode of laughing. He always laughed at Lawrence'slittle jokes, whether good or bad, insomuch that the youth finallyabstained from jesting as much as possible.

  "I did not know," continued Lawrence, "that there were so many robbersabout. Pedro tells me that the mountains are swarming with them justnow."

  "Ho yis, massa, plenty ob rubbers eberywhar," said Quashy, with a nod,"more nor 'nuff ob dem. You see, massa, Chili an' Proo's a-fightin' wideach oder jus' now. What dey's fightin' about no mortial knows; an',what's more, nobody cares. I s'pose one say de oder's wrong an' de odersay de one's say not right. Bof say das a big lie so at it dey goeshammer an' tongs to prove--ha! ha! to prove dey's bof right. Oh my!"

  Here the negro opened his cavernous jaws and gave vent to anotherexplosion of shrill laughter.

  "What fools dey is!"

  "Then you think it is only fools who fight, Quashy?"

  "Ob coorse, massa. Don' you see, if dey wasn't fools dey wouldn'tfight; 'cause fightin' can't prove nuffin', an' it can't do nuffin','cep' waste life an' money. No doubt," added the negro, with ameditative gaze at the ground, "when rubbers come at a feller he's boun'to fight, for why? he can't help it; or when Red Injin savages--"

  "Have a care, Quashy, what you say about Indians. I've warned you oncealready."

  "O massa!" said the poor black, with a look of almost superhumanpenitence, "I beg your pard'n. I's quite forgit to remimber. I wasjust agwine to say that there _is_ times when you _mus'_ fight. Butisn't Chili Christ'n, an' isn't P'roo Christ'n? I don' bleeve inChrist'ns what cut each oder's t'roats to prove dey's right. Howsever,das noting. What I's agwine to say is--dars a lot o' white livers onbof sides, an' dese dey runs away, takes to de mountains and becomesrubbers. But dey's not all bad alike, dough none of em's good. You'sheer'd ob Conrad ob de Mountains, massa?"

  "Yes, Pedro mentioned his name. He seems to be a celebrated bandit."

  "Well, I's not sure. Some peepil say he's not a rubber at all, but agood sort o' feller as goes mad sometimes. He's bery kind to women an'child'n, but he's bery awrful."

  "That's a strange character. How do you know he's so very awful,Quashy?"

  "Because I seed 'im, massa."

  "Indeed, where?"

  "On de plains ob Proo, massa," replied the negro, with thatself-satisfied clearing of the throat which was usually the prelude to along story.

  "Come now, Quashy," said Lawrence, with a laugh, "don't be toolong-winded, and don't exaggerate."

  "Don't ex-what-gerate, massa?"

  "Exaggerate."

  "What's dat, massa?"

  "Never mind, Quashy--go on."

  With a genial and highly exaggerated smile, the negro proceeded:--

  "Well, as I was agwine to say, I see dis man, Conrad ob de Mountains, onde plains ob Proo. I's in de Proo camp at de time, attendin' on you'sfadder, an' de army ob Chili was in front ob us on de slopes ob dehills, agwine to go in for a fight wid us. De sojers of Proo wasn'tbery keen for fightin'. I could see dat, but their gin'ral screwed 'emup to de pint, an' dey was all ready, when all of a sudden, we sees apris'ner brought in by four sojers. Dey seem so 'fraid ob him deydarn't touch him, tho' he was unarmed. Two walked behind him, an' twowalked in front ob 'im, all wid dere baynets pintin' at 'im, ready toskewer 'im all round if he was try to run. But, poor chap, he walk widhis head down, bery sad-like--nebber t'inkin' ob runnin'. So dey druv''im up to our gin'ral. I was in a crowd o' tall fellers, an' depris'ner had his back to me, so I not seed his face well. `Das Conradob de Mountains dey've cotched,' says a feller near me. `Listen!' Weall listen'd so quiet you could hear a 'skito sneeze. `What's you'name?' asks de gin'ral, ridin' close up to Conrad on his splendidwar-hoss--a child ob one ob de war-hosses as come ober wid Pizarro fromSpain. `My name's Pumpkin,' answers de pris'ner. `Das a lie!' says degin'ral. `No's not,' says Conrad, lookin' up, as I could see by de backob his head. `What side you b'longs to, raskil?' `To no side,gin'ral.' `Whar you come fro'?' `Fro' de mountains, gin'r'l.' `Wharyou go to?' `Ober de mountains, gin'ral.' I could see by de way defedders in de gin'ral's hat shake dat he's gittin' in a wax at de coolimprence ob de pris'ner, but he 'strain hisself, an' spoke sarkmustic.`Senhor Pumpkin,' says he, `you are Conrad ob de Mountains,'--('cause heguess who he was by dat time); `how you prepose to go ober demountains?' `Dis way!' says Conrad, an', nixt momint, up goes degin'ral's leg, down goes his head an' fedders on de ground, and Conradsits in de saddle afore you can wink. All round de baynets was charge,but dey haul up jist in time not to skewer one anoder, for de horseshotted out fro' between dem all, an' away straight to de Chili lines,whar dere was a great cheerin', for dey t'ought it was a deserter. WhenConrad came up, he trotted quietly troo de ranks, till he got near towhar de Chili commander stood wid his hofficers, wonderin' who he was.As he couldn't 'spec' to git no furder, he rides quietly up to ahofficer, takes de sword out ob his hand afore he understand what hewants, den, diggin' de spurs into de big war-hoss, off he goes wid ayell like a Red Inj--oh! I's mean like a--a buff'lo bull. Out comes deswords. Dey close all round 'im. I no see him by dat time. He too furoff; but a friend ob mine was near, an' he say dat Conrad swing de longsword so quick, an' de sun was shinin' so cl
ar, dat it look like acircle ob fire all round him. Down dey hoed on ebery side. Off goed ahead here, an arm dere. One trooper cut troo at de waist, an' fall'doff, but de legs stick on. Anoder splitted right down fro' de helmet,so as one half fall on one side, an' de odour half fall--"

  "Come now, Quashy," interrupted Lawrence, with a laugh, "youexaggerate."

  "What! you call _dat_ exaggerate, massa? Den Conrad exaggerate aboutten more afore he cut his way troo an' 'scaped to de hills. Oh, he's anawrful man!"

  "Truly he must be very awful, if all you relate of him be true," saidLawrence; "and I sincerely trust that if we fall in with him we may findhim friendly. Now, I shall ride forward, and ask Pedro if we are farfrom our halting-place."

  This abrupt change of subject was usually understood by the amiablenegro to mean that our hero--whom he persisted in regarding as hismaster--had had enough of his conversation at that time, so he reinedback his mule, while Lawrence pushed forward.

  To his question Pedro replied that he expected to reach the nextsleeping-place very soon.

  "It will not be as luxurious as the last," he said; "but, doubtless, onewho has traversed the mountains of Scotland is prepared to rough it inSouth America."

  "You speak as if you were yourself somewhat acquainted with the Scottishmountains."

  "So I am, senhor," replied the guide. "I had clambered up Ben Neviswhile I was yet a little boy."

  "Surely you are not a Scot?" said Lawrence, with a quick glance.

  "No, I am not a Scot, senhor. To have travelled in a country does notrender one a native, else might I claim England, Ireland, andSwitzerland as my native lands. See, yonder lies the little farm whereI hope to put up for the night."

  He pointed as he spoke to the head of the glen or valley, which wassomewhat narrower and more gloomy than the vales through which they hadridden in the earlier part of the day. Since crossing the firstcordillera on the Pacific side of the Andes they had, indeed, traverseda great variety of country. In some places the land was rocky andcomparatively barren. In others, where the peculiar form of themountains sheltered the table-lands, the country was fertile, andnumerous farms dotted the landscape, but as they ascended higher on themain chain the farms became fewer, until they finally disappeared, andan occasional hut, with a mere patch of cultivated ground, was all thatremained in the vast solitudes to tell of the presence of man.

  It was to one of these huts that Pedro now directed his companion'sattention.

  "A most suitable place for the abode of banditti," remarked Lawrence, asthey advanced up the winding path.

  "And many a time do the bandits lodge there," returned Pedro. "Ofcourse, robbers of the Andes do not go about with placards on theirbacks announcing their profession to all the world, and, as long as theybehave themselves, farmers are bound to regard them as honest men."

  "You said, if I heard rightly," observed Lawrence, "that you hadformerly met with the rascal whom we let off the other day."

  "Yes, I know him well. One of the worst men in the land. I'm almostsorry we did not shoot him, but I never could take human life in coldblood, even when that life had been forfeited over and over again.However, he's sure to get his deserts sooner or later."

  "Then he is not Conrad of the Mountains whom you mentioned to melately?"

  "No, Conrad is a very different stamp of man--though he has not too muchto boast of in the way of character if all that's said of him be true.The man we let go is a gaucho of the Pampas named Cruz. He delights inwar, and has fought in the armies of Chili, Peru, and the ArgentineConfederation without much regard to the cause of quarrel. In fact,wherever fighting is going on Cruz is sure to be there. Lately he hastaken to the mountains, and now fights for his own hand."

  "And the other poor fellow who went over the precipice," asked Lawrence,"did you know him?"

  "I knew him slightly. Antonio is his name, I think, but he is a villainof no note--an inferior bandit, though quite equal to his captain, nodoubt, in selfishness and cruelty."

  On arriving at the hut or small farm at the head of the valley, theyfound its owner, a burly, good-humoured Creole, alone with his mother,an old woman whose shrivelled-up appearance suggested the idea of amummy partially thawed into life. She was busy cooking over a smallfire, the smoke of which seemed congenial to her--judging from thefrequency with which she thrust her old head into it while inspectingthe contents of an iron pot.

  There was plenty of room for them, the host said, with an air ofprofound respect for Pedro, whom he saluted as an old acquaintance. Thehouse had been full two days before, but the travellers had gone on, andthe only one who remained was a poor man who lay in an out-house verysick.

  "Who is he?" asked Pedro, as he assisted Manuela to alight.

  "I know not, senhor," replied the host. "He is a stranger, who tells mehe has been robbed. I can well believe it, for he has been roughlyhandled, and there are some well-known bandits in the neighbourhood.His injuries would not have been so serious, however, if he had notcaught a fever from exposure."

  "Indeed," returned the guide, who, however, seemed more interested inunsaddling his mules than in listening to the account of the unfortunateman, "was it near this that he fell in with the bandits?"

  "No, senhor, it was far to the west. The travellers who brought him onsaid they found him almost insensible on the banks of a stream intowhich he appeared to have fallen or been thrown."

  Pedro glanced at Lawrence.

  "Hear you that, senhor?"

  "My Spanish only suffices to inform me that some one has been robbed andinjured."

  Explaining fully what their host had said, Pedro advised Lawrence tovisit the stranger in his medical character.

  "My friend is a doctor," he said, turning to the host, "take him to thesick man; for myself, I will put up the mules and then assist the oldmother, for mountain air sharpens appetite."

  In a rude, tumble-down hut close to the main building Lawrence found hispatient. He lay stretched in a corner on a heap of straw in a state ofgreat exhaustion--apparently dying--and with several bandages about hiscut and bruised head and face.

  The first glance told Lawrence that it was Antonio, the robber whom hehad tried to rescue, but he carefully concealed his knowledge, and,bending over the man, addressed him as if he were a stranger. The startand look of surprise mingled with alarm on the robber's face told thathe had recognised Lawrence, but he also laid restraint on himself, anddrew one of the bandages lower down on his eyes.

  Feeling his pulse, Lawrence asked him about his food.

  He got little, he said, and that little was not good; the people of thefarm seemed to grudge it.

  "My poor man," said Lawrence in his bad Spanish, "they are starving youto death. But I'll see to that."

  He rose and went out quickly. Returning with a basin of soup, hepresented it to the invalid, who ate it with relish. Then the man beganto relate how he had been attacked a few days before by a party ofrobbers in one of the mountain passes, who had cut the throats of allhis party in cold blood, and had almost killed himself, when he wasrescued by the opportune arrival of some travellers.

  Lawrence was much disgusted at first by the man's falsehood. Observingthe poor fellow's extreme weakness, however, and his evident anxietylest he should be recognised, the feeling changed to pity. Laying hishand gently on the man's shoulder, he said, with a look of solemnitywhich perchance made, up to some extent for the baldness of thephraseology--

  "Antonio, tell not lies; you are dying!"

  The startled man looked at his visitor earnestly. "Am I dying?" heasked, in a low tone.

  "You are, perhaps; I know not. I will save you if possible."

  These words were accompanied by a kind look and a comforting pat on theshoulder, which, it may be, did more for the sick man than the best ofphysic. At all events the result was a sudden grasp of the hand and alook of gratitude which spoke volumes. The robber was about to givevent to his feelings in speech when the door o
pened, and the burly host,putting his head in, announced that supper was ready.

  Giving his patient another reassuring pat, the young doctor left him andreturned to the banqueting-hall of the mountain farm, where he foundthat Manuela, Pedro, and Quashy were more or less earnestly engaged withthe contents of the iron pot.