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

by R. M. Ballantyne · English · Gutenberg #21699 · 554,065 chars · public domain (US)

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

Author: R. M. Ballantyne


        
Release date: June 6, 2007 [eBook #21699]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21699

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROVER OF THE ANDES: A TALE OF ADVENTURE ON SOUTH AMERICA ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Rover of the Andes, a Tale of Adventure in South America, by R.M.
Ballantyne.

________________________________________________________________________

This book is well-written and carries the reader right up to the last
chapter, always panting to know what ever will happen next. It describes
a journey across central South America, at about the latitude of Buenos
Aires in Argentina. Lots of different sorts of nasty happenings, and
nasty people are encountered, and the problems are overcome one by one.
It seems quite realistic, but at anyrate it is a good product of the
writer's imagination and research. I enjoyed transcribing it very much.

Robert Michael Ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894.  He was
educated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk with
the Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement in Northen
Canada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848.  The letters he
had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods
life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should
construct a book based on these letters.  Three of his most enduring
books were written over the next decade, "The Young Fur Traders",
"Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on his experiences
with the HBC.  In this period he also wrote "The Coral island" and
"Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by
Ballantyne.  Having been chided for small mistakes he made in these
books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about.  With
these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for
teenagers.  He researched the Cornish Mines, the London Fire Brigade,
the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph
cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the
life-boat service, South Africa, Norway, the North Sea fishing fleet,
ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and many more, experiencing the
lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for
weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived.

He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he
encountered with great care and attention to detail.  His young readers
looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and
1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year,
all very good reading.  The rate of production diminished in the last
ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed.

He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for
very young children under the pseudonym "Comus".

For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what
we would nowadays call "pi".  In part that was the way people wrote in
those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the Red
River Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a little
dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how
they ought to behave, as he felt he had been.

Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages.  These books
formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less
pocket-money.  These books are particularly well-written and researched,
because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for
their money.  They were published as six series, three books in each
series.  Typical of these series is "On the Coast".

________________________________________________________________________

THE ROVER OF THE ANDES, A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN SOUTH AMERICA, BY R.M.
BALLANTYNE.



CHAPTER ONE.

A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN SOUTH AMERICA.

AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN RANGE.

Towards the close of a bright and warm day, between fifty and sixty
years ago, a solitary man might have been seen, mounted on a mule,
wending his way slowly up the western slopes of the Andes.

Although decidedly inelegant and unhandsome, this specimen of the human
family was by no means uninteresting.  He was so large, and his legs
were so long, that the contrast between him and the little mule which he
bestrode was ridiculous.  He was what is sometimes styled "loosely put
together;" nevertheless, the various parts of him were so massive and
muscular that, however loosely he might have been built up, most men
would have found it rather difficult to take him down.  Although wanting
in grace, he was by no means repulsive, for his face, which was
ornamented with a soft flaxen beard and moustache of juvenile texture,
expressed wonderful depths of the milk of human kindness.

He wore boots with the trousers tucked into them, a grey tunic, or
hunting coat, belted at the waist, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, or
sombrero.

Evidently the times in which he travelled were troublous, for, besides
having a brace of large pistols in his belt, he wore a cavalry sabre at
his side.  As if to increase the eccentricity of his appearance, he
carried a heavy cudgel, by way of riding-whip; but it might have been
observed that, however much he flourished this whip about, he never
actually applied it to his steed.

On reaching a turn of the road at the brow of an eminence the mule
stopped, and, letting its head droop till almost as pendent as its tail,
silently expressed a desire for repose.  The cavalier stepped off.  It
would convey a false impression to say that he dismounted.  The mule
heaved a sigh.

"Poor little thing!" murmured the traveller in a soft, low voice, and in
a language which even a mule might have recognised as English; "you may
well sigh.  I really feel ashamed of myself for asking you to carry such
a mass of flesh and bone.  But it's your own fault--you know it is--for
you _won't_ be led.  I'm quite willing to walk if you will only follow.
Come--let us try!"

Gently, insinuatingly, persuasively, the traveller touched the reins,
and sought to lead the way.  He might as well have tried to lead one of
the snow-clad peaks of the mighty Cordillera which towered into the sky
before him.  With ears inclining to the neck, a resolute expression in
the eyes, his fore-legs thrown forward and a lean slightly backward, the
mule refused to move.

"Come now, _do_ be amiable; there's a good little thing!  Come on," said
the strong youth, applying more force.

Peruvian mules are not open to flattery.  The advance of the fore-legs
became more decided, the lean backward more pronounced, the ears went
flat down, and incipient passion gleamed in the eyes.

"Well, well, have it your own way," exclaimed the youth, with a laugh,
"but don't blame me for riding you so much."

He once more re-m-; no, we forgot--he once more lifted his right leg
over the saddle and sat down.  Fired, no doubt, with the glow of
conscious victory the mule moved on and up at a more lively pace than
before.

Thus the pair advanced until they gained a rocky eminence, whence the
rich Peruvian plains could be seen stretching far-away toward the
glowing horizon, where the sun was about to dip into the Pacific.

Here again the mule stopped, and the rider getting off sat down on a
rock to take a look at the level horizon of the west--for he had reached
a spot where the next turn in the road would partially shut out the
plains and enclose him among the giant mountains.

As he sat there meditating, while the mule cropped the herbage at his
side, he observed two riders a considerable way down the circuitous road
by which he had ascended--a man and a boy, apparently.

Whether it was the fine stalwart figure of the man that influenced him,
or the mere presence of wayfarers in such a solitary place, our
traveller could not tell, but he certainly felt unusual interest, and
not only watched the pair as they approached, but sat still until they
came up.  As they drew near he perceived that the smaller of the two,
whom at a distance he had taken for a boy, was an Indian girl, who,
according to custom, bestrode her mule like a man.  Her companion was a
handsome Spanish-looking man--a Peruvian or it might be a Chilian--with
fine masculine features and magnificent black eyes.  He was well-armed,
and, to judge from his looks, seemed a little suspicious of the tall
Englishman.

The hearty salutation of the latter, however, in bad Spanish, at once
dissipated his suspicions.  Replying in the same tongue, he then added,
in good English:--

"You are a stranger in this land, I perceive."

"In truth I am," replied the other, while the Peruvian dismounted,
"nevertheless, I ought scarcely to admit the fact, for I was born in
Peru.  This perhaps may seem contradictory, but it is not more so than
your being apparently a native of the soil yet speaking English like an
Englishman."

"From which it follows," returned the Peruvian, "that men ought not to
judge altogether by appearances.  But you are wrong in supposing me a
native of the soil, and yet--I am not an Englishman.  I have got a gift
of language, however--at least I feel myself equally at home in English,
Indian, Spanish, and Portuguese, which is not to be wondered at, seeing
that I have been forced to talk in all four languages for nigh a quarter
of a century."

"Then you must have been but a boy when you came here," returned the
Englishman, "for you seem to be not yet middle-aged."

"Right, I was indeed a mere boy when I came to this land."

"And I was a boy of seven when I left it to be educated in Europe,"
returned the Englishman.  "It is sixteen years since then, and I had
feared that my memory might have failed to recognise the old landmarks,
but I am rejoiced to find that I remember every turn of the road as if I
had left home but yesterday."

We have said that the tall youth's face was not handsome, but the glow
of animation which rested on it when he spoke of home, seemed for a
moment to transform it.

"Your home, then, cannot be far distant?" remarked the Peruvian, with a
peculiar look that might have attracted the attention of the younger man
if his gaze had not at the moment been directed to the Indian girl, who,
during the foregoing conversation, had remained motionless on her mule
with her eyes looking pensively at the ground, like a beautiful statue
in bronze.

"My home is close at hand," said the Englishman, when the question had
been repeated; "unless memory plays me false, two more turns in the road
will reveal it."

The earnest look of the Peruvian deepened as he asked if the Estate of
Passamanka was his home.

"Yes, you know it, then?" exclaimed the youth eagerly; "and perhaps you
knew my father too?"

"Yes, indeed; there are few people within a hundred miles of the place
who did not know the famous sugar-mill and its hospitable owner, Senhor
Armstrong.  But excuse me," added the Peruvian, with some hesitation,
"you are aware, I suppose, that your father is dead?"

"Ay, well do I know that," returned the other in a deeper tone.  "It is
to take my father's place at the mills that I have been hastily summoned
from England.  Alas!  I know nothing of the work, and it will be sorely
against the grain to attempt the carrying on of the old business in the
desolate old home."

"Of course you also know," continued the Peruvian, "that the country is
disturbed just now--that the old smouldering enmity between Chili and
Peru has broken forth again in open war."

"I could not have passed through the low country without finding that
out.  Indeed," said the youth, glancing at his belt with a
half-apologetic smile, "these weapons, which are so unfamiliar to my
hand, and so distasteful to my spirit, are proof that I, at least, do
not look for a time of peace.  I accoutred myself thus on landing, at
the urgent advice of a friend, though my good cudgel--which has sufficed
for all my needs hitherto--is more to my mind, besides being useful as a
mountain staff.  But why do you ask?  Is there much probability of the
belligerents coming so far among the hills?"

"Wherever carrion is to be found, there you may be sure the vultures
will congregate.  There is booty to be got here among the hills; and
whether the soldiers belong to the well-trained battalions of Chili, or
the wretched levies of Peru, they are always prepared, for plunder--
ready to make hay while the sun shines.  I only hope, Senhor Armstrong,
that--but come, let us advance and see before the sun sets."

Turning abruptly as he spoke, the man mounted his mule and rode briskly
up the winding road, followed by the Indian girl and our Englishman.

At the second turning of the road they reached a spot where an opening
in the hills revealed the level country below, stretching away into
illimitable distance.

As had been anticipated, they here came upon the mills they were in
quest of.  The Peruvian reined up abruptly and looked back.

"I feared as much," he said in a low tone as the Englishman rode
forward.

Rendered anxious by the man's manner, Lawrence Armstrong sprang from his
mule and pushed forward, but suddenly stopped and stood with clasped
hands and a gaze of agony.

For there stood the ruins of his early home--where his mother had died
while he was yet a child, where his father had made a fortune, which, in
his desolation, he had failed to enjoy, and where he finally died,
leaving his possessions to his only child.

The troops had visited the spot, fired no doubt with patriotic fervour
and knowing its owner to be wealthy.  They had sacked the place, feasted
on the provisions, drunk the wines, smashed up, by way of pleasantry,
all the valuables that were too heavy to carry away, and, finally,
setting fire to the place, had marched off to other fields of "glory."

It was a tremendous blow to poor Lawrence, coming as he did fresh from
college in a peaceful land, and full of the reminiscences of childhood.

Sitting down on a broken wall, he bowed his head and wept bitterly--
though silently--while the Peruvian, quietly retiring with the Indian
girl, left him alone.

The first paroxysm of grief over, young Armstrong rose, and began sadly
to wander about the ruins.  It had been an extensive structure, fitted
with all the most approved appliances of mechanism which wealth could
purchase.  These now helped to enhance the wild aspect of the wreck, for
iron girders had been twisted by the action of fire into snake-like
convolutions in some places, while, in others, their ends stuck out
fantastically from the blackened walls.  Beautiful furniture had been
smashed up to furnish firewood for the cooking of the meal with which
the heroic troops had refreshed themselves before leaving, while a
number of broken wine-bottles at the side of a rosewood writing-desk
with an empty bottle on the top of it and heaps of stones and pebbles
around, suggested the idea that the warriors had mingled light amusement
with sterner business.  The roofs of most of the buildings had fallen
in; the window-frames, where spared by the fire, had been torn out; and
a pianoforte, which lay on its back on the grass, showed evidence of
having undergone an examination of its internal arrangements, with the
aid of the butt-ends of muskets.

"And this is the result of war!" muttered the young man, at last
breaking silence.

"Only one phase of it," replied a voice at his side, in tones of
exceeding bitterness; "you must imagine a few corpses of slaughtered men
and women and children, if you would have a perfect picture of war."

The speaker was the Peruvian, who had quietly approached to say that if
they wished to reach the next resting-place before dark it was necessary
to proceed without delay.

"But perhaps," he added, "you do not intend to go further.  No doubt
this was to have been the end of your journey had all been well.  It can
scarcely, I fear, be the end of it now.  I do not wish to intrude upon
your sorrows, Mr Armstrong, but my business will not admit of delay.  I
must push on, yet I would not do so without expressing my profound
sympathy, and offering to aid you if it lies in my power."

There was a tone and look about the man which awoke a feeling of
gratitude and confidence in the forlorn youth's heart.

"You are very kind," he said, "but it is not in the power of man to help
me.  As your business is urgent you had better go and leave me.  I thank
you for the sympathy you express--yet stay.  You cannot advance much
further to-night, why not encamp here?  There used to be a small hut or
out-house not far-off, in which my father spent much of his leisure.
Perhaps the--the--"

"Patriots!" suggested the Peruvian.

"The scoundrels," said Lawrence, "may have spared or overlooked it.  The
hut would furnish shelter enough, and we have provisions with us."

After a moment's reflection the Peruvian assented to this proposal, and,
leaving the ruins together, they returned to the road, where they found
the Indian girl holding the youth's mule as well as that of her
companion.

Hastening forward, Lawrence apologised for having in the agitation of
the moment allowed his mule to run loose.

"But I forgot," he added, "of course you do not understand English."

"Try Spanish," suggested the Peruvian, "she knows a little of that."

"Unfortunately I have forgotten the little that I had picked up here
when a boy," returned Lawrence, as he mounted, "if I can manage to ask
for food and lodging in that tongue, it is all that I can do."

They soon reached an opening in the bushes at the roadside, and, at the
further end of a natural glade or track, observed a small wooden hut
thatched with rushes.  Towards this young Armstrong led the way.

He was evidently much affected, for his lips were compressed, and he
gave no heed to a remark made by his companion.  Entering the hut, he
stood for some time looking silently round.

It was but a poor place with bare walls; a carpenter's bench in one
corner, near to it a smith's forge, one or two chairs, and a few
tools;--not much to interest a stranger but to Lawrence full of tender
associations.

"It was here," he said in tones of deepest pathos, "that my father
showed me how to handle tools, and my mother taught me to read from the
Word of God."

Looking at his companions he observed that the large dark eyes of the
Indian girl were fixed on him with an expression of unmistakable
sympathy.  He felt grateful at the moment, for to most men sympathy is
sweet when unobtrusively offered whether it come from rich or poor--
civilised or savage.

"Come, this will do," said the Peruvian, looking round, "if you will
kindle a fire on the forge, Senhor Armstrong, Manuela will arrange a
sleeping chamber for herself in the closet I see there, while I look
after the beasts."

He spoke in cheering tones, which had the effect of rousing the poor
youth somewhat from his despondency.

"Well, then," he replied, "let us to work, and it is but just, as we are
to sup together, and you know my name, that I should be put on an equal
footing with yourself--"

"Impossible!" interrupted the other, with a slight curl of his
moustache, "for as I am only six feet one, and you are at least six feet
four, we can never be on an equal footing."

"Nay, but I referred to names, not to inches.  Pray, by what name shall
I call you?"

"Pedro," returned the Spaniard.  "I am known by several names in these
parts--some of them complimentary, others the reverse, according as I am
referred to by friends or foes.  Men often speak of me as a confirmed
rover because of my wandering tendencies, but I'm not particular and
will answer to any name you choose, so long as it is politely uttered.
The one I prefer is Pedro."

He went out as he spoke to look after the mules, while Lawrence set
about kindling a small fire and otherwise making preparations for
supper.

The Indian girl, Manuela, with that prompt and humble obedience
characteristic of the race to which she belonged, had gone at once into
the little closet which her companion had pointed out, and was by that
time busily arranging it as a sleeping chamber for the night.



CHAPTER TWO.

COMPACT WITH THE NEW FRIEND AND DISCOVERY OF AN OLD ONE.

Keeping the fire low in order to prevent its being seen by any of the
wandering bands of patriots--_alias_ soldiers, _alias_ banditti--who
might chance to be in the neighbourhood, the three travellers thus
thrown unexpectedly together ate their supper in comparative silence,
Lawrence and Pedro exchanging a comment on the viands now and then, and
the handsome Indian girl sitting opposite to them with her eyes for the
most part fixed on the ground, though now and then she raised them to
take a quick stealthy glance at the huge youth whose appetite did not
seem to be greatly affected by his misfortunes.  Perhaps she was
wondering whether all Englishmen, possessed such innocent kindly faces
and such ungainly though powerful frames.  It may be that she was
contrasting him with the handsome well-knit Pedro at his side.

Whatever her thoughts might have been, the short glances of her lustrous
eyes gave no clue to them, and her tongue was silent, save when she
replied by some brief monosyllable to a remark or query put in the
Indian language occasionally by Pedro.  Sometimes a gleam of the
firelight threw her fine brown features into bold relief, but on these
occasions, when Lawrence Armstrong chanced to observe them, they
conveyed no expression whatever save that of profound gravity, with a
touch, perhaps, of sadness.

The bench being awkwardly situated for a table, they had arranged a
small box, bottom up, instead.  Lawrence and his new acquaintance seated
themselves on the ground, and Manuela used her saddle as a chair.

Towards the end of their meal the two men became more communicative, and
when Pedro had lighted a cigarette, they began to talk of their
immediate future.

"You don't smoke?" remarked Pedro in passing.

"No," replied Lawrence.

"Not like the most of your countrymen," said the other.

"So much the worse," rejoined the youth.

"The worse for them or for you--which?" asked Pedro, with a significant
glance.

"No matter," returned Lawrence with a laugh.

"Well, now," resumed Pedro, after a few puffs, during the emission of
which his countenance assumed the expression of seriousness, which
seemed most natural to it, "what do you intend to do?  It is well to
have that point fairly settled to-night, so that there may be no
uncertainty or delay in the morning.  I would not urge the question were
it not that in the morning we must either go on together as travelling
companions, or say our final adieux and part.  I am not in the habit of
prying into men's private affairs, but, to speak the bare truth, I am
naturally interested in one whose father has on more than one occasion
done me good service.  You need not answer me unless you please,
senhor," added the man with the air of one who is prepared to retire
upon his dignity at a moment's notice.

"Thanks, thanks, Pedro," said the Englishman, heartily, "I appreciate
your kindness, and accept your sympathy with gratitude.  Moreover, I am
glad to find that I have been thrown at such a crisis in my fortunes
into the company of one who had regard for my dear father.  But I scarce
know what to do.  I will give you my confidence unreservedly.  Perhaps
you may be able to advise--"

"Stay," interrupted the other, on whose countenance a slightly stern
expression hovered.  "Before you give me unreserved confidence, it is
but fair that I should tell you candidly that I cannot pay you back in
kind.  As to private matters, I have none that would be likely to
interest any one under the sun.  In regard to other things--my business
is not my own.  Why I am here and what I mean to do I have no right to
reveal.  Whither I am bound, however, is not necessarily a secret, and
if you choose to travel with me you undoubtedly have a right to know."

Young Armstrong expressed himself satisfied.  He might have wished to
know more, but, like Pedro, he had no desire to pry into other men's
affairs, and, being of an open confiding nature, was quite ready to take
his companion on trust, even though he had been less candid and engaging
in manner than he was.  After explaining that he had been educated in
Edinburgh, and trained to the medical profession, he went on to say that
he had been hastily summoned to take charge of the sugar-mill at his
father's death, and that he had expected to find an old overseer, who
would have instructed him in all that he had to do in a business with
which he was totally unacquainted.

"You see," he continued, "my father always said that he meant to retire
on his fortune, and did not wish me to carry on the business, but, being
naturally an uncommunicative man on business matters, he never gave me
any information as to details.  Of course, I had expected that his
manager here, and his books, would reveal all that I required to know,
but the soldiers have settled that question.  Mill and books have gone
together, and as to manager, clerks, and servants, I know not where they
are."

"Scattered, no doubt," said Pedro, "here, there, and everywhere--only
too glad to escape from a neighbourhood which has been given up to fire
and sword by way of improving its political condition!"

"I know not," returned Lawrence, sadly.  "But it would be useless, I
fear, to try to ferret them out."

"Quite useless," said Pedro.  "Besides, what would it avail to talk with
any of them about the affairs of a place that is now in ashes?  But if
your father spoke of his fortune, he must have had at least some of it
in a bank somewhere."

"True, but I don't know where.  All I know is that he once mentioned
casually in one of his letters that he was going to Buenos Ayres, where
he had some property."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Pedro.  "Come, that may help you to decide, for I am
myself going to Buenos Ayres, and can guide you there if disposed to go.
Only, you will have to make up your mind to a pretty long and hard
journey, for duty requires me to go by a devious route.  You must know,"
he continued, lighting another cigarette, "that I am pledged to take
that girl to her father, who lives not far from Buenos Ayres."

He pointed as he spoke to Manuela, who, having laid her head on her
saddle, appeared to have fallen asleep.

"Her father must be a chief, I should think, to judge from her
dignified, graceful carriage, as well as her fine features," said
Lawrence in a low tone.

"Yes, he is a chief--a great chief," returned Pedro, gazing at his
cigarette in a meditative mood--"a very great chief.  You see, she
happened to be living with friends on the western side of the mountains
when this war between Chili and Peru broke out, and her father naturally
wants to get her out of danger.  The old chief once saved my life, so,
you see, I am bound both by duty and gratitude to rescue his daughter."

"Indeed you are, and a pleasant duty it must be," returned Lawrence with
an approving nod; "but don't you think it might have been wise to have
rescued some other female, a domestic for instance, to keep her company?
The poor girl will feel very lonely on such a long journey as you speak
of."

Pedro again looked musingly at his cigarette, and flipped off the ash
with his little finger.

"You have not had much experience of war, young man," he said, "if you
think that in cases of rescue men can always arrange things comfortably,
and according to the rules of propriety.  When towns and villages are in
flames, when plunder and rapine run riot everywhere, and little children
are spitted on the bayonets of patriots, as is often the case even in
what men have agreed to term civilised warfare, one is glad to escape
with the skin of one's teeth.  Yet I was not as regardless of Manuela's
comfort as you seem to think.  A poor woman who had nursed her when a
child volunteered to accompany us, and continued with us on the first
part of our journey; but the exertion, as I had feared, was too much for
her.  She caught a fever and died, so that we were forced to come on
alone.  If you join us, however, I shall be greatly pleased, for two can
always make a better fight than one, and in these unsettled times there
is no saying what we may fall in with in crossing the mountains."

"But why expose the poor girl to such risks?" asked Lawrence.  "Surely
there must be some place of safety nearer than Buenos Ayres, to which
you might conduct her?"

"Senhor Armstrong," replied the man, with a return of his stern
expression, "I have told you that my business is urgent.  Not even the
rescue of my old friend's daughter can turn me aside from it.  When
Manuela begged me to take her with me, I pointed out the difficulties
and dangers of the route, and the necessity for my pursuing a long and
devious course, but she said she feared to remain where she was; that,
being young, strong, and accustomed to an active life, she felt sure she
was equal to the journey; that she could trust me, and that she knew her
father would approve of her taking the step.  I agreed, with some
hesitation.  It turned out that the girl was right in her fears, for
before we left the town it was attacked by the troops of Chili.  The
Peruvians made but a poor resistance, and it was carried by assault.
When I saw that all hope of saving the place was gone, I managed to
bring Manuela and her nurse away in safety.  As I have told you, the
nurse died, and now--here we are alone.  Manuela chooses to run the
risk.  I will not turn aside from my duty.  If you choose to join us,
the girl will be safer--at least until we cross the mountains.  On the
other side I shall be joined by friends, if need be."

Pedro ceased, and rekindled his cigarette, which had gone out during the
explanation.

"I will go with you," said Lawrence, with decision, as he extended his
hand.

"Good," replied Pedro, grasping it with a hearty squeeze; "now I shall
have no fears for our little Indian, for robbers are cowards as a rule."

"Have we, then, much chance of meeting with robbers?"

"Well, I should say we have little chance of altogether escaping them,
for in times of war there are always plenty of deserters and other
white-livered scoundrels who seize the opportunity to work their will.
Besides, there are some noted outlaws in the neighbourhood of the pass
we are going to cross.  There's Conrad of the Mountains, for instance.
You've heard of him?"

"No, never."

"Ah, senhor, that proves you to be a stranger here, for his name is
known from the Atlantic to the Pacific--chiefly, however, on the east
side of the Cordillera, and on the Pampas.  He is an outlaw--at least he
is said to be so; but one cannot believe all one hears.  Some say that
he is cruel, others that he is ferocious among men, but never hurts
women or children."

"Well, it is to be hoped we may not fall in with him, or any of his
band," said Lawrence; "for it is better to hear of his qualities than to
put them to the test."

"Yet, methinks," resumed Pedro, "if you fell in with him alone you
should have no cause to fear him, for you must be more than his match."

"I don't think I should fear him," returned Lawrence, with a simple
look.  "As to being more than his match, I know not, for my spirit does
not prompt me to light, and I cannot boast of much capacity in the use
of arms--unless you count my good oak-cudgel a weapon.  I have acquired
some facility in the use of that, having practised singlestick as an
amusement at school."

As he spoke, the youth was surprised and somewhat startled by his
companion suddenly drawing a pistol from his belt, and pointing it
steadily at the open doorway of the hut.  Turning his eyes quickly in
that direction, he beheld, with increased astonishment, a pair of
glaring eyes, two rows of glittering teeth, and a pair of thick red
lips!  The flesh which united these striking objects was all but
invisible, by reason of its being nearly as black as its background.

Most eyes, if human, would have got away from a pistol's line of fire
with precipitancy, but the eyes referred to did not disappear.  On the
contrary, they paid no regard whatever to the owner of the pistol, but
continued to glare steadily at Lawrence Armstrong.  Seeing this, Pedro
hesitated to pull the trigger.  He was quick to defend himself, but not
prompt to kill.  When he saw that the eyes slowly advanced out of the
gloom, that they with the lips and teeth belonged to a negro who
advanced into the room unarmed and with outspread hands, he quietly
lowered his weapon, and glanced at Lawrence.  No doubt Pedro felt, as he
certainly looked, perplexed, when he observed that Lawrence returned the
intruder's gaze with almost equal intensity.

Suddenly the negro sprang towards the Englishman.  He was a short,
thick-set, and exceedingly powerful man; yet Lawrence made no move to
defend himself.

"Quashy!" he exclaimed, as the black fell on his knees, seized one of
his hands, and covered it with kisses, at the same time bursting into
tears.

"Oh! massa Lawrie--oh! massa Lawrie, why you no come sooner?  Why you so
long?  De sodger brutes nebber dar to touch de ole house if you was
dere.  Oh!  Massa Lawrie, you's too late--too late!--My! how you's
growed!"

In the midst of his sobs the young negro, for he was little more than a
youth, drew back his head to obtain a better view of his old companion
and playmate.

Need we say that Lawrence reciprocated the affection of the man?

"He was a boy like myself when I was here," said Lawrence in explanation
to the amused Peruvian.  "His father was one of my father's most
attached servants, whom he brought from Kentucky on his way to this
land, and to whom he gave his freedom.  Quashy himself used to be my
playmate.--But tell me about the attack on the mill, Quash.  Were you
present?"

"Prisint!  You bery sure I was, an' I poke some holes in de varmints
'fore dey hoed away."

"And how did you escape, Quash?  Come, sit down and tell me all about
it."

The negro willingly complied.  Meanwhile the Indian girl, who had been
roused by his sudden entrance, resumed her seat on the saddle, and,
looking intently into his black face, seemed to try to gather from the
expression of his features something of what he said.

We need not repeat the story.  It was a detailed account of murder and
destruction; the burning of the place and the scattering of the old
servants.  Fortunately Lawrence had no relatives to deplore.

"But don't you know where any of the household have gone?" he asked,
when the excited negro paused to recover breath.

"Don't know nuffin'.  Arter I poke de holes in de scoundrils, I was
'bleeged to bolt.  When I come back, de ole house was in flames, an'
eberybody gone--what wasn't dead.  I hollered--ay, till I was a'most
busted--but nobody reply.  Den I bury de dead ones, an' I've hoed about
eber since slobberin' an' wringin' my hands."

"Was our old clerk among the slain?" asked Lawrence.

"No, massa, but I tinks he's a dead one now, for he too ole to run far."

"And I suppose you can't even guess where any of those who escaped went
to?"

"Couldn't guess more nor a Red Injin's noo-born babby."

"Quashy," said Lawrence in a low voice, "be careful how you speak of
Indians."

He glanced, as he spoke, at Manuela, who now sat with grave face and
downcast eyes, having apparently found that the human countenance,
however expressive, failed to make up for the want of language.

And, truly, Quashy's countenance was unwontedly mobile and expressive.
Every feature seemed to possess the power of independently betraying the
thoughts and feelings of the man, so that when they all united for that
end the effect was marvellous.  Emotional, and full of quick sympathy,
Quashy's visage changed from grave to gay, pitiful to fierce, humorous
to savage, at a moment's notice.  When, therefore, he received the
gentle rebuke above referred to, his animated countenance assumed a
sudden aspect of utter woe and self-condemnation that may be conceived
but cannot be described, and when Lawrence gave vent to a short laugh at
the unexpected change, Quashy's eyes glistened with an arch look, and
his mouth expanded from ear to ear.

And what an expansion that was, to be sure! when you take into account
the display of white teeth and red gums by which it was accompanied.

"Well, now, Quash," resumed Lawrence, "what did you do after that?"

"Arter what, massa?"

"After finding that slobbering and wringing your hands did no good."

"Oh! arter dat, I not know what to do, an' den I tried to die--I _was_
so mis'rable.  But I couldn't.  You've no notion how hard it is to die
when you wants to.  Anyhow I couldn't manage it, so I gib up tryin'."

At this point Manuela rose, and, bidding Pedro good-night in the Indian
tongue, passed into her little chamber and shut the door.

"And what do you intend to do now, Quash?" asked Lawrence.

"Stick to you, massa, troo t'ick an' t'in," returned the negro with
emphatic promptitude, which caused even Pedro to laugh.

"My poor fellow, that is impossible," said Lawrence, who then explained
his position and circumstances, showing how it was that he had little
money and no immediate prospect of obtaining any,--that, in short, he
was about to start out in the wide world friendless and almost penniless
to seek his fortune.  To all of which the negro listened with a face so
utterly devoid of expression of any kind that his old master and
playmate could not tell how he took it.

"And now," he asked in conclusion, "what say you to all that?"

"Stick to you troo t'ick and t'in," repeated Quashy, in a tone of what
might be styled sulky firmness.

"But," said Lawrence, "I can't pay you any wages."

"Don' want no wages," said Quashy.

"Besides," resumed Lawrence, "even if I were willing to take you, Senhor
Pedro might object."

"I no care for Senhor Pedro one brass buttin," retorted the negro.

The Peruvian smiled rather approvingly at this candid expression of
opinion.

"Where you gwine?" asked Quashy, abruptly.

"To Buenos Ayres."

"I's gwine to Bens Airies too.  I's a free nigger, an' no mortial man
kin stop me."

As Quashy remained obdurate, and, upon consultation, Lawrence and Pedro
came to the conclusion that such a sturdy, resolute fellow might be
rather useful in the circumstances, it was finally arranged, to the poor
fellow's inexpressible delight, that he should accompany them in their
long journey to the far east.



CHAPTER THREE.

LINGUAL DIFFICULTIES ACCOMPANIED BY PHYSICAL DANGERS AND FOLLOWED BY THE
ADVENT OF BANDITTI.

After several days had passed away, our travellers found themselves
among the higher passes of the great mountain range of the Andes.

Before reaching that region, however, they had, in one of the villages
through which they passed, supplied themselves each with a fresh stout
mule, besides two serviceable animals to carry their provisions and camp
equipage.

Pedro, who of course rode ahead in the capacity of guide, seemed to
possess an unlimited supply of cash, and Lawrence Armstrong had at least
sufficient to enable him to bear his fair share of the expenses of the
journey.  As for Quashy, being a servant he had no expenses to bear.

Of course the finest, as well as the best-looking, mule had been given
to the pretty Manuela, and, despite the masculine attitude of her
position, she sat and managed her steed with a grace of motion that
might have rendered many a white dame envious.  Although filled with
admiration, Lawrence was by no means surprised, for he knew well that in
the Pampas, or plains, to which region her father belonged, the Indians
are celebrated for their splendid horsemanship.  Indeed, their little
children almost live on horseback, commencing their training long before
they can mount, and overcoming the difficulty of smallness in early
youth, by climbing to the backs of their steeds by means of a fore-leg,
and not unfrequently by the tail.

The costume of the girl was well suited to her present mode of life,
being a sort of light tunic reaching a little below the knees, with
loose leggings, which were richly ornamented with needlework.  A straw
hat with a simple feather, covered her head, beneath which her curling
black hair flowed in unconfined luxuriance.  She wore no ornament of any
kind, and the slight shoes that covered her small feet were perfectly
plain.  In short, there was a modest simplicity about the girl's whole
aspect and demeanour which greatly interested the Englishman, inducing
him to murmur to himself, "What an uncommonly pretty girl she would be
if she were only white!"

The colour of her skin was, indeed, unusually dark, but that fact did
not interfere with the classic delicacy of her features, or the natural
sweetness of her expression.

The order of progress in narrow places was such that Manuela rode behind
Pedro and in front of Lawrence, Quashy bringing up the rear.  In more
open places the young Englishman used occasionally to ride up abreast of
Manuela and endeavour to engage her in conversation.  He was, to say
truth, very much the reverse of what is styled a lady's man, and had all
his life felt rather shy and awkward in female society, but being a
sociable, kindly fellow, he felt it incumbent on him to do what in him
lay to lighten the tedium of the long journey to one who, he thought,
must naturally feel very lonely with no companions but men.  "Besides,"
he whispered to himself, "she is only an Indian, and of course cannot
construe my attentions to mean anything so ridiculous as love-making--
so, I will speak to her in a fatherly sort of way."

Filled with this idea, as the party came out upon a wide and beautiful
table-land, which seemed like a giant emerald set in a circlet of grand
blue mountains, Lawrence pushed up alongside, and said--

"Poor girl, I fear that such prolonged riding over these rugged passes
must fatigue you."  Manuela raised her dark eyes to the youth's face,
and, with a smile that was very slight--though not so slight but that it
revealed a double row of bright little teeth--she replied softly--

"W'at you say?"

"Oh!  I forgot, you don't speak English.  How stupid I am!" said
Lawrence with a blush, for he was too young to act the "fatherly" part
well.

He felt exceedingly awkward, but, observing that the girl's eyes were
again fixed pensively on the ground, he hoped that she had not noticed
the blush, and attempted to repeat the phrase in Spanish.  What he said
it is not possible to set down in that tongue, nor can we gratify the
reader with a translation.  Whatever it was, Manuela replied by again
raising her dark eyes for a moment--this time without a smile--and
shaking her head.

Poor Lawrence felt more awkward than ever.  In despair he half thought
of making trial of Latin or Greek, when Pedro came opportunely to the
rescue.  Looking back he began--

"Senhor Armstrong--"

"I think," interrupted the youth, "that you may dispense with `Senhor.'"

"Nay, I like to use it," returned the guide.  "It reminds me so forcibly
of the time when I addressed your good old father thus."

"Well, Senhor Pedro, call me what you please.  What were you about to
say?"

"Only that we are now approaching one of the dangerous passes of the
mountains, where baggage-mules sometimes touch the cliffs with their
packs, and so get tilted over the precipices.  But our mules are quiet,
and with ordinary care we have nothing to fear."

The gorge in the mountains, which the travellers soon afterwards
entered, fully justified the guide's expression "dangerous."  It was a
wild, rugged glen, high up on one side of which the narrow pathway
wound--in some places rounding a cliff or projecting boulder, which
rendered the passage of the baggage-mules extremely difficult.  Indeed,
one of the mules did slightly graze a rock with its burden; and,
although naturally sure-footed, was so far thrown off its balance as to
be within a hair's-breadth of tumbling over the edge and being dashed to
pieces on the rocks below, where a turbulent river rushed tumultuously
at the bottom of the glen.

One of the snow-clad peaks of the higher Andes lay right before them.
One or two guanacos--animals of the lama species--gazed at them from the
other side of the gorge, and several ill-omened vultures wheeled in the
sky above, as if anticipating a catastrophe which would furnish them
with a glorious meal.

"A most suitable place for the depredations of banditti, or fellows like
Conrad of the Mountains, I should think," said Lawrence.

"Bandits are sometimes met with here," returned Pedro, quietly.

"And what if we should meet with such in a place where there is scarcely
room to fight?"

"Why then," returned the guide, with a slight curl of his moustache, "we
should have to try who could fight best in the smallest space."

"Not a pleasant prospect in the circumstances," said Lawrence, thinking
of Manuela.

For some time they rode together in silence; but Quashy, who had
overheard, the conversation, and was of a remarkably combative
disposition, though the reverse of bad-tempered or quarrelsome, could
not refrain from asking--

"W'y de Guv'mint not hab lots ob sojers an' pleece in de mountains to
squash de raskils?"

"Because Government has enough to do to squash the rascals nearer home,
Quashy," answered Pedro.  "Have a care, the track gets rather steep
here."

He glanced over his shoulder at the Indian girl as he spoke.  She was
riding behind with an air of perfect ease and self-possession.

"Fall to the rear, Quashy," said Pedro.

The black obeyed at once, and a minute later they turned the corner of a
jutting rock, which had hitherto shut out from view the lower part of
the gorge and the track they were following.

The sight that met their view was calculated to try the strongest
nerves, for there, not a hundred paces in advance, and coming towards
them, were ten of the most villainous-looking cut-throats that could be
imagined, all mounted, and heavily armed with carbine, sword, and
pistol.

Taken completely by surprise, the bandits--for such Pedro knew them to
be--pulled up.  Not so our guide.  It was one of the peculiarities and
strong points of Pedro's character that he was never taken by surprise,
or uncertain what to do.

Instantly he drew his sword with one hand, a pistol with the other, and,
driving his spurs deep into his mule, dashed down the steep road at the
banditti.  In the very act he looked back, and, in a voice that caused
the echoes of the gorge to ring, shouted in Spanish--

"Come on, comrades! here they are at last! close up!"

A yell of the most fiendish excitement and surprise from Quashy--who was
only just coming into view--assisted the deception.  If anything was
wanting to complete the effect, it was the galvanic upheaval of
Lawrence's long arms and the tremendous flourish of his longer legs, as
he vaulted over his mule's head, left it scornfully behind, uttered a
roar worthy of an African lion, and rushed forward on foot.  He grasped
his great cudgel, for sword and pistol had been utterly forgotten!

Like a human avalanche they descended on the foe.  That foe did not
await the onset.  Panic-stricken they turned and went helter-skelter
down the pass--all except two, who seemed made of sterner stuff than
their fellows, and hesitated.

One of these Pedro rode fairly down, and sent, horse and all, over the
precipice.  Lawrence's cudgel beat down the guard of the other,
flattened his sombrero, and stopping only at his skull, stretched him on
the ground.  As for those who had fled, the appalling yells of Quashy,
as he pursued them, scattered to the winds any fag-ends of courage they
might have possessed, and effectually prevented their return.  So
tremendous and sudden was the result, that Manuela felt more inclined to
laugh than cry, though naturally a good deal frightened.

Lawrence and Pedro were standing in consultation over the fallen bandit
when the negro came back panting from the chase.

"Da's wan good job dooed, anyhow," he said.  "What's you be do wid
_him_?"

"What would you recommend?" asked Pedro.

The negro pointed significantly to the precipice, but the guide shook
his head.

"No, I cannot kill in cold blood, though I have no doubt he richly
deserves it.  We'll bind his hands and leave him.  It may be weakness on
my part, but we can't take him on, you know."

While Pedro was in the act of binding the robber, a wild shriek, as of
some one in terrible agony, startled them.  Looking cautiously over the
precipice, where the sound seemed to come from, they saw that the man
whom Pedro had ridden down was hanging over the abyss by the boughs of a
small shrub.  His steed lay mangled on the rocks of the river bank at
the bottom.  There was an agonised expression in the man's countenance
which would have touched a heart much less soft than that of Lawrence
Armstrong.  Evidently the man's power of holding on was nearly
exhausted, and he could not repress a shriek at the prospect of the
terrible death which seemed so imminent.

Being a practised mountaineer, Lawrence at once, without thought of
personal danger, and moved only by pity, slipped over the crags, and,
descending on one or two slight projections, the stability of which even
a Swiss goat might have questioned, reached the bush.  A look of fierce
and deadly hate was on the robber's face, for, judging of others by
himself, he thought, no doubt, that his enemy meant to hasten his
destruction.

"Here, catch hold--I'll save you!" cried Lawrence, extending his strong
right hand.

A glance of surprise told that he was understood.  The bandit let go the
hold of one of his hands and made a convulsive grasp at his rescuer.
Their fingers touched, but at the same moment the branch gave way, and,
with a cry of wild despair, the wretched man went headlong down.

Not, however, to destruction.  The effort he had made threw him slightly
to one side of the line which his horse had taken in its fall.  The
difference was very slight indeed, yet it sufficed to send him towards
another bush lower down the cliff.  Still, the height he had to fall
would have ensured the breaking of all his bones if the bush had not
hurled him off with a violent rebound.

Lawrence almost felt giddy with horror.  Next moment a heavy plunge was
heard.  The man had fallen into a deep dark pool in the river, which was
scarce distinguishable from the cliffs above.  Being fringed with
bushes, it was impossible to note whether he rose again.  Lawrence was
still gazing anxiously at the pool, when something touched his cheek.
It was a lasso which Pedro had quietly dropped over his shoulders.

"Hold fast to it, senhor, you'll never get up without it," he said, in
tones so earnest that the youth became suddenly alive to the great
danger of his position.  In the haste and anxiety of his descent he had
failed to note that one or two of the slight projections on which he had
placed his feet had broken away, and that therefore a return to the top
of the almost perpendicular precipice by the same route was
impracticable.  Even the slight ledge on which he stood, and from which
the little shrub grew, seemed to be crumbling away beneath his great
weight.  With that feeling of alarm which the sudden and unexpected
prospect of instant death brings, we presume, even to the stoutest
hearts, Lawrence clutched the line convulsively.  He was ignorant at
that time of the great strength of the South American lasso, and
hesitated to trust his life entirely to it.  Pedro guessed his feelings.

"Don't fear to trust it," he said, "many a wild bull it has held, four
times your size; but wait till Quashy and I get our feet well fixed--
we'll haul you up easily."

"Have you made the end fast?" cried Lawrence, looking up and
encountering the anxious gaze of the Indian maiden.

"Yes, massa, all fast," answered Quashy, whose look of horror can be
more easily imagined than described.

"Hold on, then, and _don't_ haul."

The two men obeyed, and the active youth pulled himself up hand over
hand, making good use in passing of any hollow or projection that
afforded the slightest hold for his toes.  At the top he was roughly
grasped by his rescuers and dragged into safety.

"Poor fellow!" he exclaimed, on reaching the top.

"Well, massa," said Quashy, with a broad grin, "das jist w'at I's agwine
to say, but you's too quick for me."

"I meant the bandit, not myself," said Lawrence, looking over the cliff
at the pool with an expression of great pity.

"Ha! don't be uneasy about him," said Pedro, with a short laugh, as he
resumed the binding of the stunned robber.  "If he's killed or drowned
he's well out o' the way.  If he has escaped he'll be sure to recover
and make himself a pest to the neighbourhood for many a day to come.--
No, no, my good man, it's of no use, you needn't try it."

The latter part of this speech was in Spanish, and addressed to the
robber, who, having recovered consciousness, had made a sudden struggle
to shake off his captor.  As suddenly he ceased the effort on finding
that the strength of the guide was greatly superior to his own.

In another minute Pedro stood up, having bound the bandit's hands in
front of him in a manner that rendered any effort at self-liberation
impossible--at least in a short space of time.

"There," said Pedro to Lawrence, "I'll warrant him to lead a harmless
life until to-morrow at any rate."

As he spoke he drew the man's pistols, knife, and carbine, and handed
them to Quashy.

"There," he said, "you may find these useful."

Meanwhile the robber lay quietly on his back, glancing from one to
another of the party with looks of hatred that told clearly enough how
he would have acted had he been free.

Turning to him as he was about to remount and quit the scene, Pedro said
very sternly in Spanish--

"You and I have met before, friend, and you know my powers with the
rifle at long-range.  If you offer to rise from the spot where you now
lie until we have disappeared round that rocky point half a mile along
the road, you are a dead man.  After we have turned the point, you may
go where you will and do what you please.  I might point out that in
refraining from cutting your throat I am showing mercy which you don't
deserve--but it is useless to throw pearls to swine."

The man spoke no word of reply, though he did look a little surprised as
the party left him and rode away.

"Would it not have been safer to have bound his hands behind his back?"
asked Lawrence.

"No doubt it would, but he is secure enough for our purpose as he is.
If I had bound him as you suggest, he would have been almost certain to
perish, being quite unable to help himself.  As it is, he can use his
tied hands to some extent, and, by perseverance in sawing the lines
against sharp rocks, he will set himself free at last.  By that time,
however, we shall be beyond his reach."

From time to time they all glanced over their shoulders as they rode
along, but the bound man did not stir.  After they had passed beyond the
point of rock before referred to, Lawrence's curiosity prompted him to
turn back and peep round.

The bandit had already risen from the ground, and could be seen walking,
as quickly as circumstances permitted, up the track by which they had
just descended.

In a few minutes his tall figure was seen to pause for a brief space at
the summit of the pass.  Then it disappeared on the other side into the
gloomy recesses of the mountains.



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 a
mountain chain which may be described as the Peruvian Cordillera.
Beyond it lay a fruitful valley of considerable extent, which terminated
at the base of the great range, or backbone, of the Andes.  Beyond this
again lay another valley of greater extent than the first, which was
bounded by a third range or cordillera of inferior height, the eastern
slopes of which descended on one hand in varying undulations to the
dense forests of equatorial Brazil, on the other, by easy gradations to
the level Pampas or plains which extend for hundreds of miles through
the lands of the Argentine Confederation to the Atlantic.

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

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

We have said that the good-nature of the young Englishman induced him to
attempt conversation with the Indian girl, and at first Manuela appeared
to be amused, if not interested, by his unsuccessful efforts; but after
one of these futile attempts Pedro made some remarks to the girl in the
Indian tongue, and in a tone of remonstrance, which had the effect of
rendering her more silent and grave than before.  Lawrence, therefore,
finally ceased to address her, though his natural gallantry prompted him
to offer assistance when it seemed necessary, and to accost her with a
hearty 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 thus
thrown almost entirely on the negro for companionship.  Although the
young Englishman may not have estimated his company very highly, nothing
could have been more satisfactory to Quashy, who, with delight expressed
in every wrinkle and lineament of his black visage, fully availed
himself of his opportunities.

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

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

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

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

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

"I did not know," continued Lawrence, "that there were so many robbers
about.  Pedro tells me that the mountains are swarming with them just
now."

"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' wid
each 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 oder
say de one's say not right.  Bof say das a big lie so at it dey goes
hammer 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 another
explosion 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't
fight; 'cause fightin' can't prove nuffin', an' it can't do nuffin',
'cep' waste life an' money.  No doubt," added the negro, with a
meditative 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 once
already."

"O massa!" said the poor black, with a look of almost superhuman
penitence, "I beg your pard'n.  I's quite forgit to remimber.  I was
just agwine to say that there _is_ times when you _mus'_ fight.  But
isn't Chili Christ'n, an' isn't P'roo Christ'n?  I don' bleeve in
Christ'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 on
bof sides, an' dese dey runs away, takes to de mountains and becomes
rubbers.  But dey's not all bad alike, dough none of em's good.  You's
heer'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 a
good 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 that
self-satisfied clearing of the throat which was usually the prelude to a
long story.

"Come now, Quashy," said Lawrence, with a laugh, "don't be too
long-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, on
de plains ob Proo.  I's in de Proo camp at de time, attendin' on you's
fadder, an' de army ob Chili was in front ob us on de slopes ob de
hills, agwine to go in for a fight wid us.  De sojers of Proo wasn't
bery keen for fightin'.  I could see dat, but their gin'ral screwed 'em
up to de pint, an' dey was all ready, when all of a sudden, we sees a
pris'ner brought in by four sojers.  Dey seem so 'fraid ob him dey
darn't touch him, tho' he was unarmed.  Two walked behind him, an' two
walked in front ob 'im, all wid dere baynets pintin' at 'im, ready to
skewer 'im all round if he was try to run.  But, poor chap, he walk wid
his 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' de
pris'ner had his back to me, so I not seed his face well.  `Das Conrad
ob de Mountains dey've cotched,' says a feller near me.  `Listen!'  We
all 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 splendid
war-hoss--a child ob one ob de war-hosses as come ober wid Pizarro from
Spain.  `My name's Pumpkin,' answers de pris'ner.  `Das a lie!' says de
gin'ral.  `No's not,' says Conrad, lookin' up, as I could see by de back
ob his head.  `What side you b'longs to, raskil?'  `To no side,
gin'ral.'  `Whar you come fro'?'  `Fro' de mountains, gin'r'l.'  `Whar
you go to?'  `Ober de mountains, gin'ral.'  I could see by de way de
fedders in de gin'ral's hat shake dat he's gittin' in a wax at de cool
imprence ob de pris'ner, but he 'strain hisself, an' spoke sarkmustic.
`Senhor Pumpkin,' says he, `you are Conrad ob de Mountains,'--('cause he
guess who he was by dat time); `how you prepose to go ober de
mountains?'  `Dis way!' says Conrad, an', nixt momint, up goes de
gin'ral's leg, down goes his head an' fedders on de ground, and Conrad
sits 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 horse
shotted 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.  When
Conrad came up, he trotted quietly troo de ranks, till he got near to
whar 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 a
hofficer, takes de sword out ob his hand afore he understand what he
wants, den, diggin' de spurs into de big war-hoss, off he goes wid a
yell like a Red Inj--oh!  I's mean like a--a buff'lo bull.  Out comes de
swords.  Dey close all round 'im.  I no see him by dat time.  He too fur
off; but a friend ob mine was near, an' he say dat Conrad swing de long
sword so quick, an' de sun was shinin' so clar, dat it look like a
circle ob fire all round him.  Down dey hoed on ebery side.  Off goed a
head here, an arm dere.  One trooper cut troo at de waist, an' fall'd
off, 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, "you
exaggerate."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So I am, senhor," replied the guide.  "I had clambered up Ben Nevis
while 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 not
render one a native, else might I claim England, Ireland, and
Switzerland as my native lands.  See, yonder lies the little farm where
I hope to put up for the night."

He pointed as he spoke to the head of the glen or valley, which was
somewhat narrower and more gloomy than the vales through which they had
ridden in the earlier part of the day.  Since crossing the first
cordillera on the Pacific side of the Andes they had, indeed, traversed
a great variety of country.  In some places the land was rocky and
comparatively barren.  In others, where the peculiar form of the
mountains sheltered the table-lands, the country was fertile, and
numerous farms dotted the landscape, but as they ascended higher on the
main chain the farms became fewer, until they finally disappeared, and
an occasional hut, with a mere patch of cultivated ground, was all that
remained in the vast solitudes to tell of the presence of man.

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

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

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

"You said, if I heard rightly," observed Lawrence, "that you had
formerly 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 almost
sorry we did not shoot him, but I never could take human life in cold
blood, 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 me
lately?"

"No, Conrad is a very different stamp of man--though he has not too much
to 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 in
war, and has fought in the armies of Chili, Peru, and the Argentine
Confederation without much regard to the cause of quarrel.  In fact,
wherever fighting is going on Cruz is sure to be there.  Lately he has
taken 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 villain
of no note--an inferior bandit, though quite equal to his captain, no
doubt, in selfishness and cruelty."

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

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

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

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

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

"No, senhor, it was far to the west.  The travellers who brought him on
said they found him almost insensible on the banks of a stream into
which 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 and
injured."

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

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

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

The first glance told Lawrence that it was Antonio, the robber whom he
had tried to rescue, but he carefully concealed his knowledge, and,
bending over the man, addressed him as if he were a stranger.  The start
and look of surprise mingled with alarm on the robber's face told that
he had recognised Lawrence, but he also laid restraint on himself, and
drew 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 the
farm seemed to grudge it.

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

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

Lawrence was much disgusted at first by the man's falsehood.  Observing
the poor fellow's extreme weakness, however, and his evident anxiety
lest he should be recognised, the feeling changed to pity.  Laying his
hand gently on the man's shoulder, he said, with a look of solemnity
which perchance made, up to some extent for the baldness of the
phraseology--

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

The startled man looked at his visitor earnestly.  "Am I dying?" he
asked, 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 the
shoulder, which, it may be, did more for the sick man than the best of
physic.  At all events the result was a sudden grasp of the hand and a
look of gratitude which spoke volumes.  The robber was about to give
vent to his feelings in speech when the door opened, and the burly host,
putting his head in, announced that supper was ready.

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



CHAPTER FIVE.

LAWRENCE AND QUASHY BECOME "FLOSUFFICAL," AND THEY CAMP OUT BESIDE THE
"GIANT'S CASTLE."

While the party were at supper the first gusts of a storm, which had for
some time been brewing, shook the little hut, and before they had all
fallen into the profound slumber which usually followed their day's
journey, a heavy gale was howling among the mountain gorges with a noise
like the roaring of a thousand lions.  For two days the gale raged so
furiously that travelling--especially in the higher regions of the
Andes--became impossible.  The Indian girl, Pedro, and the negro, bore
their detention with that stoicism which is not an infrequent
characteristic of mountaineers, guides, and savages.  As for our hero,
he devoted himself and all his skill to his patient--to which duty he
was the more reconciled that it afforded him a good opportunity at once
for improving his Spanish and pointing out to the bandit the error of
his ways.

To do the man justice, he seemed to be fully sensible of the young
doctor's kindness, and thanked him, with tears in his eyes, not only for
his previous intention to save him from the tremendous fall over the
cliff, but for his subsequent efforts to alleviate the evil consequences
thereof.

It mattered nothing to the great warm-hearted, loose-jointed Englishman
that when he mentioned these hopeful signs in his patient to Pedro, that
worthy shook his head and smiled sarcastically, or that Quashy received
the same information with a closing of the eyes and an expansion of the
jaws which revealed the red recesses of his throat to their darkest
deeps!  Lawrence, being a man of strong opinions, was not to be shaken
out of them either by sarcasm or good-humoured contempt.

Turning to the Indian girl for sympathy, he related the matter to her at
a time when the other inhabitants of the hut had gone out and left them
alone.

"You see,--Manuela," he said, with the frown of meditation on his brow,
and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, "I have no belief in the very common
idea that there is a soft spot in the heart of every man, however bad;
but I do believe that the heart of the very worst of men may be made
soft by the Spirit of God, and that He employs us, who call ourselves
Christians, as His agents in bringing about the result.  It is quite
possible that I may have been thrown in the way of this robber for the
very purpose of touching his heart through kindness--God's own
motive-power--and that the Spirit will soften his heart to receive the
touch."

He paused, and, withdrawing his gaze from the ceiling, observed that the
girl's eyes were fixed on his face with an expression of perplexity and
earnestness.

It then suddenly occurred to him that, having spoken in English, she
could not have understood him.

"But you _do_ look as if you had some idea of what I have been saying,
Manuela.  Have you?"

"Si, senhor, some," was the reply, as she dropped her eyes with an
embarrassed look and blushed so as to make her pretty brown face look
alarmingly red.

Endeavouring to convey the same ideas through the medium of Spanish,
Lawrence made such a bungle of it that Manuela, instead of expressing
sympathy, began to struggle so obviously with her feelings that the poor
Englishman gave up the attempt, and good-naturedly joined his companion
in a little burst of laughter.  They were in the midst of this when the
door opened and Quashy entered.

"You 'pears to be jolly," observed the genial negro, with every wrinkle
of his black visage ready to join in sympathetically, "was de jok a
desprit good un?"

"Not very desperate, Quashy," said Lawrence, "it was only my bad Spanish
which made Manuela laugh.  If you had been here to interpret we might
have got on better with our philosophical discourse."

"O massa!" returned the black--solemn remonstrance, both in manner and
tone, putting to sudden flight the beaming look of sympathy--"don't
speak of me 'terpretin' Spinich.  Nebber could take kindly to dat stuff.
Ob course I kin talk wid de peons an' de gauchos, whose conv'sation am
mostly 'bout grub, an' hosses, an' cattle, an' dollars, an' murder, but
when I tries to go in for flosuffy, an' sitch like, I breaks down
altogidder."

At this point the Indian girl's tendency to laugh increased, but whether
because of fresh views of the absurdity of what had passed, or because
of some faint perception of the negro's meaning, Lawrence had no power
to decide.

"I should have thought, Quashy," he said, with a return of his wonted
gravity, "that a man of a thoughtful and contemplative turn of mind like
you would have acquired the power of expressing almost any idea in
Spanish by this time."

"T'ank you for de compl'ment, massa," replied Quashy, "but I not so
clebber as you t'ink.  Der am some tings in flosuffy dat beats me.  When
I tries to putt 'em afore oder peepil in Spinich, I somehow gits de
brain-pan into sitch a conglomeration ob fumbustication dat I not able
to see quite clar what I mean myself--dough, ob course, I knows dat I'm
right."

"Indeed!"

"Yis; but de great consolation I has is dat de peepil I'm talkin' to
don't onderstand me a mossel better nor myself; an', ob course, as
noting in de wurl could show dem dey was wrong, it don't much matter."

"That is good philosophy, at all events.  Isn't it, Manuela?" asked
Lawrence in Spanish.

"Si, senhor," replied the girl, with sparkling eyes and a dazzling
display of little teeth which seemed to indicate that she fully
appreciated what was said.

"Strange," thought Lawrence--"so grave and pensive, yet at times so
sprightly; so intelligent, yet, of course, so ignorant; so very brown,
and yet so pretty.  What a pity she is not white!"

He only said, however, with a sigh, "Is the gale abating, Quashy?"

To which the negro replied, with a responsive sigh, "Yis, massa,--it
am."

After two days' delay our travellers were enabled to proceed.  While
their host was busy saddling the mules Lawrence took Pedro aside.

"I am anxious about that bandit," he said.  "It is not his power of
recovering I am afraid of, but our host's willingness to take care of
him."

"Have you not spoken to him about it, senhor, and paid him in advance,
like the good Samaritan?"

"Truly I have, but that does not secure fidelity in our host, and the
man's life may depend on his treatment during the next few days.  I
almost wish that we might delay our journey a little."

"That cannot be," returned Pedro, with decision.  "Besides, it is
unnecessary, for I have spoken to our host, and told him to take good
care of the fellow."

Lawrence could scarcely forbear smiling at the quiet assurance with
which Pedro spoke.

"Surely," he said, "you cannot count on his being influenced by your
commands after you are gone?"

"Yes, senhor, I can count on that, for he knows me, and I occasionally
pass this way."

Pedro turned away as he spoke and went towards the mules, the fastenings
of whose loads he carefully inspected.  Lawrence went to look after his
own animal with his mind much relieved, for the manner of Pedro was such
as to inspire irresistible, almost blind, confidence.

During the first mile or two, as they rode along, our hero puzzled
himself in a vain attempt to analyse the cause of this confidence.  Was
it the result of that imperturbable self-possession and invariable
readiness of resource which marked the guide; or was it the stern
truthfulness of his dark eyes, coupled with the retiring modesty and
gravity of his demeanour?  Perhaps it was the union of these
characteristics.  He could not tell.

While thus engaged in profound thought he was roused by Manuela riding
alongside of him, and pointing upwards with animated looks while she
exclaimed--

"See--look--senhor!"

Much surprised, for this was the first time during the journey that the
girl had ventured to attract his attention, the youth looked in the
direction indicated, and certainly the view that met his eyes was
calculated to banish not only the surprise, but all other feelings save
those of admiration of Nature and reverence for Nature's God.

They had just rounded one of those rocky bluffs which so frequently
interrupted their view during their upward journey, and had come upon a
scene which they could not find words adequately to describe.  As
interjectional phrases alone could indicate something of their emotions
to each other, so fragmentary sentences alone will convey a faint
semblance of the truth to the intelligence of the reader.

Mountains, glens, and mighty cliffs; hideous precipices and yawning
gulfs; snow-clad summits high above them, and rock-riven gorges far
below.  Distance upon distance ranging backward and upward to infinity,
where all was mingled with cloudland; sunlit here, darkest shadowed
there--wildness, weirdness, grandeur, and magnificence everywhere!

In the immediate foreground the serpentine path wound upward among
rugged rocks, and the riders, picking their steps, as it were, midway up
the face of a stupendous precipice, looked upward on the left at an
apparently summitless wall, and downward on the right into an almost
bottomless valley, through which a river roared as if mad with joy at
having escaped its glacier-prison; though its roaring was softened
well-nigh to silence by distance, while in appearance it seemed little
larger than a silver thread.

"I could almost believe that to be a giant's castle," remarked Lawrence,
pointing to the opposite side of the ravine, where a huge perpendicular
mountain of porphyry was so broken into turrets, towers, and
battlements, that it was difficult, except for its size, to believe it
other than the work of man.  There were even holes and formations about
it that had the appearance of antique windows, gates, and drawbridges!

"Yes, it is a strange place," said the guide, checking his mule;
"moreover, we must spend the night under its shadow, for it is
impossible to reach a better place of shelter to-night; and, by good
fortune, yonder is something fresh for supper."

Pedro pointed to a spot about seven or eight hundred yards distant,
where a group of guanacos stood gazing at the intruders with profound
attention.

"How will you get near enough for a shot?" asked Lawrence; "they will be
gone before you can get across the ravine, and there is little or no
cover."

"You shall see," said Pedro, cocking his rifle.

"But--but no weapon short of a cannon will carry so far--at least with
accuracy," exclaimed Lawrence in surprise, for at the time of which we
write breech-loaders and the long-range weapons of precision had not
been introduced in those regions.  Indeed, the armies of South America,
and of Europe also, still slew each other with the familiar Brown Bess
and the clumsy flint-lock at that time.

Pedro paid no attention to the remark, but, dismounting, slowly raised
the rifle to his shoulder.  The guide was one of those men who seem to
live in advance of their age.  He had thought out, and carried out in a
rough-and-ready manner, ideas which have since been scientifically
reduced to practice.  Being well aware that any projectile is drawn
downward in its flight by the law of gravitation, and that if you want
to hit a distant point you must aim considerably above it, he had, by
careful experiment, found out how high above an object at a given
distance one must aim in order to hit, and, by constant practice in
judging distance, as well as in taking aim above his mark, he had
attained to such skill as a long-range marksman that his friends almost
believed it impossible for game to get beyond the range of his deadly
weapon, and foes never felt easy till they were entirely out of his
sight.  The comparative slowness, too, of the flint-lock in discharging
a rifle, had necessitated in him a degree of steadiness, not only while
taking aim, but even after pulling the trigger, which rendered him what
we might term statuesque in his action as he levelled his piece.

For a few seconds the rock beside him was not more steady.  Then the
cliffs burst into a fusillade of echoes, and the guanacos leaped wildly
up the mountain-side, leaving one of their number on the rocks behind
them.

It was some time before the young Englishman could get over his
astonishment at this feat, for Pedro had pointed his weapon so high that
he did not appear to be aiming at the animal at all, and he maintained
an animated discussion with the mountaineer until they reached a part of
the pass which proved to be somewhat dangerous.

And here they met with a party of muleteers crossing the mountains in
the opposite direction.  They were still far above them when first
observed descending the same steep and narrow road.

"We will wait here till they pass," said the guide, pulling up at a
point where the width of the track was considerable.  "I see by the
escort that they carry something of value--probably bars of silver from
one of the mines.  They have reached the worst part of the pass.  I
shouldn't wonder to see one of the mules go over--they often do."

"And always get killed, I suppose," said Lawrence.

"Not always.  Now and then they have wonderful escapes, but many
hundreds have been lost here.  See!"

As he spoke one of the baggage-mules of the party touched the cliff with
its load.  This caused the animal to stagger; his hind-legs actually
went over the precipice, and the loose stones began to roll away from
under his hoofs.  With his fore-feet, however, still on the narrow
track, he held on bravely, even sticking his nose on the ground, so that
he had the appearance of holding on by his teeth!  Two of the peons
rushed to render assistance, but before they reached him he had slipped,
and rolled down the awful slope which ended in a sheer perpendicular
precipice.  Here he bounded off into space, and next moment fell,
baggage and all, with a tremendous splash into the river.

It seemed impossible that the poor animal could have escaped with life,
but in another moment his head reappeared above water, and he made a
brave struggle to gain the bank.  The current, however, was too strong
for him.  Down he went below the foaming water, his scraggy tail making
a farewell flourish as he disappeared.  But again his head appeared, and
once again he struggled for the bank.  This time with success, for he
had been swept into a shallow in which he was able to maintain his
foothold and slowly drag himself out of the river.  When in safety, he
stood with drooping head and tail, as if in a state of the most thorough
dejection at having made such an exhibition of himself.

"Clebber beast!" shouted Quashy, who had stood with his ten fingers
expanded, his great mouth open, and his whole emotional soul glaring out
of his monstrous eyes.

"Well done!" echoed Lawrence, who was scarcely less pleased than his
servant.

The party now drew near, and very striking was their appearance--the
variously coloured mules, following the bell-mare which went in advance
as a leader, winding slowly down the crooked path, and the peons in
their picturesque costumes shouting, laughing, or singing wild snatches
of song as they were moved by fury, fun, or fancy.

The men, who numbered a dozen or so, and were well-armed, were
apparently relieved to find that our travellers were not bandits, in
regard to whom their questions showed that they felt some anxiety.  They
had witnessed Pedro's shot from the heights above, and looked upon him
with no little surprise and much respect as they commented on his power
with the rifle.

A few questions were asked, a few compliments paid, and then the two
parties, passing each other, proceeded on their respective ways.

Crossing the mountain torrent at a rather dangerous ford, towards
evening Pedro led his companions to a spot not far from the ramparts of
what Lawrence styled the giant's castle.

It was not an inviting spot at first.  There was little pasture for the
wearied mules on the almost naked rocks, and the stunted trees and
gnarled roots told eloquently of the severity of winter in those high
regions.  There was, however, a good spring of water and an over-arching
rock, which promised some degree of refreshment and shelter, and when
firewood was collected, a ruddy blaze sent up, the kettle put on to
boil, and several fine cuts of the guanaco set up to roast, the feelings
of sadness which had at first influenced Lawrence were put to flight,
and he felt more satisfaction in his lodging than he could have
experienced if it had been a palatial hotel with its confined air and
feather beds and cloying luxuries.

There was a species of natural recess in the cliff which Pedro screened
off as a chamber for Manuela, while she assisted Quashy to prepare the
supper.

"There's nothing like fresh mountain air," exclaimed Lawrence, with a
glow of enthusiasm, after the first attack on the guanaco steaks had
subsided.

"Specially when the said air happens to be quiet and warm, and the night
fine and the stars bright and the company pleasant," added the guide.

Quashy had a habit, when his risible faculties were only gently tickled,
of shutting his eyes, throwing back his head, opening his great mouth
wide, and indulging in a silent laugh.  Having done so on the present
occasion, he shut his mouth with a snap and opened his eyes.

"Ho yis," he said in a low tone, "bery nice when it all plisent like
now, but it am anoder t'ing when de fresh mountain air goes howlerin'
an' bowlerin' about like a wild beast, an' when it snowses an frozes fit
to cut off your noses an' shribel up de bery marrow in your bones!  Oh!
you got no notion what--"

"Hold your tongue, Quashy," interrupted Lawrence, "why, your description
of such things makes one shiver.  Let us hope we may have no experience
of them and enjoy our comforts while we may."

"Dat's true flosuffy, massa," returned the negro, helping himself to
more guanaco, and offering some on the end of his fork to Manuela, who
accepted the same with her usual ready smile, which, however, on this
occasion, expanded into an uncontrollable little laugh.

Lawrence was perplexed, and so was Quashy, for the quiet little Indian
was not given to giggling at trifles, much less to laughing at nothing.
Lawrence observed, however, that the girl did not reach out her hand
with her usual graceful action, but on the contrary gave her arm an
awkward twist which obliged the negro to stretch needlessly far over
towards her in handing the meat.

The result was that a pannikin of coffee which Quashy had placed on his
plate--the plate being in his lap--began to tilt over.  Before any one
could warn him it overturned, causing the poor man to spring up with a
yell as the hot liquid drenched his legs.  Of course every one laughed.
People always do at such mild mishaps.  As the coffee was not too hot,
and there was more in the kettle, Quashy joined in the laugh while he
wiped his garments, and afterwards replenished his pannikin.

But a new light began to force itself upon Lawrence.  "Can it be," he
thought, "that she did that on purpose?--that she saw the pannikin was
tilting, and--no, that's impossible!"

He looked earnestly at the girl.  She had recovered her gravity by that
time, and was quietly eating her supper with downcast eyes.
"Impossible," he repeated in thought, "so unlike her, and so very unlike
the Indian character."  Nevertheless his perplexity remained, and when
he went to sleep that night, after gazing long and earnestly up at the
bright stars and at the white summits of the Andes which rose in awful
grandeur above him, he dreamed that while Quashy was sitting sound
asleep with his head on his knees in front of the fire, Manuela availed
herself of the opportunity to pour an ocean of hot coffee down his back!

Starting up wide awake at this, he found that Quashy lay beside him,
sleeping quietly on his back, that Pedro was similarly engaged, that the
Indian girl had disappeared into her dormitory, that the giant's castle
looked more splendidly real than ever in the rising moonlight, and that
no sound was to be heard save the brawling of the escaped river, as it
fled from its glacier-prison to its home in the mighty sea.



CHAPTER SIX.

A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS--REFUGE FOUND--CONVERSE ROUND THE FIRE.

The summit of the pass was at last gained, and not a moment too soon,
for the storm which they had experienced a few days before was but the
prelude to a gale such as is rarely experienced save in the winter
months of the year, when most of the mountain passes are closed.

It began by mutterings of distant thunder, which caused the guide to
look round the horizon and up at the sky somewhat anxiously.

"Do you think we shall reach our next shelter before it breaks?" asked
Lawrence.

"I hope so," said Pedro, pausing on a ridge from which an almost
illimitable view was had of mountain range and valley in all directions.

"Far over in that direction," he continued, pointing with his hand,
"lies the land of the Incas.  You have heard of the Incas, senhor?"

"Yes, I have heard of them, but cannot say that I am intimately
acquainted with their history."

"It is a strange history--a very sad one," returned Pedro.  "I will tell
you something about it at another time; at present it behoves us to push
on."

There was no question as to that point, for just as he spoke a sudden
and powerful gust of wind swept Quashy's straw hat off and sent it
spinning gaily along the path.  Vaulting from his mule with a wild
shout, the negro gave chase on foot, with an amount of anxiety that
seemed not justified by the occasion.  But as the poet truly puts it,
"things are not what they seem," and Quashy's head-piece, which
presented much the appearance of a battered old straw hat, was in truth
an article of very considerable value.

It was one of those hats made by the people of South America, with a
delicate fibre so finely plaited that in texture it resembles fine
canvas, though in appearance it is like straw.  It is exceedingly tough,
takes a very long time to manufacture, and costs many dollars--so many,
indeed, that a hat of the kind is thought worthy of being preserved and
left as an heirloom from father to son as long as it lasts.

No wonder then that the negro made frantic efforts to regain his
property--all the more frantic that he was well aware if it should pass
over one of the neighbouring precipices it would be lost to him for
ever.  At last a friendly gust sent it into a snowdrift, through which
Quashy plunged and captured it.

Snow in considerable quantities lay here and there around them in the
form of old patches or drifts, and this began to be swept up by the
fierce wind in spite of its solidity.  Soon new snow began to fall, and,
mingling with the old drifts, rendered the air so thick that it was
sometimes difficult to see more than a few yards in advance.  Lawrence,
being unused to such scenes, began to fear they should get lost in these
awful solitudes, and felt specially anxious for Manuela, who, despite
the vigour of a frame trained, as it no doubt had been, in all the
hardihood incidental to Indian camp life, seemed to shrink from the
fierce blast and to droop before the bitter cold.

"Here, put on my poncho," said the youth, riding suddenly up to the
girl's side and unceremoniously flinging his ample garment over the
slight poncho she already wore.  She drew it round her at once, and
silently accepted the offering with a smile and an inclination of her
small head which, even in these uncomfortable circumstances, were full
of grace.

"Why _was_ she born a savage?" thought the youth, with almost petulant
exasperation.  "If she had only been white and civilised, I would have
wooed and won--at least," he added, modestly, "I would have _tried_ to
win and wed her in spite of all the opposing world.  As it is, the--
the--gulf is impassable!"

"You have anticipated me, senhor," said the guide, who had reined in
until the rest of the party overtook him.  "I had halted with the
intention of offering my poncho to Manuela.  Poor girl, she is a
daughter of the warm Pampas, and unused to the cold of the mountains."

He turned to her, and said something in the Indian tongue which seemed
to comfort her greatly, for she replied with a look and tone of
satisfaction.

"I have just told her," he said to Lawrence, as they resumed the
journey, "that in half an hour we shall reach a hut of shelter.  It is
at the foot of a steep descent close ahead; and as the wind is
fortunately on our backs, we shall be partially protected by the hill."

"Surely the place cannot be a farm," said Lawrence; "it must be too high
up for that."

"No, as you say, it is too high for human habitation.  The hut is one of
those places of refuge which have been built at every two or three
leagues to afford protection to travellers when assailed by such
snow-storms as that which is about to break on us now."

He stopped, for the party came at the moment to a slope so steep that it
seemed impossible for man or mule to descend.  Being partly sheltered
from the fitful gusts of wind, it was pretty clear of snow, and they
could see that a zigzag track led to the bottom.  What made the descent
all the more difficult was a loose layer of small stones, on which they
slipped continually.  Before they had quite completed the descent the
storm burst forth.  Suddenly dense clouds of snow were seen rushing down
from the neighbouring peaks before a hurricane of wind, compared with
which previous gusts were trifles.

"Come on--fast--fast!" shouted the guide, looking back and waving his
hand.

The first deafening roar of the blast drowned the shout; but before the
snowdrift blinded him, Lawrence had observed the wave of the hand and
the anxious look.  Dashing the cruel Spanish spurs for the first time
into the side of his no doubt astonished steed, he sprang alongside of
Manuela's mule, seized the bridle, and dragged it forward by main force.
Of course the creature objected, but the steep road and slipping gravel
favoured them, so that they reached the bottom in safety.

Here they found the first of the refuge-huts, and in a few moments were
all safe within its sheltering walls.

Having been erected for a special purpose, the hut was well adapted to
resist the wildest storm.  It was built of brick and mortar, the
foundation being very solid, and about twelve feet high, with a brick
staircase outside leading to the doorway.  Thus the habitable part of
the edifice was raised well above the snow.  The room was about twelve
feet square, the floor of brick, and the roof arched.  It was a
dungeon-like place, dimly lighted by three loop-holes about six inches
square, and without furniture of any kind.  A mark in the wall indicated
the place where a small table had originally been fixed; but it had been
torn down long before, as Pedro explained, by imprisoned and starving
travellers to serve for firewood.  The remains of some pieces of charred
wood lay on the floor where the fire was usually kindled, and, to
Pedro's great satisfaction, they found a small pile of firewood which
had been left there by the last travellers.

"A dismal enough place," remarked Lawrence, looking round after shaking
and stamping the snow out of his garments.

"You have reason to thank God, senhor, that we have reached it."

"True, Senhor Pedro, and I am not thankless; yet do I feel free to
repeat that it is a most dismal place."

"Mos' horriboble," said Quashy, looking up at the vaulted roof.

"Ay, and it could tell many a dismal story if it had a tongue," said the
guide, as he busied himself arranging the saddles and baggage, and
making other preparations to spend the night as comfortably as
circumstances should permit.  "Luckily there's a door this time."

"Is it sometimes without a door, then?" asked Lawrence, as he assisted
in the arrangements, while Quashy set about kindling a fire.

"Ay, the poor fellows who are sometimes stormstaid and starved here have
a tendency to use all they can find about the place for firewood.  Some
one has replaced the door, however, since I was here last.  You'll find
two big nails in the wall, Manuela," he added in Indian; "if you tie one
of the baggage cords to them, I'll give you a rug directly, which will
make a good screen to cut off your sleeping berth from ours."

In a short time Quashy had a bright little fire burning, with the kettle
on it stuffed full of fresh snow; the saddles and their furniture made
comfortable seats and lounges around it; and soon a savoury smell of
cooked meat rendered the cold air fragrant, while the cheery blaze
dispelled the gloom and made a wonderful change in the spirits of all.
Perhaps we should except the guide, whose calm, grave, stern yet kindly
aspect rarely underwent much change, either in the way of elation or
depression, whatever the surrounding circumstances might be.  His
prevailing character reminded one of a rock, whether in the midst of a
calm or raging sea--or of a strong tower, whether surrounded by warring
elements or by profound calm.  Need we say that Pedro's imperturbability
was by no means the result of apathy?

"Blow away till you bust your buzzum," said Quashy, apostrophising the
gale as he sat down with a beaming display of teeth and spread out his
hands before the blaze, after having advanced supper to a point which
admitted of a pause; "I don' care a butt'n how hard you blow now."

"Ah!  Quashy," said the guide, shaking his head slowly, as, seated on
his saddle, he rolled up a neat cigarette, "don't be too confident.  You
little know what sights these four walls have witnessed.  True, this is
not quite the season when one runs much risk of being starved to death,
but the thing is not impossible."

"Surely," said Lawrence, stretching himself on his saddle-cloths and
glancing at Manuela, who was by that time seated on the opposite side of
the fire arranging some hard biscuits on a plate, "surely people have
not been starved to death here, have they?"

"Indeed they have--only too often, senhor.  I myself came once to this
hut to rescue a party, but was nearly too late, for most of them were
dead."

He paused to light his cigarette.  The negro, after making the door more
secure, sat down again and gazed at the guide with the glaring aspect of
a man who fears, but delights in, the horrible.  Manuela, letting her
clasped hands fall in her lap, also gazed at Pedro with the intense
earnestness that was habitual to her.  She seemed to listen.  Perhaps,
being unusually intelligent, she picked up some information from the
guide's expressive face.  She could hardly have learned much from his
speech, as her knowledge of English seemed to be little more than "yes,"
"no," and "t'ank you!"

"It was during a change of government, senhor," said Pedro, "that I
chanced to be crossing the mountains.  There is usually a considerable
row in South America when a change of government takes place.  Sometimes
they cause a change of government to take place in order to get up a
considerable row, for they're a lively people--almost as fond of
fighting as the Irish, though scarcely so sound in judgment.  I had some
business on hand on the western side of the Cordillera, but turned back
to give a helping hand to my friends, for of course I try never to shirk
duty, though I'm not fond of fighting.  Well, when I got to the farm
nearest to this hut where we now sit, they told me that a tremendous
gale had been blowing in the mountains, that ten travellers had been
snowed up, and that they feared they must all have perished, since
travelling in such weather was impossible."

"`Have you made no effort to rescue them?'  I asked of the farmer.

"`No,' says he, `I couldn't get any o' my fellows to move, because
they've been terrified about a ghost that's been seen up there.'

"`What was the ghost like?'  I asked; so he told me that it was a
fearful creature--a mulish-looking sort of man, who was in the habit of
terrifying the arrieros and peons who passed that way, but he said they
were going to get a priest to put a cross up there, and so lay the
ghost.

"`Meanwhile,' I said, `the ten travellers are to be left to starve?'

"`It's my belief they're starved already,' answered the farmer."

At this point Pedro paused to relight his cigarette, and Quashy breathed
a little more freely.  He was a firm believer in ghosts, and feared them
more than he would have feared an army of Redskins or jaguars.  Indeed
it is a question whether Quashy could ever have been brought to realise
the sensation of fear if it had not been for the existence, in his
imagination, of ghosts!  The mere mention of the word in present
circumstances had converted him into a sort of human sensitive-plant.
He gave a little start and glance over his shoulder at every gust of
unusual power that rattled the door, and had become visibly paler--
perhaps we should say less black.

Manuela was evidently troubled by no such fears, perhaps because she did
not understand the meaning of the word ghost, yet she gazed at the
speaker in apparently rapt attention.

"You may believe," continued the guide, "that I was disgusted at their
cowardice; so, to shame them, as well as to do what I could for the
travellers, I loaded a couple of my mules with meat, and said I would
set off alone.  This had the desired effect, for three men volunteered
to go with me.  When we reached the hut we found that six of the ten
poor fellows were dead.  The bodies of two who had died just before our
arrival were lying in the corner over there behind Quashy.  They were
more like skeletons covered with skin than corpses.  The four who still
lived were in the corner here beside me, huddled together for warmth,
and so worn out by hunger and despair that they did not seem to care at
first that we had come to save them.  We warmed and fed them, however,
brought them gradually round, and at last took them back to the farm.
They all recovered.  During the time they were snowed up the poor
fellows had eaten their mules and dogs.  I have no doubt that if the
ground were clear of snow you would find the bones of these animals
scattered about still."

This was not a very pleasant anecdote, Lawrence thought, on which to
retire to rest, so he changed the subject by asking Pedro if there were
many of the Incas still remaining.

Before he could reply Manuela rose, and, bidding them good-night in
Spanish, retired to her screened-off corner.

"A good many of the Incas are still left," replied the guide to his
companion's question; "and if you were to visit their capital city you
would be surprised to see the remains of temples and other evidences of
a very advanced civilisation in a people who existed long before the
conquest of Peru."

"Massa Pedro," said Quashy, who would have been glad to have the
recollection of ghosts totally banished from his mind, "I's oftin hear
ob de Incas, but I knows not'ing about dem.  Who is dey? whar dey come
fro?"

"It would take a long time, Quashy, to answer these two questions fully;
nevertheless, I think I could give you a roughish outline of a notion in
about five minutes, if you'll promise not to stare so hard, and keep
your mouth shut."

The negro shut his eyes, expanded his mouth to its utmost in a silent
laugh, and nodded his head acquiescently.

"Well, then, you must know," said Pedro, "that in days of old--about the
time that William the Conqueror invaded England--a certain Manco Capac
founded the dynasty of the Incas.  According to an old legend this Manco
was the son of a white man who was shipwrecked on the coast of Peru.  He
married the daughter of an Indian chief, and taught the people
agriculture, architecture, and other arts.  He must have been a man of
great power, from the influence he exerted over the natives, who styled
him the `blooming stranger.'  His hair was of a golden colour, and this
gave rise to the story that he was a child of the sun, who had been sent
to rule over the Indians and found an empire.  Another tradition says
that Manco Capac was accompanied by a wife named Mama Oello Huaco, who
taught the Indian women the mysteries of spinning and weaving, while her
husband taught the arts of civilisation to the men.

"Whatever truth there may be in these legends, certain it is that Manco
Capac did become the first of a race of Incas--or kings or chiefs--and,
it is said, laid the foundations of the city of Cuzco, the remains of
which at the present day show the power, splendour, and wealth to which
Manco Capac and his successors attained.  The government of the Incas
was despotic, but of a benignant and patriarchal type, which gained the
affections of those over whom they ruled, and enabled them to extend
their sway far and wide over the land, so that, at the time of the
invasion by the Spaniards under Pizarro, the Peruvians were found to
have reached a high degree of civilisation, as was seen by their public
works--roads, bridges, terrace-gardens, fortifications, and magnificent
buildings, and so forth.  It is said by those who have studied the
matter, that this civilisation existed long before the coming of the
Incas.  On this point I can say nothing, but no doubt or uncertainty
rests on the later history of this race.  Cuzco, on Lake Titicaca,
became the capital city of a great and flourishing monarchy, and
possessed many splendid buildings in spacious squares and streets.  It
also became the Holy City and great temple of the Sun, to which pilgrims
came from all parts of the country.  It was defended by a fortress and
walls built of stone, some blocks of which were above thirty feet long
by eighteen broad and six thick.  Many towns sprang up in the land.
Under good government the people flourished and became rich.  They had
plenty of gold and silver, which they used extensively in the adornment
of their temples and palaces.  But evil followed in the train of wealth.
By degrees their simplicity departed from them.  Their prosperity led
to the desire for conquest.  Then two sons of one of the Incas disputed
with each other for supremacy, and fought.  One was conquered and taken
prisoner by the other, who is reported to have been guilty of excessive
cruelties to his relations, and caused his brother to be put to death.
Finally, in 1532, the Spaniards came and accomplished the conquest of
Peru--from which date not much of peace or prosperity has fallen to the
lot of this unhappy land.

"Yes," said the guide in conclusion, "the Incas were, and some of their
descendants still are, a very fine race.  Many of the men are what I
call nature's gentlemen, having thoughts--ay, and manners too, that
would grace any society.  Some of their women, also, are worthy to--"

"Pedro!" interrupted Lawrence eagerly, laying his hand on the guide's
arm, for a sudden idea had flashed into his mind.  (He was rather
subject to the flashing of sudden ideas!) "Pedro! _she_ is a daughter of
a chief of the Incas--is she not? a princess of the Incas!  Have I not
guessed rightly?"

He said this in a half whisper, and pointed as he spoke to the screen
behind which Manuela lay.

Pedro smiled slightly and tipped the ash from the end of his cigarette,
but made no answer.

"Nay, I will not pry into other people's affairs," said Lawrence, in his
usual tone, "but you once told me she is the daughter of a chief, and
assuredly no lady in this land could equal her in grace or dignity of
carriage and manner, to say nothing of modesty, which is the invariable
evidence."

"Not of high rank?" interrupted the guide, with a quick and slightly
sarcastic glance.

"No, but of nobility of mind and heart," replied the youth, with much
enthusiasm.  In which feeling he was earnestly backed up by Quashy, who,
with eyes that absolutely glowed, said--

"You's right, massa--sure an' sartin!  Modesty am de grandest t'ing I
knows.  Once I knowed a young nigger gal what libbed near your fadder's
mill--Sooz'n dey calls 'er--an' she's _so_ modest, so--oh!  I not kin
'splain rightly--but I say to 'er one day, when I'd got my courage
screwed up, `Sooz'n,' ses I.  `Well,' ses she.  `I--I lub you,' ses I,
`more nor myself, 'cause I t'ink so well ob you.  Eberybody t'inks well
ob you, Sooz'n.  What--what--' (I was gitten out o' bref by dis time
from 'citement, and not knowin' what more to say, so I ses) `what--what
you t'ink ob _you'self_ Sooz'n?'

"`Nuffin',' ses she!  Now, _wasn't_ dat modest?"

"It certainly was, Quashy.  Couldn't have been more so," said Pedro.
"And after that we couldn't, I think, do better than turn in."

The fire had by that time burned low, and the gale was still raging
around them, driving the snowdrift wildly against the hut, and sometimes
giving the door so violent a shake as to startle poor Quashy out of
sweet memories of Sooz'n into awful thoughts of the ghost that had not
yet been laid.

Each man appropriated a vacant corner of the hut in which to spread his
simple couch, the negro taking care to secure that furthest from the
door.

Lawrence Armstrong thought much over his supposed discovery before
falling asleep that night, and the more he thought the more he felt
convinced that the Indian girl was indeed a princess, and owed her good
looks, sweet disposition, graceful form and noble carriage to her
descent from a race which had at one period been highly civilised when
all around them were savage.  It was a curious subject of contemplation.
The colour of his waking thoughts naturally projected itself into the
young man's dreams.  He was engaged in an interesting anthropological
study.  He found himself in the ancient capital of the Incas.  He beheld
a princess of great beauty surrounded by courtiers, but she was _brown_!
He thought what an overwhelming pity it was that she was not _white_!
Then he experienced a feeling of intense disappointment that he himself
had not been born brown.  By degrees his thoughts became more confused
and less decided in colour--whitey-brown, in fact,--and presented a
series of complicated regrets and perplexing impossibilities, in a vain
effort to disentangle which he dropped asleep.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THINGS BEGIN TO LOOK BRIGHTER--THE GUIDE'S STORY.

It was bright day when our travellers awoke, but only a dim light
penetrated into their dungeon-like dormitory, for, besides being very
small, the three windows, or loop-holes, had been so filled up with snow
as to shut out much of the light that would naturally have entered.

That the gale still raged outside was evident enough to the sense of
hearing, and sometimes the gusts were so sudden and strong that the
little building trembled, stout though it was.  Indeed, Lawrence at
first thought they must be experiencing the shocks of an earthquake, a
mistake not unnatural in one who, besides having had but little
experience in regard to such catastrophes, knew well that he was at the
time almost in the centre of a region celebrated for earthquakes.

It was with mingled feelings of interest, anxiety, and solemnity that he
surveyed the scene outside through a hole in the door.  It seemed as if
an Arctic winter had suddenly descended on them.  Snow completely
covered hill and gorge as far as the vision could range but they could
not see far, for at every fresh burst of the furious wind the restless
wreaths were gathered up and whirled madly to the sky, or swept wildly
down the valleys, or dashed with fury against black precipices and
beetling cliffs, to which they would sometimes cling for a few seconds,
then, falling away, would be caught up again by the tormenting gale, and
driven along in some new direction with intensified violence.

"No prospect of quitting the hut to-day," observed Lawrence, turning
away from the bewildering scene.

"None," said Pedro, stretching himself, and rising sleepily on one
elbow, as men are wont to do when unwilling to get up.

"Nebber mind, massa; lots o' grub!" cried Quashy, awaking at that
moment, leaping up like an acrobat, and instantly setting about the
kindling of the fire.

Having, as Quashy truly said, lots of grub, possessing a superabundance
of animal vigour, and being gifted with untried as well as unknown
depths of intellectual power, also with inexhaustible stores of youthful
hope, our travellers had no difficulty in passing that day in
considerable enjoyment, despite adverse circumstances; but when they
awoke on the second morning and found the gale still howling, and the
snow still madly whirling, all except Pedro began to express in word and
countenance feelings of despondency.  Manuela did not speak much, it is
true, but she naturally looked somewhat anxious.  Lawrence began to
recall the fate of previous travellers in that very hut, and his
countenance became unusually grave, whereupon Quashy--whose nature it
was to conform to the lead of those whom he loved, and, in conforming,
outrageously to overdo his part--looked in his young master's face and
assumed such an aspect of woeful depression that his visage became
distinctly oval, though naturally round.

Observing this, Lawrence could not restrain a short laugh, whereupon,
true as the compass to the Pole, the facile Quashy went right round; his
chin came up, his cheeks went out, his eyes opened with hopeful sheen,
and his thick lips expanded into a placid grin.

"There is no cause for alarm," observed Pedro, who had risen to assist
in preparing breakfast.  "No doubt it is the worst storm I ever met
with, or even heard of, at this season of the year, but it cannot last
much longer; and whatever happens, it can't run into winter just now."

As if to justify the guide's words, the hurricane began to diminish in
violence, and the pauses between blasts were more frequent and
prolonged.  When breakfast was over, appearances became much more
hopeful, and before noon the storm had ceased to rage.

Taking advantage of the change, without delay they loaded the
pack-mules, saddled, mounted, and set forth.

To many travellers it would have been death to have ventured out on such
a trackless waste, but Pedro knew the road and the landmarks so
thoroughly that he advanced with his wonted confidence.  At first the
snow was very deep, and, despite their utmost care, they once or twice
strayed from the road, and were not far from destruction.  As they
descended, however, the intense cold abated; and when they came out upon
occasional table-lands, they found that the snow-fall there had been
much less than in the higher regions, also that it had drifted off the
road so much that travelling became more easy.

That night they came to a second hut-of-refuge, and next day had
descended into a distinctly warmer region on the eastern slopes of the
great range, over which they travelled from day to day with ever
increasing comfort.  Sometimes they put up at outlying mountain farms,
and were always hospitably received; sometimes at small hamlets or
villages, where they could exchange or purchase mules, and, not
unfrequently, they encamped on the wild mountain slopes, with the green
trees or an overhanging cliff, or the open sky to curtain them, and the
voices of the puma and the jaguar for their lullaby.

Strange to say, in crossing the higher parts of the Andes not one of the
party suffered from the rarity of the air.  Many travellers experience
sickness, giddiness, and extreme exhaustion from this cause in those
regions.  Some have even died of the effects experienced at the greater
heights, yet neither Manuela, nor Lawrence, nor Quashy was affected in
the slightest degree.  We can assign no reason for their exemption--can
only state the fact.  As for the guide, he was in this matter--as,
indeed, he seemed to be in everything--invulnerable.

One afternoon, as they rode along a mountain track enjoying the
sunshine, which at that hour was not too warm, Lawrence pushed up
alongside of the guide.

"It seems to me," he said, "that we are wandering wonderfully far out of
our way just now.  We have been going due north for several days; at
least so my pocket compass tells me, and if my geography is not greatly
at fault, our backs instead of our faces are turned at present towards
Buenos Ayres.  I do not wish to pry into your secrets, Senhor Pedro, but
if it is not presuming too much I should like to know when we shall
begin to move in the direction of our journey's end."

"There is neither presumption nor impropriety in your wish," returned
the guide.  "I told you at starting that we should pursue a devious
route, for reasons which are immaterial to you, but there is no reason
why I should not explain that at present I am diverging for only a few
miles from our track to visit a locality--a cottage--which is sacred to
me.  After that we will turn eastward until we reach the head-waters of
streams that will conduct us towards our journey's end."

With this explanation he was obliged to rest content, for Pedro spoke
like one who did not care to be questioned.  Indeed there was an
unusually absent air about him, seeing which Lawrence drew rein and fell
back until he found himself alongside of Quashy.

Always ready--nay, eager--for sympathetic discourse, the negro received
his young master with a bland, expansive, we might almost say effusive,
smile.

"Well, massa, how's you gittin' along now?"

"Pretty well, Quashy.  How do you?"

"Oh! fuss-rate, massa--only consid'rable obercome wid surprise."

"What surprises you?"

"De way we's agwine, to be sure.  Look dar."  He pointed towards the
towering mountain peaks and wild precipices that closed in the narrow
glen or gorge up which they were slowly proceeding.

"In all our trabels we's nebber come to a place like dat.  It looks like
de fag end ob creation.  You couldn't git ober de mountain-tops 'cept
you had wings, an' you couldn't climb ober de pres'pisses 'cep you was a
monkey or a skirl--though it _am_ bery lubly, no doubt."

The negro's comments were strictly correct, though somewhat uncouthly
expressed.  The valley was apparently surrounded in all directions by
inaccessible precipices, and the white peaks of the Andes towered into
the skies at its head.  Within rugged setting lay a fine stretch of
undulating land, diversified by crag and hillock, lake and rivulet, with
clustering shrubs and trees clinging to the cliffs, and clothing the
mountain slopes in rich, and, in many places, soft luxuriance.  It was
one of those scenes of grandeur and loveliness in profound solitude
which tend to raise in the thoughtful mind the perplexing but not
irreverent question, "Why did the good and bountiful Creator form such
places of surpassing beauty to remain for thousands of years almost, if
not quite, unknown to man?"

For, as far as could be seen, no human habitation graced the
mountain-sides, no sign of cultivation appeared in the valley, though
myriads of the lower animals sported on and in the waters, among the
trees and on the ground.

Perchance man over-estimates his own importance--at least underrates
that of the animal kingdom below him--and is too apt to deem everything
in nature wasted that cannot be directly or indirectly connected with
himself!  Is all that glows in beauty in the wilderness doomed to "blush
unseen"?  Is all the sweetness expended on the desert air "wasted?"

As the guide rode slowly forward, he glanced from side to side with
thoughtful yet mournful looks, as if his mind were engaged in meditating
on some such insoluble problems.  As he neared the head of the valley,
however, he seemed to awake from a trance, suddenly put spurs to his
mule, and went off at a canter.  The rest of the party followed at some
distance behind, but at so slow a pace, compared with that of the guide,
that the latter was soon lost to sight among the trees.

Somewhat surprised at his unusual state of mind Lawrence pushed on and
soon reached an open glade which showed some signs of having been
cultivated.  At the end of it stood a pretty little cottage, in front of
which Pedro was standing motionless, with clasped hands and drooping
head.

Lawrence hesitated to disturb him, but as Quashy had no such
hesitations, and rode smartly forward, his companions followed.

Pedro turned with a grave look as they came up, and said--

"My home.  I bid you welcome."

"Your home!" echoed Lawrence, in surprise.

"Ay, a happy home it once was--but--desolate enough now.  Come, we will
sleep here to-night.  Unload the mules, Quashy, and kindle a fire.  Go
into the room on the right, Manuela.  You will find a couch and other
civilised comforts there.  Senhor Armstrong, will you come with me?"

Without even awaiting a reply, the guide walked smartly into the bushes
in rear of his lonely dwelling, followed by our hero.  In a few minutes
they reached a mound or hillock, which had been cleared of trees and
underwood, and from the summit of which one could see over the tree-tops
and the cottage roof away down the valley to the horizon of the
table-lands beyond.  It was a lovely spot, and, as Lawrence saw it that
quiet sunny afternoon, was suggestive only of peace and happiness.

There was a rustic bower on the mound, in which a roughly-constructed
seat was fixed firmly to the ground.  In front of the bower was a grave
with a headstone, on which was carved the single word "Mariquita."

Lawrence looked at his companion, but refrained from speech on observing
that he seemed to be struggling with strong emotion.  In a few seconds
Pedro, having mastered his feelings, turned and said, in a tone that
betrayed nothing save profound sadness--

"The body of my wife lies there.  Her pure spirit, thank God, is with
its Maker."

Lawrence's power of sympathy was so great that he hesitated to reply,
fearing to hurt the feelings of one for whom, by that time, he had come
to entertain sincere regard.  He was about to speak, when Pedro raised
his head gently, as if to check him.

"Sit beside me, senhor," he said, seating himself on the rustic seat
already referred to.  "You have from our first meeting given me your
confidence so frankly and freely that the least I can do is to give you
mine in return--as far, at least, as that is possible.  You are the
first human being I have invited to sit _there_ since Mariquita left me.
Shall I tell you something of my history, Senhor Armstrong?"

Of course Lawrence assented, with a look of deep interest.

"Well, then," said Pedro, "it may perhaps surprise you to learn that I
am an Irishman."

To this Lawrence replied, with a slight smile, that he was not very
greatly surprised, seeing that the perplexing character of that race was
such as to justify him in expecting almost anything of them.

"I'm not sure whether to take that remark as complimentary or
otherwise," returned Pedro; "however, the fighting tendency with which
my countrymen are credited has departed from me.  I won't quarrel with
you on the point.  At the age of sixteen I was sent to America to seek
my fortune.  My mother I never knew.  She died when I was a child.  My
father died the year after I left home.  How I came to drift here it
would be difficult, as well as tedious, to explain.  Many of the men
with whom I have chummed in years gone by would have said that it was
chance which led me to South America.  I never could agree with them on
this point.  The word `chance' fitly describes the conditions sometimes
existing between man and man, and is used in Scripture in the parable of
the Good Samaritan, but there can be no such thing as chance with the
Almighty.  I must have been led or guided here.

"At all events, hither I came, and wandered about for some years, with
that aimless indifference to the future which is but too characteristic
of youth--content to eat and sleep and toil, so that I might enjoy life,
and get plenty of excitement!  I went to Peru first, and of course I
joined in the fights that were so frequently stirred up between that
country and its neighbour, Chili.  A very little of that, however,
sufficed.  The brutal ferocity of the soldiery with whom I was mixed up,
and their fearful disregard of age, sex, infirmity, or helpless
childhood during war disgusted me so much that I finally cut the army,
and took to hunting and doing a little trade between the countries lying
on the east and west sides of the Andes.  It was while thus engaged that
I became acquainted with your good father, Senhor Armstrong, who has
more than once helped me over financial difficulties and set me on my
legs.

"At last came the grand crisis of my life.  One evening when travelling
over the pampas of La Plata, I, with a dozen Gauchos, arrived at a
post-house where we meant to put up for the night.  On coming in sight
of it we saw that something was wrong, for there were a number of
Indians fighting about the door.  On seeing us they made off; but one,
who was in the house struggling with the postmaster, did not observe the
flight of his comrades, or could not get clear of his enemy.  We all
went madly after the savages.  As I was about to pass the door of the
house, I heard a woman shriek.  The Gauchos paid no attention, but
passed on.  I glanced inside, and saw the Indian in the act of cutting a
man's throat, while a girl strove wildly to prevent him.  You may be
sure I was inside in a moment, and I brained the savage with the butt of
a pistol.  But it was too late.  The knife had already done its work,
and the poor man only lived long enough to bless his daughter, who,
covered with her father's blood, sank fainting on the floor.  It was my
first meeting with Mariquita!

"Around her," continued Pedro, in deepening tones, "lay her mother and
two brothers--all slaughtered.  I will not describe the harrowing scene.
I tried to comfort the poor girl, and we took her on with us to the
next post, where the postmaster's wife attended to her.

"On seeing her next morning I felt that my life's happiness or sorrow
lay in her hands.  She was innocence, simplicity, beauty, combined.
With artless gratitude she grasped and kissed my hand, regarding me, she
said, as her deliverer, and one who would have saved her father if he
had been in time.

"Often before had my comrades twitted me with my indifference to the
female sex.  To say truth, I had myself become impressed with the
feeling that I was born to be one of the old bachelors of the world--and
I cannot say that the doom gave me much concern.  But now--well, if you
understand me, senhor, I need not explain, and if you don't understand,
explanation is useless!  Mariquita was left alone in the wide world.  I
would not, for all the gold and silver of Peru, have spoken of love to
her at that time; but I made arrangements with the postmaster and his
wife to take care of the poor girl till I should return.  In time I did
return.  She accepted me.  We were married, and I brought her up here,
for I wanted no society but hers.  I was content to live in absolute
solitude with her.  She was much of the same mind, dear girl, but God
had touched her heart, and in her sweet talk--without intending it, or
dreaming of it--she showed me how selfish I was in thinking only of our
own happiness, and caring nothing for the woes or the joys of our
fellow-men.

"My conscience reproached me, and I began to think how I could manage to
live a less selfish life, but before I could make up my mind what course
to follow an event occurred which caused delay.  A little girl was sent
to us.  I called her Mariquita, of course, and thought no more of
leaving our happy home in the mountains.  For five years we remained
here, and the little Mariquita grew to be an angel of light and beauty--
like her mother in all respects, except that she was very fair, with
curly golden hair.

"About that time war broke out--doubly accursed war!  One night a band
of deserters came and attacked my cottage.  It had always been well
prepared for anything of the sort with bolts, and bars and shutters, and
even flanking loop-holes, as well as plenty of fire-arms and ammunition.
But the party was too numerous.  The villains forced the door in spite
of me, and fired a volley before making a rush.  From that moment I
remembered nothing more until I recovered and found my head supported on
the knee of an old man.  I knew him at once to be a poor lonely old
hunter who ranged about in the mountains here, and had paid us
occasional visits.  When he saw I was able to understand him, he told me
that he had come suddenly on the villains and shot two of them, and that
the others, perhaps thinking him the advance-guard of a larger party,
had taken fright and made off.  `But,' he said, in a low, hesitating
tone, `Mariquita is dead!'

"I sprang up as if I had been shot, but instantly fell again, for my leg
had been broken.  I had seen enough, however.  My beloved one lay dead
on the floor, not far from me, with a bullet through her brain.  And
now," added Pedro, pointing in deep despondency to the little mound at
their feet--"she lies there!"

"Not so, my friend," said Lawrence, in a low but earnest tone, as he
grasped the man's hand, "it is only her dust that lies there, and even
_that_ is precious in the sight of her Lord."

"Thank you, senhor, for reminding me," returned Pedro; "but when the
memory of that awful night is strong upon me, my faith almost fails."

"No wonder," rejoined Lawrence, "but what of the child?"

"Ah! that is what I asked the old hunter," returned Pedro.  "He started
up, and searched high and low, but could not find her.  Then he went
out, calling her by name loudly, and searched the bushes.  Then he
returned with a wild look and said the robbers must have taken her
away--he would pursue!  I knew it would be useless, for the scoundrels
were mounted and the old hunter was on foot; but I let him go, and was
not surprised when, two hours later, he returned quite exhausted.  `It
is in vain,' he said.  `Yet if I could have come up with them, I would
have died for her.'

"I was long ill after that.  A good while, they say, I was out of my
mind, but old Ignacio nursed me through.  He also buried Mariquita where
she now lies."

The guide paused.

"And the child?" asked Lawrence, anxiously.

"I have sought her far and wide, year after year, over mountain and
plain.  She may be dead--she may be alive--but I have never seen her nor
heard of her from that day to this."

"Your story is a very, very sad one," said Lawrence, his face expressing
the genuine sympathy which he felt.  "May I ask--are your wanderings
mere haphazard?  Have you no idea who they were that stole your little
one, or where they went to?"

"None whatever.  The broken leg, you know, prevented my commencing the
search at once, and when I was able to go about I found that all trace
of the band was gone.  No wonder, for the country was at war at the
time, and many marauding parties had traversed the land since then."

"I--I shrink," said Lawrence, with some hesitation, "from even the
appearance of unkindness, but I cannot help expressing the fear that
this vague, undirected wandering will be useless."

"It would be so," returned Pedro, "if God did not direct all human
affairs.  If it be His will, I shall yet find my child on earth.  If
not, I shall find her above--with her mother.  In our intercourse,
senhor, I have observed in you a respect for God's Word.  Is it not
written, `Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him, and He will
bring it to pass?'"

"Most true," replied Lawrence, feeling the reproof, "yet God works by
means.  If we do not take the right means, we cannot expect to attain
our end, however much we may trust."

"Right, senhor, and I have taken the _only_ means open to me.  Since I
cannot give direction to my search, I search _everywhere_.  Fortunately
my business permits of this, and also of doing a little service to my
fellow-men as I go on my way.  Periodically I return here to rest,"--(he
pointed to the little mound,)--"and when my powers begin to wane, either
through disease or age, it is my purpose, if God permit, to return and
die beside Mariquita's grave."



CHAPTER EIGHT.

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE AND A CHANGE OF SCENE.

On their way back to the cottage they heard dogs barking, and a man
talking to them.  Next moment these came in sight.

"The old hunter!" exclaimed Pedro, hastening forward with evident
pleasure to meet his friend.

It was equally evident that the old man was as much pleased to meet
Pedro, for they grasped each other's hands with hearty good-will.

"What news?" asked the old man, eagerly, as he held up a hand to check
the dogs, which were leaping round him.

Pedro shook his head sadly, and the expression of the old man became
grave.  The question referred to Pedro's search for his lost child.  It
had long been the first inquiry when these two met after a separation.
The old man seemed never to lose hope, but he had become so accustomed
to the reply that his despondency was now of short duration.  He had
known and loved the child in days gone by--had helped the mother in
cultivating her garden-plot, and had gone out hunting with the father
many a time.  He was a fine-looking man, above seventy years of age,
with iron-grey hair, turning in some places to pure white.  The hunter's
spare though still upright figure showed that he must have been a
powerful man in his youth, and the deeply-marked wrinkles about his
mouth and eyes told eloquently that he was a kind one.  Round his
shoulders were twined the cords of the heavy "bolas," or balls, with
which he sometimes felled, at other times entangled, his prey.  These
balls were covered with clotted blood.  He carried a short gun in his
hand, and a large knife was stuck in his belt.

The dogs that leaped around him were a strange pack--some being very
large, some very small, and all of different breeds.  A few of them had
been lamed, and all were more or less marked by the wounds received from
jaguars and pumas.

"You expected me, Ignacio?" said Pedro, after the first greetings were
over.

"No--not quite so soon, but I chanced to be wandering about in the
mountains, and came down to take a look at the old place, to see that
all was right.  You know I am fond of our old haunts, and never stay
long away from them, but I did not expect to find you here."

The hunter spoke in Spanish, and Lawrence found to his satisfaction
that, although he by no means understood all that was said, he had
already improved so much in that tongue through his frequent efforts to
converse with Manuela, that he could follow the drift at least of the
hunter's remarks.

"I have come back sooner than I intended," returned Pedro, "for war is a
wonderful hastener, as well as dictator, of events; but I have to thank
war for having given me a new friend.  Let me introduce Senhor Lawrence
Armstrong to you; Senhor, my old comrade Ignacio, who, as I have told
you, nursed me back to life many years ago."

The old man held out a hard bony hand, and gave Lawrence a hearty
squeeze of friendship that had something vice-like in its vigour.  He
then turned to Pedro, and began to make anxious inquiries about the war.
As the two men spoke in undertones, Lawrence drew back a few paces, and
followed them towards the cottage.  He observed that Ignacio shook his
head very often, and also that he laughed once or twice silently, but
with apparent heartiness.  As he overheard the name of Manuela just
before one of these laughs, he experienced some disagreeable feelings,
which it was not easy to understand or get rid of, so he took to
fondling the hunter's dogs by way of diversion to his mind.

The animals testified indirectly to the character of their master by
receiving his advances with effusive demonstrations of joy.

At the cottage they found Ignacio's horse--a very fine one--with a lasso
hanging from the saddle.  Beside it stood a loose horse with the carcass
of a guanaco flung over it, and a Gaucho lad who was the hunter's only
attendant.  Quashy was engaged in animated conversation with this youth,
and Manuela stood beside him listening.

"I cannot understand," said Lawrence to Pedro, as they approached, "how
men ever acquire dexterity in the use of these bolas."

"Practice makes perfect, you know," said the guide, "and it doesn't
matter much what sort of weapons you use, if you only learn to use them
well.  Of course it's not easy to a beginner.  When Ignacio's dogs turn
out a jaguar or a puma, they follow him hotly till he stops to defend
himself.  If the dogs fly upon the brute, the hunter usually jumps off
his horse, whirls the three balls about till they get up tremendous
momentum, and then brings them down on the jaguar's skull with a whack
that generally drops him.  But if the dogs are afraid to go at him,
Ignacio throws the lasso over him, gallops away, and drags him over the
ground, while the dogs rush in and tear him.  What between bumping and
hounds, the jaguar's career is soon finished."

"I'm glad I've met you," said Pedro to Ignacio, as they turned aside
into the bushes together, "for I've got news to tell, and I'll want your
help.  There's mischief brewing in the air, and I am commissioned--"

Thus much did Lawrence and Quashy overhear before the voice died away in
the distance.  It was a tantalising point to stop at!  Lawrence looked
at Quashy and at Manuela, who stood near.

"Does Manuela know anything of the mischief that is brewing?" asked
Lawrence in amazing Spanish.

"Not'ing," replied the girl in English, "but she _trust_ Pedro."

"So do I, with all my heart," returned Lawrence; "my question was
prompted by curiosity, not by doubt."

"I's not so sure," said Quashy, with a frown, and a tone of
self-assertion which was rare in him.  "Nice-lookin' men like him's not
allers as nice as dey looks."

"Fie, Quashy!  I thought you were of a more trustful spirit."

"So I is, massa--awrful trus'ful!  Kin trus' _you_ wid a'most anyt'ing.
Trus' dis yer Injin gal wid untol' gol'.  Trus' Sooz'n wid de whole
world, an' eberyt'ing else besides, but I's not quite so sure about dis
yer Pedro.  Di'n't he say dar's noos to tell, an' he wants help, an'
der's mischif a-brewin'?  An' ain't I sure 'nuff dat he's got suffin to
do wid de mischif, or he wouldn't be so secret?"

"Well, Quashy, you'd better not tell Pedro your doubts of him," said
Lawrence; "for if he knocks you down, I won't feel bound to stand up for
you--seeing that I have perfect confidence in him."

Further conversation on this point was cut abruptly short by a
tremendous hissing inside the cottage, followed by clouds of steam.  It
was caused by one of Quashy's pots having boiled over.  The negro sprang
to the rescue.  Soon afterwards, the host and the old hunter returning,
they all entered the place together, and sat down to supper.

It was but a simple cottage, suitable to the simple tastes of a
mountaineer in such a region, with only two rooms and a kitchen, besides
a small attic divided into two chambers, which could be reached only by
a ladder through a trap-door.  Little furniture graced it, yet what
little there was bore evidence of having felt the touch of a tasteful
female hand.  Numerous nails and pegs were stuck in the walls for the
purpose of supporting fire-arms, etcetera, but the weapons had been
secreted in a place of safety, for, during the owner's frequent and long
absences from home, the cottage was locked up and left pretty much to
take care of itself, being deemed safe enough, owing to its remote and
lonely position.

The key was always left in charge of old Ignacio who was understood to
have his eye on the place, and privileged to inhabit it whenever he
chose.

All this, and a great deal more, Pedro told to Lawrence as they sat
round the table at supper in what used to be the parlour of the
establishment.  "But I'm going to lock it up, and hide the key this
time," he continued; "because I have to send Ignacio on urgent matters
into the eastern parts of Bolivia, to--"

"To git help, an' tell de noos about de mischif what's a-brewin'," said
the negro abruptly, with a pointed stare at the guide, and an arrested
potato on the end of his fork.

"You've learnt your lesson well, Quashy," returned Pedro, with a
good-humoured smile, as he helped himself to a fresh supply of meat;
"these are the very words--to obtain help and spread the news about the
mischief that's brewing.  Pass the salt, like a good fellow, and help
Manuela to some more maize.  You're forgetting your manners, boy."

The negro heaved a sigh of discomfiture, and did as he was bid.

Next morning at daybreak they left the cottage, and descended the
intricate valley which led to it.  Pedro seemed to have quite subdued
his feelings--at least all outward manifestation of them--for he was
sterner and more silent than usual as they resumed their journey.  For
some distance their route and that of Ignacio lay in the same direction,
but towards the afternoon of the same day on which they left Mariquita
Cottage the old hunter bade the party adieu, and, accompanied by his
Gaucho lad and his dogs, entered a north-easterly defile of the hills,
and disappeared.

"We shall soon get to more cultivated lands, Manuela," said Pedro, in
the Indian tongue, glancing back at Lawrence, who rode a few paces
behind.  "I doubt not you will be glad to see female faces again."

To the surprise of the guide, Manuela said that she did not care!

"Indeed!" he rejoined; "I thought you would be getting tired by this
time of such rough travelling, and frequent hard lodging and fare, as
well as of the conversation of us men."

"No, I am not tired.  I delight in this wild, free life."

"Surely not because it is _new_ to you," said Pedro, with a glance of
amusement; "when you dwell with your kindred, your life must be wild
enough--unless indeed the great chief, your father, deems it beneath the
dignity of his daughter to join in the sports of her fellows."

Manuela made no reply, but for a moment or two gave vent to that clear,
short, merry laugh in which she sometimes indulged.  Lawrence Armstrong,
irresistibly charmed by the sound, rode up alongside.

"Manuela is merry," he said to the guide; "will you not translate, that
I may enjoy the joke?"

"It is not easy to translate," replied Pedro.  "In fact, I doubt if you
will see the joke at all.  It requires a little knowledge of Manuela's
past career to make understanding possible.  She only said that she
delighted in this wild, free life."

"Not much jest in that, truly," returned Lawrence, "being, I fear, dull
of comprehension; nevertheless, I see an unintentional compliment to
_us_ in the remark, for it implies that we have not made Manuela's
journey tedious to her."

"It may be so," said Pedro, simply.  "I was just telling her that we
shall soon get to more inhabited parts of the land, where she will have
a little female society now and then, and I was about to add that
afterwards we shall descend into the lower grounds of Bolivia, where she
will have wild life enough to her heart's content--perchance too much of
it."

Soon afterwards the guide's prophecy came true, for they passed from the
rugged mountains into a wide and richly clothed table-land, where there
were a few scattered farms, at which they were made heartily welcome
whenever they chose to stop for the night or for a meal.

Passing thence into another range of comparatively low hills, they
reached the town of San Ambrosio, where they found comfortable quarters
in a new and commodious inn--at least it seemed commodious, after the
recent experiences of our travellers.

Here Pedro said he would have to spend a day or two, as he had business
to transact in the town, and that he would search out an old
acquaintance with whose family he would place Manuela till their
departure.

While Pedro was gone in quest of his friend, the Indian girl, probably
feeling shy in the midst of such unwonted crowds, retired to the room
provided for her, and Lawrence and Quashy found themselves left in the
unusual condition of having nothing to do.  Of course, in these
circumstances, they resolved to go out and see the town.

While Lawrence was questioning the landlord, an American, as to how he
should proceed, a very decided tremor passed through his frame.  Quashy
seemed to experience a similar sensation, for he said abruptly--

"Eart'quak'!"

"That's nothing new here, sir," said the landlord to Lawrence, as he
lighted a cigarette; "we're used to it, though some of the natives ain't
quite easy in their minds, for the shocks have been both frequent as
well as violent lately."

"Have they done any damage?" asked Lawrence.

"Nothin' to speak of.  Only shook down a house or two that was built to
sell, I suppose, not to stand.  You'll find the market-place second turn
to your left."

Somewhat impressed by the landlord's free-and-easy manner, as well as by
his apparent contempt for earthquakes, the master and man went out
together.  With characteristic modesty the negro attempted to walk
behind, but Lawrence would by no means permit this.  He insisted on his
walking beside him.

"Bery good, massa," said Quashy, at last giving in, "if you _will_ walk
'longside ob a nigger, 's'not _my_ fault.  Don't blame _me_."

With this protest, solemnly uttered, the faithful negro accompanied our
hero in his inspection of the town.



CHAPTER NINE.

TELLS OF A TREMENDOUS CATASTROPHE.

San Ambrosio was, at the period of which we write, a small and thriving
place--though what may be styled a mushroom town, which owed its
prosperity to recently discovered silver-mines.  All things considered,
it was a town of unusual magnificence on a small scale.

Being built with straight streets, cutting each other at right angles,
Lawrence and his man had no difficulty in finding the principal square,
or market-place, which was crowded with people selling and buying
vegetables, milk, eggs, fruit, etcetera, brought in from the surrounding
districts.  The people presented all the picturesque characteristics of
the land in profusion--peons, with huge Spanish spurs, mounted on gaily
caparisoned mules; Gauchos, on active horses of the Pampas;
market-women, in varied costumes more or less becoming, and dark-eyed
senhoras on balconies and verandas sporting the graceful mantilla and
the indispensable fan.

The carts and donkeys, and dogs and fowls, and boys had the curious
effect of reducing the babel of voices and discordant sounds to
something like a grand harmony.

Besides these, there was a sprinkling of men of free-and-easy swagger,
in long boots, with more or less of villainy in their faces--adventurers
these, attracted by the hope of "something turning up" to their
advantage, though afflicted, most of them, with an intense objection to
take the trouble of turning up anything for themselves.  Dangerous
fellows, too, who would not scruple to appropriate the turnings up of
other people when safe opportunity offered.

A clear fountain played in the centre of the square--its cool,
refreshing splash sounding very sweet in the ears of Lawrence, whose
recent sojourn in the cold regions of the higher Andes had rendered him
sensitive to the oppressive heat of the town.  Besides this, a clear
rivulet ran along one side of the square, near to which was the
governor's house.  A line of trees threw a grateful shade over the
footpath here.  On the opposite side stood the barracks, where a few
ill-clad unsoldierly men lounged about with muskets in their hands.  All
the houses and church walls and spires, not only in the square, but in
the town, bore evidence, in the form of cracked walls and twisted
windows and doorways, of the prevalence of earthquakes; and there was a
general appearance of dilapidation and dirt around, which was anything
but agreeable to men who had just come from the free, grand,
sweet-scented scenery of the mountains.

"They seem to have had some severe shakings here," said Lawrence,
pointing with his stick to a crack in the side of one of the houses
which extended from the roof to the ground.

We may remark here that, on entering the town, our travellers had laid
aside their arms as being useless encumbrances, though Lawrence still
carried his oaken cudgel, not as a weapon but a walking-stick.

"Yes, massa," replied Quashy, "got lots ob eart' quaks in dem diggins.
Ebery day, more or less, dey hab a few.  Jest afore you come down dis
mornin' I hab some conv'sashin' wid de landlord, an' he say he don' like
de look ob t'ings."

"Indeed, Quashy.  Why not?"

"'Cause it's gittin' too hot, he say, for de time ob year--sulfry, he
called it."

"Sultry, you mean?"

"Well, I's not 'zactly sure what I means, but _he_ said sulfry.  An'
dey've bin shook more dan ornar ob late.  An' dere's a scienskrific
gen'leman in our inn what's bin a-profisyin' as there'll be a grand
bust-up afore long."

"I hope he'll turn out to be a false prophet," said Lawrence.  "What is
his name?"

"Dun' know, massa.  Look dar!" exclaimed Quashy, with a grin, pointing
to a fat priest with a broad-brimmed white hat on a sleek mule, "he do
look comf'rable."

"More comfortable than the poor beast behind him," returned Lawrence,
with a laugh, as he observed three little children cantering along on
one horse.

There was no lack of entertainment and variety in that town, for people
generally seemed to a great extent to have cast off the trammels of
social etiquette, both in habits and costume.  Many of the horses that
passed were made to carry double.  Here would ride past a man with a
woman behind him; there a couple of girls, or two elderly females.
Elsewhere appeared a priest of tremendous length and thinness, with feet
much too near the ground, and further on a boy, so small as to resemble
a monkey, with behind him a woman so old as to suggest the idea he had
taken his great-grandmother out for a ride, or--_vice versa_!

For some hours master and man wandered about enjoying themselves
thoroughly in spite of the heat, commenting freely on all they saw and
heard, until hunger reminded them of the flight of time.  Returning to
their hotel, Lawrence, to his surprise, found a note awaiting him.  It
was from Pedro, saying that he had found his friend in a village about
three miles from San Ambrosio, describing the route to the place, and
asking him to send Quashy out immediately, as he wanted his assistance
that night for a few hours.

"I wonder what he wants with you?" said Lawrence.

"To help him wid de mischif!" replied the negro, in a half-sulky tone.

"Well, you'll have to go, but you'd better eat something first."

"No, massa; wid you's leave I'll go off at once.  A hunk ob bread in de
pocket an' lots o' fruit by de way--das 'nuff for dis nigger."

"Off with you, then, and tell Pedro that you left Manuela and me quite
comfortable."

"O Massa Lawrie!--'scuse me usin' de ole name--it _am_ so nice to hear
you speak jolly like dat.  'Minds me ob de ole times!"

"Get along with you," said Lawrence, with a laugh, as the warm-hearted
black left the hotel.

Thus these two parted.  Little did they imagine what singular
experiences they should encounter before meeting again.

Soon after Quashy's departure Lawrence went to the door of Manuela's
room, and, tapping gently, said--

"Dinner is ready, Manuela."

"I kom queek," replied the girl, with a hearty laugh.

It had by that time become an established little touch of pleasantry
between these two that Lawrence should teach the Indian girl English--at
least to the extent of familiar phrases--while she should do the same
for him with Spanish.  There was one thing that the youth liked much in
this, and it also surprised him a little, namely, that it seemed to draw
the girl out of her Indian reticence and gravity, for she laughed with
childlike delight at the amazing blunders she made in attempting
English.  Indeed, she laughed far more at herself than at him, although
his attempts at Spanish were even more ridiculous.

A few minutes later Manuela entered the room, and, with a modest yet
gracious smile, took a seat opposite her pupil-teacher.

"Dignity," thought the latter--"native dignity and grace!  Being the
daughter of a great chief of the Incas--a princess, I suppose--she
cannot help it.  An ordinary Indian female, now, would have come into
the room clumsily, looked sheepish, and sat down on the edge of her
chair--perhaps on the floor!"

But as he gazed at her short, black, curly hair, her splendid black
eyebrows, her pretty little high-bred mouth, beautiful white teeth, and
horribly brown skin, he sighed, and only said--

"Ay, ay!  Well, well!  _What_ a pity!"

"What ees dat?" inquired the girl, with a look of grave simplicity.

"Did I speak?" returned Lawrence, a little confused.

"Yes--you say, `Ay, ay.  Well, well.  _What_ a pittie!'"

"Oh!--ah!--yes--I was only _thinking_, Manuela.  What will you have?"

"Som muttin," replied the girl, with a pursing of the little mouth that
indicated a tendency to laugh.

"It is not mutton.  It's beef, I think."

"Well, bee-eef very naice--an' som' gravvie too, plee-ese."

She went off at this point into a rippling laugh, which, being
infectious in its nature, also set her companion off, but the entrance
of the landlord checked them both.  He sat down at a small table near to
them, and, being joined by a friend, called for a bottle of wine.

"Hotter than ever," he remarked to Lawrence.

"Yes, very sultry indeed."

"Shouldn't wonder if we was to have a sharpish touch or two to-night."

To which his friend, who was also an American if not an Englishman, and
appeared to be sceptical in his nature, replied, "Gammon!"

This led to a conversation between the two which is not worthy of
record, as it was chiefly speculative in regard to earthquakes in
general, and tailed off into guesses as to social convulsions present,
past or pending.  One remark they made, however, which attracted the
attention of our hero, and made him wish to hear more.  It had reference
to some desperate character whose name he failed to catch, but who was
said to be in the neighbourhood again, "trying to raise men to join his
band of robbers," the landlord supposed, to which the landlord's friend
replied with emphasis that he had come to the right place, for, as far
as his experience went, San Ambrosio was swarming with men that seemed
fit for anything--from "pitch-and-toss to manslaughter."

Not wishing, apparently, to hear anything more about such disagreeable
characters and subjects, Manuela rose at the conclusion of the meal and
retired to her apartment, while Lawrence continued to sip his coffee in
a balcony which overlooked the vineyard behind the hotel.

It was evening, and, although unusually warm, the weather was very
enjoyable, for a profound calm reigned around, and the hum of the
multitudes in the distant square seemed hushed as the church bells rang
the hour for evening prayers.  As the twilight deepened, and the stars
came faintly into sight in the dark-blue vault above, the thoughts of
Lawrence became strangely saddened, and, gradually quitting the scene of
peaceful beauty on which he gazed, sped over the Cordillera of the Andes
to that home of his boyhood which now lay in ashes.  The frame of mind
thus induced naturally led him to dwell on past scenes in which his
mother had taken a part, and he was still meditating, more than half
asleep, on the joys which were never to return, when he was roused into
sudden and thorough consciousness by something--he could not tell what--
a sort of sensation--which caused him to leap from his chair.

At the same moment there arose from the streets a cry, or wail.
Suddenly a rumbling noise was heard.  Lawrence bounded towards the
nearest door.  Full well he knew what it meant.  Before he could escape
there was a tremendous upheaval of the solid earth, and in one instant,
without further warning, the entire town fell with one mighty crash!
Lawrence just saw the walls and roof collapsing--then all was dark, and
consciousness forsook him.



CHAPTER TEN.

RECOUNTS SOME TERRIBLE AND SOME VIGOROUS DEEDS.

How long our hero lay in this state he could not tell, but on recovering
his faculties he became conscious of the fact that he was in total
darkness, lying on his back, with a tremendous weight pressing on his
chest.  For a few moments he remained still, quite unable to recollect
what had occurred, or where he was.

Suddenly memory resumed its office--the earthquake! the fall of the
hotel!--and, with a gush of horror, he realised the terrible truth that
he was buried alive.

The reader must have been in the position we describe to understand
fully the feelings of the poor youth at that moment.  His first impulse
was to make a violent effort to shake off the intolerable weight that
almost suffocated him; but his efforts, strong though he was, proved in
vain.  It felt as if a mountain held him down.  Then the thought of
Manuela rushed in upon him, and he uttered a loud cry.  The sound of his
voice in the confined space was terrible.  It seemed to rush in upon his
brain with awful din.  In his agony, a feeling of frantic despair came
over him, and, with the strength of a giant, he struggled to be free,
but still without success.  Exhausted as much by his horror as by his
efforts, he lay for some minutes quite still, his brain keenly alive and
thirsting, as it were, for some sound that might convey hope.  No sound
was to be heard, save the intense beating of his own pulsations which
seemed to throb into his ears, and down into his very extremities.

As he lay listening, it came strangely into his thoughts, with something
like a feeling of regret, that it would be very hard for him to die!  So
much strong life as he possessed must, he thought, take long to destroy!
But again, the memory of poor Manuela, perhaps in a similar condition,
and certainly not far from him, banished the thoughts of self, and he
listened once more intently.

All was still as the grave.  The effort at self-control, however, calmed
him a little, and, in a gentler mood, he tried to move his arms.  The
left arm was fixed as in a vice, and gave him so much pain, that he
feared it had been broken.  The right arm was also fast, but he felt
that he could move his hand.

It was a feeble straw for the buried man to clutch at, yet it was strong
enough to buoy up Hope in a stout heart.  His courage returned, and with
calm, resolute patience he set to work, uttering the fervent prayer,
"Help me, O God!"

Where there was space for a hand to move freely, he knew there must be
space to remove rubbish, though it might be ever so little.  In a few
minutes some handful of earth were thrust aside.  Then, by drawing his
arm upwards and pushing it downwards, he loosened the rubbish around it,
and by slow degrees set it partially free.  If he had been entombed in
solid earth, this, he was well aware, could not have been possible; but,
rightly judging that in a mass of mingled bricks, mortar, and beams
there must be spaces more or less open, he worked away, with patience
and in hope.  The result was that he was able at last to touch with his
right hand the object which lay so crushingly on his chest.  It was an
enormous beam.  The utter impossibility of even moving it filled him for
a moment with despair, but again he cried to God for help.  The cry was
answered, truly and effectively, yet without a miracle, for the very act
of trust in the Almighty calmed his mind and set it free to consider
intelligently.

He could not hope to lift the beam.  It was far too heavy.  Being so
heavy, he knew it would have killed him outright if it had not been
checked in its descent, and partially supported somehow.  Might he not,
then, scrape away the rubbish on which he lay until he should, as it
were, sink away from the beam?  He tried at once, and managed to get his
right hand slightly under him.  He could reach his haunch.  It was a
terribly slow process, but by degrees the busy hand reached the waist,
drawing the rubbish out by small portions at a time.  It seemed to him
as if hours were spent in these painful efforts.  Still no appreciable
difference was made in his position, and he had by that time pushed his
hand as far up under his back towards his neck as it was possible to
turn it.  Finding that he could scrape away no more in that direction,
he now sought to deepen the hollows already made.  In doing so he got
hold of a brick, which he wrenched out with a desperate effort.  The
result was instantaneous relief, for he seemed to subside, not much,
indeed, but sufficiently to permit of his breathing freely.

With a fervent exclamation of thankfulness he turned slightly round, and
drew his left arm out from the rubbish.  He felt it anxiously.  It was
bruised a good deal, but not broken.

Although so greatly relieved that he felt for a few moments almost as if
he had been delivered from death, the poor youth was still in a terrible
case.  The space in which he was confined did not admit of his sitting
up, much less standing.  What seemed to be a solid mass of the fallen
wall was above him, prevented from crushing him by the beam before
mentioned, while around him were masses of brick and mortar densely
packed.

Again exerting his lungs, the youth shouted with all his might, and then
paused to listen; but there was no reply.  Then he shouted the name of
Manuela, in the hope that she might hear, and answer, if still alive.
But no answering voice replied.

Believing now that nothing could save him but a fixed purpose and a
prolonged desperate effort on an intelligent plan, he prayed again for
help, and then proceeded to enlarge his tomb by scraping the rubbish
back under the beam, from beneath which he had drawn himself, and
packing it tightly down.  This enlarged the space, enabling him to get
upon his knees.  To work upward through the fallen wall would, he knew,
be an impossibility.  He therefore worked horizontally for some time,
throwing the rubbish between his legs behind him, as, we presume, the
moles are accustomed to do.  Then he passed his hand along over his
head, and found that the solid wall was no longer above him,--only
disjointed bricks and beams.

With renewed hope and redoubled effort he now worked his way upwards,
although well-nigh suffocated by dust, as well as by smoke arising from
fires which had broken out in many places all over the ruined town.
Suddenly, while thus engaged, he heard voices faintly.  He shouted with
all his might, and listened.  Yes, he was not mistaken; he heard voices
distinctly, and they appeared to be speaking in Spanish.  With something
like a bounding of the heart he repeated his shout, and renewed his
labours.

If he had known the character of the persons who had thus encouraged
him, his hopes would not have been so strong.

We have said that the entire town had been levelled by one tremendous
convulsion, and that in many places fires had broken out among the
ruins.  These fires sent up dense volumes of smoke, which naturally
attracted people from all quarters of the surrounding country.  Among
them came bands of desperate and lawless characters, who fastened on the
ruins as vultures seize on carrion.  They resembled the unclean birds in
more respects than one, for they went about as long as there was
anything of value to be seized, long after other people had been forced
to quit the place owing to the horrible stench of the hundreds of
corpses decaying, and in many cases burning, among the ruins.  (See note
1.)

It was the voices of some of these lawless ruffians that Lawrence had
heard.  He soon became aware of their character by the terrible oaths
which they used, and the fiendish laughter in which they indulged
whenever he called for help.  Knowing that he had nothing to hope from
such miscreants, he ceased to call out, but toiled none the less
vigorously to effect his deliverance.  At last he managed to scrape
through to the upper world; and a feeling of inexpressible relief filled
his breast as a bright ray of sunshine shot into his prison.

That it was daylight did not surprise him, for the many hours which he
had spent under ground seemed to him like weeks.  But he soon found that
he was not yet free.  The hole which he had scraped was much too small
to admit of the passage of even a little boy.  In trying to enlarge it,
he found, to his dismay, that on one side of it was an enormous beam, on
the other a mass of solid masonry, which could not be moved without aid.
Looking out, he saw nothing but confused heaps of smoking ruins, save
in one direction, where, in the far distance, (for the hotel had stood
on a mound), he could see a group of men engaged as if searching for
something.

To these he shouted again, but did not attract their attention.  Either
they did not hear him, or did not care.  Turning then to the beam, he
tried with all his might to raise it, but failed, though it moved
slightly.  Encouraged by hope, and afterwards influenced by despair, he
tried again and again, until his strength broke down.

At this juncture he heard footsteps, and saw a man passing near.

"Senhor! senhor!" he cried, in the best Spanish he could muster, "aid me
to get out, for the love of God!"

A coarse insult was the only reply as the man passed on.  A group of
other men who passed soon after behaved as badly, for they only laughed
at his entreaties.

It is difficult to say whether rage or indignation was more powerful in
Lawrence's heart, but both passions were equally unavailing in the
circumstances.  He felt this, and soon calmed down; so that when, half
an hour later, another man passed that way, he addressed him in tones of
respect and earnest entreaty.

The bandit, for such he was, seemed to be utterly unaffected; for
although he must certainly have heard the appeal, he, like the others,
passed on without taking the slightest notice.

"Senhor! senhor!" cried Lawrence, "I have a gold watch and chain, to
which you--"

The man stopped, for the bait took at once.  Turning, and walking
towards the place from which the sound came, he soon found the hole
through which our hero looked.

"Hand out the watch, senhor," he said.

"No, no," answered Lawrence; "aid me first to lift the beam."

Whether the man understood the bad Spanish or not we cannot say, but
instead of helping to lift the beam, he drew a pistol from his belt, and
said--

"Hand out the watch, or I shoot!"

"Shoot away, then," cried Lawrence, savagely, as he drew quickly back
into his hole.

The report of the pistol followed the words, and the ball caused a cloud
of dust and rubbish to mingle with the smoke.

A wild laugh of defiance from within told that our Englishman was not
hurt.

"Ha--ha!  Shoot again," he cried, fiercely.

"No, senhor, no.  You are brave.  I will help you," replied the
miscreant.

Lawrence doubted the honesty of the man's assurance, but of course
thanked him, and expressed readiness to avail himself of his assistance.
He kept carefully at the extreme end of the hole, however, while his
murderous deliverer removed some of the rubbish from the beam, and so
made it possible to raise it.  Remaining quite still, Lawrence waited
till he saw that the beam had been so far moved as to enlarge the space
sufficiently for him to get through.  Then, with a sudden spring _a la_
Jack-in-the-box, he leaped out, and stood before the astonished bandit.

Lawrence, whose sense of honour taught him to hold his promise as sacred
to a thief as to an honest man, had fully intended to give up his watch
and chain to the man if he should remain peaceably disposed; but the
bandit was not so disposed.  Recovering from his surprise, he drew a
second pistol from his belt and levelled it at Lawrence.

Thought is quick; quicker even than triggers.  His length of limb
happily flashed into the youth's mind.  Up went his foot with a sudden
kick, and away went the pistol into the air, where it exploded after the
manner of a sky-rocket!  The bandit did not wait for more.  He turned
and fled, much to the satisfaction of the victor, who, overcome by
prolonged exhaustive toil and excitement, sank down on a heap of
rubbish, and lay there in a semi-conscious state.  It seemed as if both
mind and body had resolved to find rest at all hazards, for he lay
perfectly motionless for nearly an hour,--not exactly asleep, but
without being fully conscious of connected thought.

From this state of repose, if it may be so called, he was partially
aroused by the voices of men near him, talking in coarse, violent
language.  Raising his head languidly, he observed a band of about eight
or ten villainous-looking fellows busy round a hole, out of which they
appeared to be drawing some sort of booty.

"A prize!" exclaimed one of the men; "be gentle; she's worth taking
alive."

A loud laugh from the others roused Lawrence again, but a feeling of
unwonted exhaustion oppressed him, so that he scarce knew what it was he
heard.

Suddenly there arose a female voice, in a cry of pain.  Lawrence started
up on one elbow, and beheld Manuela struggling in the grasp of one of
the band.

If electric fire had taken the place of blood in his veins, he could not
have bounded up more quickly.  The shock seemed to renew and double his
wonted strength.  Like the English bull-dog, with terrible purpose, but
in absolute silence, he rushed over the rubbish towards the man who held
the struggling girl.  The man seemed to be a leader, being the only one
of the band who carried a cavalry sabre.  The others were armed, some
with short swords, some with carbines and pistols.

Swift though Lawrence was, the chief saw him coming.  He let go the
girl, and made a wild cut at him with the sabre.

Lawrence received the cut on his left arm.  At the same moment he struck
the villain such a blow with his clenched fist, that it seemed to crush
in his skull, and sent him headlong into the hole out of which they had
just dragged the Indian girl.  Fortunately he dropped his sabre as he
fell.  With a shout of defiance our hero caught it up, just in time to
arrest the descent of a carbine butt on his head.  Next moment the man
who aimed the blow was cleft to the chin, and a united rush of the
robbers was for the moment arrested.

Manuela, helpless and horror-struck, had stood motionless on the spot
where the chief had released her.  Lawrence caught her in his left arm,
swung her into an angle of the broken wall, placed himself in front, and
faced his foes.

The villains, though taken by surprise, were no cravens.  Apparently
they had already discharged their fire-arms, for only one fired at our
hero with a pistol, and missed his aim.  Flinging the weapon at his
adversary with a yell of disappointment, he missed his aim a second
time.  At the same moment another of the band--one of the tallest and
most ferocious-looking--sprang upon the youth with terrible fury.  He
knew well, apparently, how to use his weapon; and Lawrence felt that his
experience at school now stood him in good stead.  As the weapons of
these giants flew around with rapid whirl and clash, the others stood
aside to see the end.  Doubtless they would have taken unfair advantage
of their foe if they could, but Lawrence, turning his back to the wall,
where Manuela crouched, prevented that.  At last one dastardly wretch,
seeing that his comrade was getting the worst of it, bethought him of
his carbine, and began hurriedly to load.  Our hero noted the act, and
understood its fatal significance.  With a bound like that of a tiger he
sprang at the man, and cut him down with a back-handed blow, turning,
even in the act, just in time to guard a sweeping cut dealt at his head.
With a straight point he thrust his sword through teeth, gullet, and
skull of his tall adversary, until it stood six inches out behind his
head.  Then, without a moment's pause, he leaped upon the nearest of the
other bandits.

Awe-stricken, they all gave back, and it seemed as if the youth would
yet win the day single-handed against them all, when a shout was heard,
and half a dozen men of the same stamp, if not the same band, came
running to the rescue.

Lawrence drew hastily back to his protecting wall.

"Pray, Manuela, pray," he gasped; "we are in God's hands."

At that moment two shots were heard away on their right, and two of the
advancing bandits fell.  An instant later, and Quashy bounded upon the
scene with a high trumpet-shriek like a wild elephant.  Pedro followed,
brandishing the rifle which he had just discharged with such fatal
effect.  Lawrence joined them with a genuine British cheer, but their
adversaries did not await the onset.  They turned, fled, and speedily
scattered themselves among the ruins.

"T'ank God, massa, we's in time," said Quashy, wiping with his sleeve
the perspiration that streamed from his face, as they returned quickly
to Manuela.

"We must not wait a moment here," said Pedro, hurriedly.  "There may be
more of the villains about.  But you are wounded, Senhor Armstrong."

"Not badly," said Lawrence.  "It might have been worse, but the fellow
was in such a hurry that the edge of his sabre turned, and I got only a
blow with the side of it.  If I had only had my good cudgel--by the way,
it must be in the hole.  It was in my hand when--Stay, I'll return in a
few seconds."

He ran back to his late tomb, and quickly returned in triumph with his
favourite weapon.

"Come, we must get away from this at once," said Pedro, turning to
Manuela.  "No time for explanations.  Are you hurt?"

"No; thank God.  Let us go," replied the girl, who was pale and haggard,
as she staggered towards them.

"Take my arm," said Lawrence, presenting his wounded limb.

The girl pointed with trembling hand to the blood.

"It is nothing--a mere scratch," said Lawrence.

In his anxiety he forgot to speak in Spanish.  Manuela appeared as if
about to sink with fear.  He caught her, lifted her in his arms as if
she had been a little child, and, following Pedro's lead, left the place
which had been the scene of so many terrible events.

In the outskirts of the town there was a large low building of mud or
sun-dried bricks, which had not been overthrown by the earthquake.  To
this Pedro conducted his companions.  They found room in the place,
though it was nearly full of survivors in all conditions of injury,--
from those who had got mere scratches and bruises, to those who had been
so crushed and mangled that life was gradually ebbing away.  There
seemed to be about fifty people in the room, and every minute more were
being brought in.

Here Lawrence set down his burden, who had by that time quite recovered,
and turned quickly to the guide.

"Come, Pedro," he said, "I can be of use here; but we must have my own
wound dressed first.  You can do it, I doubt not."

Pedro professed to be not only able but willing.  Before he did it,
however, he whispered in a low tone, yet with much emphasis, to
Manuela--

"Don't forget yourself!  Remember!"

As he whispered pretty loud, and in Spanish, Lawrence overheard and
understood him, and puzzled himself, not only that day, but for many
days and nights after, as to how it was possible that Manuela _could_
forget herself, and what it was she had to remember.  But the more and
the longer he puzzled over it, the less did he clear up his mind on the
subject.

When it became known that Lawrence was a doctor, there was a visible
increase of hope in the expression and bearing of the poor wounded
people.  And the youth soon justified their trustful feelings, for, with
Pedro and Quashy as assistant-surgeons, and Manuela as head-nurse, he
went about setting broken bones, bandaging limbs, sewing up wounds, and
otherwise relieving the sufferers around him.

While this was going on the poor people were recounting many marvellous
tales of terrible risks run, escapes made, and dangers evaded.  During
all this time, too, frequent shocks of earthquake were felt, of greater
or less violence, and these afterwards continued daily for a month, so
that the few buildings which had partially survived the first awful
shock were finally levelled like the rest.

When Lawrence with his assistants had gone the rounds of the
extemporised hospital, he was so completely worn out that he could
scarcely keep his eyes open.  Swallowing a cup of hot coffee hastily, he
flung himself on a heap of straw beside one of his patients, and almost
instantly fell into a profound lethargic slumber.

There was an unoccupied arm-chair in the room.  Placing this beside the
youth's couch, the Indian girl sat down with a fan, purposing, in her
gratitude, to protect her preserver from the mosquitoes, which were
having an unusual bout of revelry over the sufferers that night.

Quashy, observing this as he lay down in a corner, shook his head sadly,
and whispered to himself:

"Ah! you brown gal, you's in lub wid massa.  But it's useless.  De ole
story ob unrekited affection; for you know, pretty though you is, massa
kin nebber marry a squaw!"

Thus thinking, Quashy went sweetly to sleep.

So did most of the others in that crowded place.  But Manuela stuck to
her colours nobly.  She kept awake until her pretty black eyes became
lustreless, until her pretty brown face became expressionless, until the
effort to continue awake became hopeless.  Then her little head fell
back on the cushion of the chair, the little mouth opened, and the large
eyes closed.  The little hand which held the fan dropped by her side.
The fan itself dropped on the floor, and, like the others, poor Manuela
at length found rest and solace in slumber.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1.  A similar disaster, accompanied by dreadful scenes of
lawlessness and horror, occurred in 1861, when the city of Mendoza was
totally destroyed by an earthquake, and nine-tenths of the inhabitants
perished.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

OUTWITTED BY A BANDIT.

Early next morning Pedro went round and quietly roused his friends.

"We must start at once," he said in a low voice to Lawrence, when the
wearied youth was sufficiently awake to understand.  "Your wounded arm
is better, I hope?"

"It is only stiff and painful; happily, no bones are injured.  But why
such haste?  I don't like to leave my poor patients in this fashion."

"Will any of them die if you don't stay to nurse them?" asked the guide,
with a grave, almost stern, expression.

"Why, no; not exactly," returned Lawrence; "but many of them will want
their wounds dressed, and all of them will be the better for a little
more skilled attendance."

"Will they not survive under ordinary attendance?" asked Pedro, with
increasing severity of expression.

"Doubtless they will, but--"

"Would you like," interrupted the inflexible guide, "to have them all
roused up at this early hour to hear a little farewell speech from you,
explaining the absolute necessity for your going away, and your extreme
regret at leaving them?"

"Not if there is such necessity," returned Lawrence, yawning, and
raising himself on one elbow.

"There _is_ such necessity, senhor.  I have been down to the village
where my friend lives, and have got fresh horses.  Manuela and Quashy
are already mounted.  I let you sleep to the last moment, seeing you
were so tired.  Don't forget your pistols; you may need them."

Without waiting for a reply, he rose and left the room.  The young
doctor hesitated no longer.  Regret at quitting the poor people around
him was overborne by the fear of being left behind, for he had by that
time begun to entertain a vague suspicion that the stern and peculiar
man by whom he was led would not permit any object whatever to stand in
the way of what he believed to be his duty.

In a few seconds he issued from the hut, armed with his pair of
double-barrelled pistols and the faithful cudgel.  The cavalry sabre,
however, had been lost, not much to his regret.

The grey light of dawn was just sufficient to give a ghostly appearance
to what may be truly termed the ghastly ruins around them, and to reveal
in undefined solemnity the neighbouring mountains.  Smoke still issued
from the half-smothered fires, and here and there a spectral figure
might be seen flitting silently to and fro.  But all was profoundly
still and quiet, even the occasional tremors of the earth had ceased for
a time, when they issued from the enclosure of the hut.

Without speaking, Lawrence mounted the horse which stood ready for him,
and they all rode silently away, picking their steps with great care
through the upheaved and obstructed streets.  It was a scene of absolute
and utter ruin, which Lawrence felt could never be effaced from his
memory, but must remain there burned in deeply, in its minutest details,
to the end of time.

When they had passed the suburbs, however, and reached the country
beyond, the depressing influences passed away, and, a certain degree of
cheerfulness returning with the sun, they began to chat and to explain
to each other their various experiences.

"Of course, when I felt the earthquake," said Pedro to Lawrence, "I knew
that, although little damage was done to the village to which I had gone
in search of my friends, it must have been very severe on the town with
its spires and public buildings; so I saddled up at once, and set off on
my return.  I met Quashy just as I left the village, and we both spurred
back as fast as we could.  When we came in sight of it, we saw at once
that the place was destroyed, but, until we reached it, had no idea of
the completeness of the destruction.  We could not even find the road
that led to the inn where we had left you and Manuela; and it was not
till the following morning that we found the inn itself, and came up, as
you know, just in time to help you, though we had sought diligently all
night."

"Das so, massa," broke in Quashy, who had listened with glittering eyes
to Pedro's narrative, which of course was much more extended and full,
"an' you's got no notion how we's banged about our poor shins among dese
ruins afore we founded you.  S'my b'lief but for de fires we'd nebber
hab founded you at all.  And dem scoundrils--oh! dem scoundrils--"

Quashy's feelings at this point failed to find vent in words
sufficiently expressive, so he relieved them to some extent by shaking
his fist at scoundreldom in general, and grinding his teeth.  No words
could have expressed his feelings half so well.  By way of changing a
subject that appeared to be almost too much for him, he turned abruptly
to the Indian girl; and said, in Spanish quite as bad as that of
Lawrence--

"But where were _you_, senhorina, all the time?"

"Ay, Manuela, let's hear how it was that you escaped," said Pedro
quickly, in Indian.

"I escaped through the mercy of God," replied the girl, in a low voice.

"True, Manuela, true," replied the guide, "you never said a truer word
than that; but by what means was His mercy displayed?"

"I can scarcely tell," returned the girl; "when the earthquake came I
was sitting on my bed.  Then the wall of the room seemed to fall on me,
and my senses were gone.  How long I lay so, I cannot tell.  When I
recovered my mind I felt as if buried alive, but I could breathe, and
although unable to rise, I could move.  Then I heard cries, and I
replied; but my strength was gone, and I think no one heard me.  Then I
prayed, and then, I think, I slept, but am not sure.  At last I heard a
spade striking the earth above me.  Soon an opening was made, and I was
dragged rudely out.  The rest you know."

On this being interpreted to her companions, Quashy gave it as his
decided opinion that a miracle had been performed for her special
deliverance; but Lawrence thought that, without miraculous interference,
God had caused a mass of wall to fall over and protect her in much the
same way that he himself had been protected.

While they were talking thus, and slowly descending one of the numerous
richly-wooded, though rugged, paths which traverse the lower slopes of
the Andes, they encountered a party of horsemen from the Pampas.  They
were well-armed, and from their looks might have been another troop of
banditti, coming like human vultures from afar to swoop down on the
carcass of the unfortunate town.

To have shown the slightest hesitancy or fear--supposing them to have
been what they looked--would have been to invite attack, but, as the
reader knows, our travellers were not the men to betray themselves thus.
Before starting, they had carefully examined their weapons, and had
bestowed them about their persons somewhat ostentatiously.  Pedro had
even caused Manuela to stick a brace of small pistols and a large knife
in her belt; and, as Indian women are sometimes known to be capable of
defending themselves as vigorously as men, she was by no means a cipher
in the effective strength of the party.

With a dignified yet free-and-easy air that would have done credit to a
Spanish Don of the olden time, Pedro saluted the party as he rode past.
His aspect, and the quiet, self-possessed air of the huge Englishman,
with the singularity of his cudgel, coupled with the look of graceful
decision about the Indian maiden, and the blunt bull-doggedness of the
square negro, were sufficient to ensure a polite response, not only from
that party, but from several other bands of the same stamp that were met
with during the day.

Diverging from the main road in order to avoid these bands, they
followed a track well-known to the guide.  Towards the afternoon, from
the top of a rising ground, they descried a solitary foot traveller
wending his way wearily up the hill.

He was a man of middle age, and powerfully-built, but walked with such
evident difficulty that it seemed as if he were either ill or exhausted.
Pedro eyed him with considerable suspicion as he approached.  In
passing, he begged for assistance.  As he spoke in French, Lawrence,
whose sympathies, like those of Quashy, were easily roused, asked in
that tongue what was the matter with him.

He had been robbed, he said, by that villainous bandit, Conrad of the
Mountains, or some one extremely like him, and had been nearly killed by
him.  He was on his way to San Ambrosio, where his wife and family
dwelt, having heard that it had been greatly damaged, if not destroyed,
by an earthquake.

"It has been utterly destroyed, my poor fellow," said Lawrence, in a
tone of pity; "but it may be that your family has escaped.  A good
number of people have escaped.  Here are a few dollars for you.  You
will need them, I fear.  You can owe them to me, and pay them when next
we meet."

The gift was accompanied with a look of pleasantry, for Lawrence well
knew there was little chance of their ever meeting again.

Pedro sat regarding them with a grim smile.  "You are a stout fellow,"
he said, in a tone that was not conciliatory, after the beggar had
accepted the dollars with many expressions of gratitude; "from all I
have heard of Conrad of the Mountains, you are quite a match for him, if
he were alone."

"He was not alone, senhor," replied the beggar, with a look that told of
a temper easily disturbed.

To this Pedro replied contemptuously, "Oh, indeed!" and, turning
abruptly away, rode on.

"You doubt that man?" said Lawrence, following him.

"I do."

"He looked honest."

"Men are not always to be judged by their looks."

"Das a fact!" interposed Quashy; "what would peepil judge ob _me_, now,
if dey hoed by looks?"

"They'd say you were a fine, genial, hearty, good-natured blockhead,"
said Lawrence, laughing.

"True, massa, you's right.  I'm all dat an' wuss, but not _always_ dat.
Sometimes I'm roused; an' I'm _awrful_ w'en I'm roused!  You should see
me w'en my back's riz.  Oh _my_!"

The negro opened his eyes and mouth so awfully at the mere idea of such
a rising that his companions were fain to seek relief in laughter.  Even
the grave Manuela gave way to unrestrained merriment, for if she failed
to thoroughly understand Quashy's meaning, she quite understood his
face.

That night they found welcome shelter in a small farm.

"Did you fall in with the notorious bandit, Conrad of the Mountains?"
asked their host, after the ceremonious reception of his guests was
over.

"No, senhor," answered Pedro.  "Is that fellow in this neighbourhood
just now?"

"So it is said, senhor.  I have not seen him myself, and should not know
him if I saw him, but from descriptions I should think it must be he.  I
have a poor fellow--a peon--lying here just now, who has been robbed and
nearly murdered by him.  Come, he is in the next room; you can speak to
him."

Saying this, the host introduced Pedro and Lawrence into an inner
chamber, where the wounded man lay, groaning horribly.  He was very
ready, indeed eager, to give all the information in his power.  Fear had
evidently given the poor fellow an exaggerated idea of the appearance of
the man who had waylaid him; nevertheless, from his description our
travellers had no difficulty in recognising the poor bereaved beggar
whom they had met and assisted.

"Was he a large man?" asked Pedro.

"Yes, yes, senhor; tremendous!--seven feet or more, and _so_"--
indicating about three feet--"across the shoulders.  Rough black head,
huge black beard and moustache, hawk nose, with such awful eyes, and the
strength of a tiger!  I could never have been so easily overcome by one
man if he had not been a giant."

"You see," said Pedro in English, turning to Lawrence with a smile, "the
description tallies exactly, making due allowance for this poor fellow's
alarm.  He must be a clever fellow this Conrad of the Mountains, for he
has not only frightened a peon out of his wits, but roused the pity of
an Englishman by asserting that he had been robbed by _himself_!  Your
charity, you see, was ill bestowed."

"So, it seems we might have made this noted bandit prisoner if we had
only known!" exclaimed Lawrence, who seemed more distressed at missing
the chance of becoming an amateur thief-catcher than at misdirected
charity.  "But do you really think the fellow was Conrad of the
Mountains?"

"I am certain he was not," said Pedro.

"How do you know?"

"I have several grounds for my belief, but, even if I had not, I might
easily judge from appearances.  Conrad is said to be kind to women and
children.  The scoundrel we met with could not be kind to any one.
Moreover, there is no clear proof that Conrad _is_ a bandit, while this
man certainly is one."

"I'm sorry you seem so sure, because I should like much to be able to
say I had seen this notorious fellow about whom every one appears to
hear so much and to know so little."

Although the bandit of whom we have just made mention was not Conrad of
the Mountains, it may interest the reader to know that he was in truth a
sufficiently notorious villain, named Fan, the captain of a band of
twenty assassins, most of whom were escaped criminals from the prisons
of Chili and Peru.  Among other exploits, Fan once attacked the armed
escort of a troop of mules conveying silver in bars from the mines to
Chili.  Fan and his men attacked them in a ravine so suddenly, and with
such a deadly fire of musketry, that the few who survived laid down
their arms at once, on the promise being made that their lives should be
spared.

Banditti do not usually regard promises as binding.  It would be
surprising if they did.  Fan made the survivors lie down on their faces,
and was about to plunder the mules, when he changed his mind, and shot
all the rest of the convoy in cold blood, except the last, who, seeing
the fate that awaited him, leaped over a precipice, rolled down a steep
slope many hundred feet deep, and, strange to say, escaped with his
life.  He then procured a dozen or two well-armed men, and returned to
the scene of the robbery, but found that the robbers had flown with as
much silver as they could carry, the remainder being scattered about on
the road.

These miscreants were afterwards captured, but, owing to disputes
between the Peruvian and the Chilian Governments, the former of whom had
hold of, while the latter claimed, the robbers, they all escaped their
merited punishment, and were set at large.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THICK WOODS, HEAT, CHANGE OF SCENE, AND SAVAGES.

We must change the scene now, and transport our reader to one of those
numerous streams which convey the surplus waters of the Andes to the
warmer regions of Bolivia, and thence, through many a wild, luxuriant
wilderness and jungle, to the Parana river, by which they ultimately
find their way to the sea.

It was approaching the afternoon of a very sultry day when Lawrence
awoke from his midday siesta under an algaroba-tree, and slowly opened
his eyes.  The first object they rested upon was the brown little face
of Manuela, reposing on a pillow formed of leopard skin.  In those
regions it was the practice, when convenient, to sling a network hammock
between two trees, and enjoy one's siesta in that.  The Indian girl lay
in her hammock, with her eyes shut, and her little mouth open,--not
undignifiedly open, but just sufficiently so to permit of one seeing
something of the teeth and tongue inside.

Fascinated apparently by the sight, a mite of a blue-bird with a golden
head sat on the edge of the hammock close to the little mouth, and
looked in.  Evidently it was a bird of an inquiring disposition, for,
having gazed for a considerable time with one eye, it turned its head,
and gazed a longer time with the other.  Quashy lay close to Lawrence,
with his back towards him.  The latter, observing that the cheek of the
former was more lumpy and prominent than usual, raised himself on one
elbow to look at him, and found that the lump was the result of an
expansion of the mouth from ear to ear.  He was wide awake, gloating
over the proceedings of that little blue-bird, but he heard Lawrence
move, and turning his head slightly round, whispered--

"Dat am berry funny--i'n't it?"

The whisper slightly roused Manuela.  She drew a long breath, vented a
deep sigh, and effectually blew the blue-bird away.

At the same moment the whole party was roused by a wild and
indescribable scream, followed by a magnificent flash of what seemed to
be coloured fire.

In his half-sleeping condition, Lawrence, believing it to be the
war-whoop of wild Indians, leaped up and grasped his cudgel, but nothing
was to be seen save the grinning face of Quashy and the amused looks of
Manuela and Pedro.

"Purrits," remarked the negro, by way of explanation.

"What do you mean by purrits?" demanded Lawrence, half ashamed of his
alarm.

"I mean what I says, massa,--purrits."

"He means parrots," said Pedro, with a grave smile, as he rose, and
proceeded to fold up the poncho on which he had lain.  "We've had many a
song from these screamers, but I don't remember ever seeing such a b

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