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Read Ebook: Last of the Incas: A Romance of the Pampas by Aimard Gustave Wraxall Lascelles Sir Translator
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Ebook has 1844 lines and 47336 words, and 37 pages
hot athwart the sky, the thunder rolled with a terrible din, and a blast of wind dashed over the plain, sweeping away the toldos, the fragments of which it dispersed far and wide.
The Indians stopped, terrified by the storm. All at once a formidable voice, that appeared to issue from the tree of Gualichu, uttered the ill-omened words.
"Retire, Indians! My wrath is let loose upon you. Leave here this miserable white slave as an expiation of your crimes! Fly, and woe to those who look back. Woe! Woe!"
A livid flash and a violent peal of thunder served as peroration to this harangue.
"Let us fly!" said the matchi, who in his terror was ready to believe in his god.
But, profiting by this unexpected intervention to enforce his own power, he continued--
"Fly, brothers! Gualichu has spoken to his servant. Woe to those who resist his orders."
The Indians had no need of this recommendation from their sorcerer; a superstitious terror lent them wings. They rushed tumultuously toward the horses, and soon the desert echoed again with their wild flight. The tree of Gualichu was deserted, and the maiden alone lay fainting on the ground, with her bosom still bare.
When all was quiet on the Pampa, and the sound of the horses' gallop was lost in the distance, Pedrito gently thrust his head out of the tree, examined the black depths of the night, and reassured by the silence, ran up to the girl. Pale as a beauteous lily laid low by the storm, the poor girl had her eyes closed, and did not breathe. The bombero raised her in his muscular arms, and transported her close to the tree, laying her on a pile of skins belonging to a destroyed toldo. He placed her cautiously on this softer couch, and her head hung insensibly on his chest.
It was a strange group, in the midst of this devastated plain, only illumined by the lightning flashes. This young and lovely girl, and this rude wood ranger, offered a touching picture.
Pain and sorrow were delineated on Pedrito's face. He, whose whole life had been but one long drama, who had no faith in his heart, who was ignorant of gentle feelings and sweet sympathies, he, the bombero, the slayer of Indians, was moved and felt something new stir within him. Two heavy tears ran down his bronzed cheeks.
"Can she be dead? Oh Heaven!"
This name, which he had hitherto only used in blasphemy, he uttered almost with respect. It was a sort of prayer and cry from his heart. This man believed.
"How to help her?" he asked himself.
The rain that fell in torrents eventually restored the maiden, who, half opening her eyes, murmured in a faint voice;
"Where am I? What has happened?"
"She speaks, she lives, she is saved," Pedrito exclaimed.
"Who is there?" she asked, raising herself with difficulty.
At the sight of the bombero's gloomy face, she had a fresh outburst of terror, closed her eyes again, and fell back exhausted.
"Reassure yourself, my girl. I am your friend."
"My friend! What means that word? Have slaves any friends? Ah, yes," she continued, speaking as if in a dream, "I have suffered terribly. Still I can remember long, long ago, being happy, but alas! The worst misfortune is the recollection of past happiness in misery."
She was silent. The bombero gazed at her, and listened to her as if suspended on her lips. That voice, those features! A vague suspicion entered Pedrito's head.
"Oh, speak, speak again," he said, softening down the harshness of his voice, "what do you remember of your youthful years?"
"Why think of past joys in misfortune? What does it avail?" she added, shaking her head with discouragement. "My history is that of all unfortunate persons. There was a time when, like other children, I had the song of birds to lull me to sleep, flowers that smiled on me when I awoke, and a mother who loved and embraced me--all that has fled forever."
Pedrito had raised two poles covered with skins to shelter her from the storm, which was gradually subsiding.
"You are kind, for you have saved me; still, your kindness was cruel, for why did you not let me die? People who are dead no longer suffer. The Pehuenches will return, and then--"
She did not conclude, and buried her face in her hands, with choking sobs.
"Fear nothing, se?orita; I will defend you."
"Poor man; alone against all! But before my last hour arrives, listen to me, for I wish to relieve my heart. One day I was playing in my mother's arms, my father was near us, with my two sisters and my four brothers, resolute men who would not have feared twenty. Well! the Pehuenches came up, they burned our estancia, for my father was a farmer, they killed my mother, and--"
"Mercedes, Mercedes!" the bombero exclaimed, "Is it really you? Do I find you again?"
"That was the name my mother gave me."
"It is I, Pedro, Pedrito, your brother," the bombero said, almost shouting with joy, and clasping her to his bosom.
"Pedrito! My brother! Yes, yes, I remember. Pedrito, I am--"
She fell senseless into her brother's arms.
"Wretch that I am, I have killed her! Mercedes, my beloved sister, come to yourself again, or I shall die."
The maiden opened her eyes again, and threw herself on the bombero's neck, weeping with joy.
"Pedrito! My kind brother, do not leave me, defend me; they would kill me."
"Poor girl, they will pass over my body before reaching you."
"They will do so," a sarcastic voice exclaimed behind the tent.
Two men appeared, Nocobotha and Pincheira. Pedrito, holding his sister, who was half-dead with terror, with his left hand, leant against one of the posts, drew his machete, and prepared for a vigorous defence.
Nocobotha and Pincheira, too enlightened to be the dupes of the mysterious voice of Gualichu, and yield to the general panic, had, however, fled with their comrades; but they had turned back unnoticed. Curious to know the meaning of this enigma, and the author of the mystification, they had listened to the entire conversation between brother and sister.
"Well," Pincheira said, with a laugh, "you seem tolerably lively for a dead man. It seems, Canario, that you must be killed twice, in order to make sure that you will not recover. But, be easy, if my friend missed you, I shall not do so."
"What do you want with me?" Pedrito said. "Let us pass."
In fact, the sound of a cavalcade momentarily drew nearer, and in the pale gleam of dawn the dim outlines of numerous horsemen could be distinguished in the distance. Pedrito saw that he was lost; he kissed for the last time the pale brow of his unconscious sister, laid her behind him, crossed himself, and prepared to die as a brave man should.
"Come," said Nocobotha, "let us have an end of this; it looks as if this scoundrel were afraid of death."
"Make haste," Pincheira answered, "I hear our men, and if we do not make haste, our prey will be torn from us."
"You did not fancy you were speaking so truly, Se?or Pincheira," Pepe exclaimed, suddenly appearing with his two brothers; "now, let us see who is to be killed."
"Thanks, my brave brothers," Pedrito said joyously.
"Malediction!" Pincheira said with an oath, "Are these scoundrels everywhere?"
"I will not have him escape me," Nocobotha muttered, as he bit his lips till the blood came.
"Fie on you, caballeros," Pepe exclaimed ironically. "On guard, defend yourselves like men, or I shall kill you like dogs."
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