The Flying Horseman - Gustave Aimard

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them away in wild disorder, with a rapid but certain glance, the soldier explored the scene; then he assured himself that but a few steps farther, after a rather gentle descent, the path suddenly widened, and formed a platform of about three or four yards.

      It was this spot towards which all the efforts of the soldiers had been directed. Once arrived in the valley, the situation would not be so critical.

      It was necessary, then, that come what might, they should reach the valley.

      Only, at the first terrible shock of the tempest, which in these wild regions assumes such formidable proportions, an avalanche bad been detached from the summit of the mountain, and had been precipitated from rock to rock with a frightful crash, dragging with it the earth, the underwood, and the trees which were in its way, and blocking up the path.

      The case was so much the more desperate as the storm redoubled its violence, and the darkness had fallen thicker.

      But the Pincheyra was one of those iron-hearted men who took no account of apparently impossible things. Born in the mountains, he had often struggled face to face with the tempest, and always he had come forth a conqueror from this gigantic struggle.

      To attempt to rise and walk would have been madness; the soldier did not dream of it for a moment. Taking in his hand the knife from his right pocket, in order to give himself a hold, and planting it in the ground, the hardy mountaineer began to crawl gently, and with precaution, on his knees and elbows by the side of the ruins massed across the path.

      At every step he stopped, and lowered his head to allow the squall around him to pass.

      It required nearly an hour for him to traverse a distance of less than sixty yards. During this time his companions remained motionless, holding on to the ground.

      At last Don Pablo reached the spot on which the avalanche had fallen. He looked around.

      Brave as the soldier was, he could not repress a cry of anguish at the terrible spectacle.

      The rocks over which the path was traced, torn away by the fall of the avalanche, had in some places given way for a space of more, than six yards, and had rolled over the precipice, opening a frightful chasm.

      The ruins left by the avalanche were composed in a great measure of trees, and fragments of rock, which, entangled together, and massed, so to speak, by the branches and the underwood, formed a thick wall on the very edge of the gulf.

      It was of no use thinking of forcing the passage with horses and mules.

      The soldier with rage struck with his fist the obstacle that he could not destroy, and proceeded to rejoin his companions. After having cast a last look on the chasm, he prepared himself to retreat, when suddenly he thought he heard a sharp and prolonged cry, like that used by the mountaineers of all countries to communicate between themselves, often at considerable distances.

      Don Pablo stopped suddenly and listened, but a considerable lapse of time passed, during which he could hear nothing but the horrible sounds of the storm. The soldier supposed that he had been the sport of an illusion, but suddenly the same cry, stronger and nearer, reached his ear, "Good God!" he cried, "Are other Christians lost in the mountains, amidst this horrible tempest?"

      He stood for some moments, and cast a searching glance around.

      CHAPTER II.

      BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.

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      "I am deceived," he murmured, after a few seconds of reflection; "these mountains are deserted, no one would dare to venture so near the Casa-Frama."

      At this moment he felt that someone touched him slightly on the shoulder. He turned round trembling; a man had joined him, and was crouching behind him.

      It was Don Zeno Cabral.

      Since the departure from the camp, the soldier had continually remained in the advanced guard with the three Spaniards, in order to escape the looks of the two ladies, by whom he did not wish to be recognised till the last moment.

      "Ah, 'tis you, Don Sebastiao," said Don Pablo; "what do you think of our situation?"

      "It is bad—very bad indeed; however, I do not think it desperate," coldly answered the soldier.

      "I am persuaded, on the contrary, that it is desperate."

      "It may be so; but we are not yet dead."

      "No; but pretty near to it."

      "Have you thought of a means to escape from the bad position in which we are?"

      "I have thought of a thousand; but I have not thought of one which is practicable."

      "That is because you have not thought in the right direction, my dear sir. In this world, you know as well as I do, that as long as the heart beats in the breast, there is some resource left, however critical may be the position in which we are placed. The remedy exists. Shall I aid you in doing so?"

      "Well! I do not stand on my self-love," answered Don Pablo slightly smiling; "but I believe we shall have difficulty in finding the remedy."

      "I am a bold man, as you are yourself. My pride revolts at the thought of dying a ridiculous death in this mousetrap, and I wish to escape—that's all."

      "By Jove! You please me by speaking like that; you are really a charming companion."

      "You flatter me, señor."

      "No. I tell you what I think; rely on me as I rely on you, and we shall do wonders, I am sure."

      "Keep your mind easy; we shall do our best, and if we fail, it will only be after having disputed our life inch by inch in a desperate struggle. But first, where are we?"

      "We are at a few steps from the Valle del Tambo, where we should already have been in safety a long time ago, had it not been for this cursed avalanche."

      "Very well—but," stopping himself suddenly; "did you not hear something?" asked he.

      "Yes," answered the Pincheyra; "several times I have heard that noise strike on my ear."

      "By Jove! And you have told me nothing of it."

      "I feared that I was deceived; besides, you know that the country we are traversing is a desert, and that no one can be here."

      "We are here, though, eh?"

      "That is not a reason; we are at home, or nearly so."

      Don Zeno smiled with irony.

      "That is possible; however, till we find to the contrary, let us act as if we were certain of meeting someone."

      "If there were other travellers in the neighbourhood, would they not find themselves in the same situation as us, if not worse; and what you take for cries to help us may probably be, on the contrary, cries of distress."

      "That is why we ought to assure ourselves of the truth."

      "You are right; answer, then, if you think proper."

      "Let us wait for a new cry, in order to assure ourselves as much a possible of the direction we ought to turn to in answering."

      "Be it so, let us wait," answered the Pincheyra.

      They stretched themselves again on the ground, their ears to the earth, listening with the greatest anxiety.

      The situation momentarily became more critical; already several horses had been precipitated into the gulf, and it was with extreme difficulty that men and horses could resist the efforts of the tempest, which every moment threatened to carry them away.

      However,

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