The Guide of the Desert - Gustave Aimard

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honours of the rancho were done for us by two ladies, whom the gaucho introduced to us as his wife and daughter.

      The latter, about fifteen years of age, was tall, well made, and endowed with a rather uncommon beauty; she was named Eva, as I afterwards learned; her mother, though still young—she was at the most thirty years of age—had now only the fugitive remains of a beauty which had been very remarkable once.

      My companion appeared to be an intimate friend of the ranchero and his family, by whom he was received with signs of the utmost pleasure, moderated by a cloud of respect and almost fear.

      On his side, don Zeno Cabral—for I at last knew his name—acted towards them with patronising unceremoniousness.

      The reception was what it ought to be, that is to say, most frank and cordial. These honest people only studied to be agreeable to us; the least thanks on our part filled them with joy.

      Our repast, which we ate with a good appetite, was composed as usual of the asado, or roast beef, of goya cheese, and of harina, or the flour of mandioca the whole moistened by some libations of caña or sugar brandy, which, under the name of traguitos, little draughts, circulated freely, and finished by putting us in good humour.

      As a compliment to this repast, much more comfortable than doubtless the European reader will suppose, when our cigarettes were lighted, doña Eva took down a guitar, and after having presented it to her father, who, smoking all the while, commenced to prelude with his four fingers united, she danced before us with that grace and that elasticity which only belong to the women of South America, a cielito, followed immediately by a montonera. Then the young man, of whom I have already had occasion to speak, and who was not the servant but the son of the ranchero, sang with a fresh, full, musical voice, and with an expression which went to our hearts.

      A strange incident then occurred, the meaning of which I could not understand. Don Quino, the young man, sang with inexpressible passion these charming verses of Quintana:—

      Feliz aquel que junto a tí suspira,

       Que el dulce nectar de tu risa bebe.

       Que a demandarte compasión se atreve,

      Suddenly don Zeno became pale as death, a nervous trembling agitated his whole body, and two burning tears burst from his eyes; however, he kept the most profound silence, but the young man perceiving the effect produced upon their guest by the verses which he was singing, immediately struck up a joyous jarana, which soon brought back the smile on the pale lips of the gaucho.

      CHAPTER III.

      THE RANCHO.

       Table of Contents

      On the morrow, at the rising of the sun I was up, but early as I had been, my companion was before me: his place near me was empty.

      I went out hoping to meet him, but could not see him.

      The country around me was deserted and calm as on the day of the creation; the dogs, vigilant sentinels, who during the night had watched over our repose, rose and came to caress me with joyful growls. The aspect of the pampa[1] is the most picturesque at the rising of the sun. A profound silence reigns over the desert; it would seem that nature gathers and resumes her powers at the dawn of the day which is commencing. The fresh morning breeze flutters gently through the tall grass, which it bends by its light and cadenced movements. Here and there the venados raise their timid heads, and throw around them frightened glances. The birds, crouched for warmth under the foliage, prelude with some timorous notes their morning hymn. On the little heaps of sand formed by the holes of the viscachas, little belated owls, stationary as sentinels, and half-asleep, winked their eyes in the rays of the morning star, sinking their round heads in the feathers of their necks; whilst, high up in the air the urubus and the caracaras wheel in large circles, balancing themselves carelessly at their ease on their wings, and seeking the prey on which they will fall with the rapidity of a thunderbolt.

      The pampa at this moment resembles a sea with its green and calm waters, the shores of which are hidden behind the horizon.

      I sat down on a green mound; while smoking a cigarette I fell into reflection, and was soon completely absorbed by my thoughts.

      I was suddenly aroused, however, by a voice which burst upon me in a tone of good humour. I turned round sharply.

      Don Torribio was near me.

      "Hola, caballero!" he said, "The pampa is beautiful at the rising of the sun, is it not?"

      "It is indeed," I answered, without knowing exactly what I said.

      "Have you passed a good night?"

      "Excellent; thanks to your generous hospitality."

      "Do not let us speak of that. I have done what I could; unfortunately, the reception has been poor enough. Times are hard. Only four or five years ago it would have been different; but from him who does all he can, people cannot ask more."

      "I am far from complaining—on the contrary. But you are returning from a walk, it seems to me?"

      "Yes, I have been to give an eye to my oxen which are at pasture. But," added he, raising his eyes to the sky and mentally calculating the height of the sun, "it is time to breakfast. Will you return with me?"

      "I do not ask anything better; only I do not see my companion. It appears to me that it would ill become me not to wait breakfast for him."

      "If that is all that hinders you," said the gaucho, laughing, "you can eat without fear."

      "He is about to return?" I asked.

      "On the contrary, he will not return."

      "How is that?" I cried with surprise, mingled with uneasiness; "He is gone away?"

      "Already more than three hours ago. But," he added, "we shall see him again soon; he wished to speak to you about it before mounting his horse; but, on reflecting on it, you appeared so fatigued yesterday evening that he preferred to allow you to sleep—sleep is so good."

      "He will return without doubt, soon?"

      "I cannot say so exactly. In any case he will not long delay; we shall see him again this evening or tomorrow."

      "The devil! What am I to do, I who reckoned on him?"

      "How is that?"

      "Why, to tell me the route I ought to take."

      "If that is all, there is no reason why you should torment yourself; he has requested me to beg you not to quit the rancho before his return."

      "But I fear to discommode you. You are not rich, as you yourself have told me."

      "Señor," answered the gaucho, with dignity, "strangers are envoys from God. Even if it might please you to live a month in my humble rancho, I should be happy and proud of your presence in my family. Do not say any more, I beg you."

      What more could I object? Nothing. I resigned myself, therefore, to wait until the return of don Zeno.

      The breakfast was pleasant enough; the ladies exerted themselves to bring out my good humour, by loading me with cares and attentions.

      Immediately after the meal, as don Torribio prepared to mount his horse, I asked to accompany him. He agreed; I saddled my horse and we set out at a gallop across the pampa.

      My design in accompanying the gaucho

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