Tales of the Pampas | Page 5

till sunset. Santos
was grave, but calm; I, being so young, was in constant terror. "Oh,
uncle," I whispered, "for the love of God fire your pistol at this man
and kill him, so that he may not kill us!"
Santos laughed. "Fool of a boy," he replied, "do you not know that he
wants me to fire at him! He knows that I could not hit him at this
distance, and that after discharging my pistol we should be equal, man
to man, and knife to knife; and who knows then which would kill the
other? God knows best, since He knows everything, and He has put it
into my heart not to fire."
When it grew dark we rode slower, and the man then lessened the
distance between us. We could hear the chink-chink of his silver
trappings, and when I looked back I could see a white misty form
following us like a ghost. Then, all at once, there came a noise of hoofs
and a whistling sound of something thrown, and Santos' horse plunged
and reared and kicked, then stood still trembling with terror. His hind
legs were entangled in the bolas which had been thrown. With a curse
Santos threw himself off, and, drawng his knife, cut the thong which
bound the animal's legs, and remounting we went on as before, the
white figure still following us.
At length, about midnight, the Sanborombón was reached, at the ford
where we had crossed n the morning, where it was about forty yards
wide, and the water only high as the surcingle in the deepest parts.
"Let your heart be glad, Nicandro! "said Santos, as we went down into
the water; " for our time is come now, and be careful to do as I bid
you."
We crossed slowly, and coming out on the south side, Santos quietly

dropped off his horse, and, speaking in a low voice, ordered me to ride
slowly on with the two horses and wait for him in the road. He said that
the man who folowed would not see him crouching under the bank, and
thinking it safe would cross over, only to receive the charge fired at a
few yards' distance.
That was an anxious interval that folowed, I waiting alone, scarcely
daring to breathe, staring into the darkness in fear of that white figire
that was like a ghost, listening for the pistol shot. My prayer to heaven
was to direct the bullet in its course, so that it might go to that terrible
man's heart, and we be delivered from him. But there was no shot, and
no sound except a faint chink of silver and sound of hoof-beats that
came to my ears after a time, and soon ceased to be heard. The man,
perhaps, had some suspicion of the other's plan and had given up the
chase and gone away.
Nothing more do I remember of that journey which ended at El 0mbú
at cock-crow, except that at one spot Santos fastened a thong round my
waist and bound me before and behind to the saddle to prevent my
falling from my horse every time I went to sleep.
iii

REMEMBER, señor, that I have spoken of things that passed when I
was small. The memories of that time are few and scattered, like the
fragments of tiles and bricks and rusty iron which one may find
half-buried among the weeds, where the house once stood. Fragments
that once formed part of the building. Certain events, some faces, and
some voices, I remember, but I cannot say the year. Nor can I say how
many years had gone by after Doña Mericie's death, and after my
journey to the monastery. Perhaps they were few, perhaps many.
Invasions had come, wars with a foreigner and with the savage, and
Independence, and many things had happened at a distance. He, Santos
Ugarte, was older, I know, greyer, when that great misfortune and
calamity came to one whom God had created so strong, so brave, so
noble. And all on account of a slave, a youth born at El 0mbú, who had

been preferred above the others by his master. For, as it is said, we
breed crows to pick our eyes out. But I will say nothing against that
poor youth, who was the cause of the disaster, for it was not wholly his
fault. Part of the fault was in Santos--his indomitable temper and his
violence. And perhaps, too, the time was come when He who rules over
all men had said, "You have raised your voice and have ridden over
others long enough. Look, Santos! I shall set My foot upon you, and
under it you shall be like a wild pumpkin at the end of