Tales of the Pampas | Page 7

gone away without a word, taking
the road to Buenos Ayres. He had done that for which he would have to
pay dearly; for a life is a life, whether the skin be black or white, and
no man can slay another deliberately, in cold blood, and escape the
penalty. The law is no respecter of persons, and when he who commits
such a deed is a man of substance, he must expect that Advocates and
Judges, with all those who take up his cause, will bleed him well before
they procure him a pardon.
Ugarte cared nothing for that, he had been as good as his word, and the
devil in his heart was satisfied. Only he would not wait at his estancia
to be taken, nor would he go and give himself up to the authorities, who
would then have to place him in confinement, and it would be many
months before his liberation. That would be like suffocation to him; to
such a man a prison is like a tomb. No, he would go to Buenos Ayres
and embark for Montevideo, and from that place he would put the
matter in motion, and wait there until it was all settled and he was free
to return to El Ombú.
Dead Meliton was taken away and buried in consecrated ground at
Chascomus. Rain fell, and washed away the red stains on the ground.
In the spring, the swallows returned and built their nests under the
eaves; but Ugarte came not back, nor did any certain tidings of him
reach us. It was said, I know not whether truly or not, that the Advocate
who defended him, and the Judge of First Instance, who had the case
before him, had quarrelled about the division of the reward, and both
being rich, proud persons, they had allowed themselves to forget the
old man waiting there month after month for his pardon, which never
came to him.
Better for him if he never heard of the ruin which had fallen on El
Ombú during his long exile. There was no one in authority: the slaves,
left to themselves, went away; and there was no person to restrain them.

As for the cattle and horses, they were blown away like thistle-down,
and everyone was free to pasture his herds and flocks on the land.
The house for a time was in charge of some person placed there by the
authorities, but little by little it was emptied of its contents; and at last it
was abandoned, and for a long time no one could be found to live in it
on account of the ghosts.
iv

THERE WAS living at that time, a few leagues from El Ombú, one
Valerio de la Cueva, a poor man, whose all consisted of a small flock
of three or four hundred sheep and a few horses. He had been allowed
to make a small rancho, a mere hut, to shelter himself and his wife
Donata and their one child, a boy named Bruno; and to pay for the
grass his few sheep consumed he assisted in the work at the estancia
house. This poor man, hearing of El Ombú, where he could have house
and ground for nothing, offered himself as occupant, and in time came
with wife and child and his small flock, and all the furniture he
possessed--a bed, two or three chairs, a pot and kettle, and perhaps a
few other things. Such poverty El Ombú had not known, but all others
had feared to inhabit such a place on account of its evil name, so that it
was left for Valerio, who was a stranger in the district.
Tell me, señor, have you ever in your life met with a man, who was
perhaps poor, or even clothed in rags, and who yet when you had
looked at and conversed with him, has caused you to say: Here is one
who is like no other man in the world? Perhaps on rising and going out,
on some clear morning in summer, he looked at the sun when it rose,
and perceived an angel sitting in it, and as he gazed, something from
that being fell upon and passed into and remained in him. Such a man
was Valerio. I have known no other like him.
"Come, friend Nicandro," he would say, "let us sit down in the shade
and smoke our cigarettes, and talk of our animals. Here are no politics
under this old Ombú, no ambitions and intrigues and animosities--no

bitterness except in these green leaves. They are our laurels--the leaves
of the ombú. Happy Nicandro, who never knew the life of cities! I wish
that I, too, had seen the light on these quiet plains, under a thatched
roof. Once