However, although Glenarvan, in the interest of his search, regretted the absence of the Indians, an incident took place which singularly justified the interpretation of the document.
Several times the course pursued by the expedition crossed paths on the Pampas, among others quite an important road—that from Carmen to Mendoza—distinguishable by the bones of such animals as mules, horses, sheep and oxen, whose remains were scattered by the birds of prey, and lay bleaching in the sun. There were thousands of them, and, without doubt, more than one human skeleton had added its bones to those of these humbler animals.
Hitherto Thalcave had made no remark concerning the line so rigorously followed. He understood, however, that if they kept no definite course over the Pampas, they would not come to cities or villages. Every morning they advanced towards the rising sun, without deviating from the straight line, and every evening the setting sun was behind them. In his capacity of guide, Thalcave must, therefore, have been astonished to see that not only he did not guide them, but that they guided him. Nevertheless, if he was astonished, with the reserve natural to the Indians he made no remark. But today arriving at the above-mentioned road, he stopped his horse, and turned towards Paganel.
“Road to Carmen,” said he.
“Yes, my good Patagonian,” replied the geographer, in his purest Spanish; “road to Carmen and Mendoza.”
“We do not take it?” resumed Thalcave.
“No,” answered Paganel.
“And we are going—?”
“Always to the east.”
“That is going nowhere.”
“Who knows?”
Thalcave was silent, and gazed at the geographer with profound surprise. He did not admit, however, that Paganel was joking the least in the world. An Indian, with his natural seriousness, never imagines that you are not speaking in earnest.
“You are not going to Carmen then?” he added, after an instant of silence.
“No,” replied Paganel.
“Nor to Mendoza?”
“No.”
At this moment Glenarvan, rejoining Paganel, asked what Thalcave said, and why he had stopped.
When he had told him, Glenarvan said—
“Could you not explain to him the object of our expedition, and why we must always proceed toward the east?”
“That would be very difficult,” answered Paganel, “for an Indian understands nothing of geography.”
“But,” said the major seriously, “is it the history, or the historian, that he cannot understand?”
“Ah, MacNabb,” said Paganel, “you still doubt my Spanish!”
“Try, my worthy friend.”
“Very well.”
Paganel turned to the Patagonian, and began a discourse, frequently interrupted for want of words and from the difficulty of explaining to a half-ignorant savage details which were rather incomprehensible to him.
The geographer was just then a curious sight. He gesticulated, articulated, and exerted himself in a hundred ways, while great drops of sweat rolled down his face. When his tongue could no longer move, his arm came to his aid. He dismounted, and traced on the sand a geographical map, with lines of latitude and longitude, the two oceans, and the road to Carmen. Never was professor in such embarrassment. Thalcave watched these maneuvers without showing whether he comprehended or not.
The lesson in geography lasted more than half an hour. At last Paganel ceased, wiped his face, which was wet with perspiration, and looked at the Patagonian.
“Did he understand?” inquired Glenarvan.
“We shall see,” replied Paganel; “but, if he did not, I give it up.”
Thalcave did not stir. He no longer spoke. His eyes were fixed upon the figures traced on the sand, which the wind was gradually effacing.
“Well?” asked Paganel.
Thalcave did not appear to hear him. Paganel already saw an ironical smile forming upon the lips of the major, and, wishing to save his reputation, had begun with renewed energy his geographical demonstrations, when the Patagonian stopped him with a gesture.
“You are searching for a prisoner?” he said.
“Yes,” replied Paganel.
“And exactly on the line from the setting to the rising sun?” said Thalcave, indicating by a comparison, in the Indian manner, the course from west to east.
“Yes, yes, that is it!”
“And it is your God,” said the Patagonian, “who has confided to the waves of the vast ocean the secrets of the prisoner?”
“God himself.”
“May his will be accomplished then!” replied Thalcave, with a certain solemnity. “We will go to the east, and, if necessary, even to the sun.”
Paganel, in his exultation over his pupil, immediately translated to his companions the replies of the Indian.
Glenarvan requested Paganel to ask the Patagonian if he had heard of any strangers falling into the hands of the Indians, which was accordingly done.
“Perhaps,” replied the Patagonian.
As soon as this word was translated, Thalcave was surrounded by the seven travelers, who gazed at him with questioning looks. Paganel, excited and scarcely finding his words, resumed these interesting interrogatories, while his eyes, fixed upon the grave Indian, strove to anticipate his reply before it issued from his lips. Every word the Patagonian said he repeated in English, so that his companions heard the Indian speak, as it were, in their own language.
“And this prisoner?” inquired Paganel.
“He was a stranger,” replied Thalcave slowly; “a European.”
“You have seen him?”
“No, but he is mentioned in the accounts of the Indians. He was a brave man.”
“You understand, my friends,” said Paganel; “a courageous man!”
“My father!” cried Robert Grant.
Then, addressing Paganel:
“How do you say ‘It is my father,’ in Spanish?” he asked.
“Es mio padre,” answered the geographer.
Immediately Robert, taking Thalcave’s hands, said in a sweet voice—
“Es mio padre!”
“Suo padre!” replied the Patagonian, whose look brightened.
He took the boy in his arms, lifted him from his horse, and gazed at him with the most curious sympathy. His intelligent countenance became suffused
