“And then?” asked Tom Austin.
“Then we must go southward to the first branches of the Ventana mountains, where the rivers are numerous.”
“The plan is good,” replied Glenarvan, “and we will follow it without delay. My horse has not suffered so much yet from want of water, and I offer to accompany Thalcave.”
“Oh, my lord, take me!” cried Robert, as if a pleasure excursion were in question.
“But can you keep up with us, my child?”
“Yes, I have a good beast that asks nothing better than to go in advance. Will you, my lord? I beseech you!”
“Come then, my boy,” said Glenarvan, delighted not to be separated from Robert. “And we three,” he added, “will be very stupid if we do not discover some clear and fresh stream.”
“And I?” said Paganel.
“Oh, you, my dear Paganel!” replied the major, “you will remain with the reserve detachment. You know the course, the Guamini River, and the Pampas, too well to abandon us. Neither Wilson, Mulready, nor myself are capable of rejoining Thalcave at his rendezvous, unless we advance confidently under the guidance of the brave Jacques Paganel.”
“I resign,” said the geographer, very much flattered to obtain a higher command.
“But no distractions!” added the major. “Do not lead us where we have nothing to do, and bring us back to the shores of the Pacific!”
“You would deserve it, my intolerable major,” said Paganel, smiling. “But tell me, my dear Glenarvan, how will you understand Thalcave’s language?”
“I suppose,” answered Glenarvan, “that the Patagonian and I will not need to talk. Besides, with the few Spanish words that I know, I shall succeed well enough on an emergency in giving him my opinion and understanding his.”
“Go then, my worthy friend,” replied Paganel.
“Let us eat first,” said Glenarvan, “and sleep till the hour of departure.”
They ate supper without drink, which was rather unrefreshing, and then fell asleep. Paganel dreamed of torrents, cascades, streams, rivers, ponds, brooks, nay even full bottles, in short, of everything which generally contains water. It was a real nightmare.
The next morning at six o’clock the horses were saddled. They gave them the last drink of water left, which they took with more dislike than pleasure, for it was very nauseating. The three horsemen then mounted.
“Au revoir!” said the major, Austin, Wilson, and Mulready.
Soon the Patagonian, Glenarvan, and Robert (not without a certain throbbing of the heart) lost sight of the detachment confided to the sagacity of the geographer.
Thalcave was right in first proceeding towards the Guamini, since this stream lay on the prescribed course, and was the nearest. The three horses galloped briskly forward. These excellent beasts perceived, doubtless, by instinct, whither their masters were guiding them. Thaouka, especially, showed a spirit that neither fatigue nor thirst could overcome. The other horses followed, at a slower pace, but incited by his example.
The Patagonian frequently turned his head to look at Robert Grant, and, seeing the young boy firm and erect, in an easy and graceful position, testified his satisfaction by a word of encouragement.
“Bravo, Robert!” said Glenarvan. “Thalcave seems to congratulate you. He praises you, my boy!”
“And why, my lord?”
“Because of the way you ride.”
“Oh, I merely keep firm; that is all,” replied Robert, who blushed with pleasure at hearing himself complimented.
“That is the main point, Robert,” said Glenarvan; “but you are too modest, and I am sure you cannot fail to become an accomplished equestrian.”
“Well,” said Robert, “but what will papa say, who wishes to make a sailor of me?”
“The one does not interfere with the other. If all horsemen do not make good sailors, all sailors may certainly make good horsemen. To ride on the yards, you must learn to keep yourself firm. As for knowing how to manage your horse, that comes more easily.”
“Poor father!” exclaimed Robert; “how he will thank you when you have found him!” And, so saying, he took his lordship’s hand and pressed it to his lips.
“You love him well, Robert?”
“Yes, my lord; he was so kind to sister and me. He thought only of us, and every voyage brought us a memento of the countries he visited, and, what was better, tender caresses and kind words, on his return. Ah! you will love him too, when you know him! Mary resembles him. He has a sweet voice like her. It is singular for a sailor, is it not?”
“Yes, very singular, Robert,” said Glenarvan.
“I see him still,” replied the boy, as if speaking to himself. “Good and brave papa! He rocked me to sleep on his knees, when I was little, and kept humming an old Scottish song which is sung around the lakes of our country. I sometimes recall the air, but indistinctly. How we loved him, my lord! Well, I think one must be very young to love his father well.”
“And old to reverence him, my child,” replied Glenarvan, quite moved by the words that came from this young heart.
During this conversation, their horses had relaxed their pace and fallen behind the other; but Thalcave called them, and they resumed their former gait. It was soon evident, however, that, with the exception of Thaouka, the horses could not long maintain this speed. At noon it was necessary to give them an hour’s rest.
Glenarvan grew uneasy. The signs of dryness did not diminish, and the want of water might result in disastrous consequences. Thalcave said nothing, but probably thought that if the Guamini was dry it would then be time to despair, if indeed an Indian’s heart has ever experienced such an emotion.
They therefore kept on, and by use of whip and spur the horses were induced to continue their journey, but they could not quicken their pace. Thalcave might easily have gone ahead, for in a few hours Thaouka could have carried him to the banks of the stream. He doubtless thought of it, but probably did
