Thalcave, turning like a deer, had suddenly approached his horse, which was neighing with impatience, and was beginning to saddle him carefully, forgetting neither strap nor buckle. He seemed no longer to care for the howls, that were now redoubled. Glenarvan gazed at him with a dark foreboding.
“He is leaving us!” cried he, seeing Thalcave gather up his reins as though he were about to mount.
“He? never!” said Robert.
In truth the Indian was about to make a venture, not to leave his friends, but to save them by sacrificing himself. Thaouka was ready. He champed his bit; he pranced; his eyes, full of a fiery spirit, shot forth lightning flashes; he understood his master.
Just as the Indian was seizing the mane of his horse, Glenarvan caught him by the arm with a convulsive grasp.
“You are going?” said he, pointing to the plain, which was now deserted.
“Yes,” replied the Indian, who comprehended the gesture of his companion; and, with vehement gesticulations which were however perfectly intelligible, he added a few words in Spanish, which signified: “Thaouka—good horse—swift—will draw the wolves after him.”
“Ha! Thalcave!” cried Glenarvan.
“Quick, quick!” continued the Indian; while Glenarvan said to Robert, in a voice broken by emotion—
“Robert, my lad, you hear! He will sacrifice himself for us; he will rush out over the plain, and turn aside the fury of the wolves upon himself.”
“Friend Thalcave,” replied Robert, looking imploringly at the Patagonian, “friend Thalcave, do not leave us!”
“No,” said Glenarvan, “he will not leave us.”
And, turning to the Indian, he added, pointing to the terrified horses crowding against the stakes—
“Let us go together.”
“No,” said the Indian, who was not mistaken as to the meaning of these words. “Bad beasts—frightened—Thaouka—good horse.”
“Very well,” said Glenarvan. “Thalcave shall not leave, Robert. He shows me what I have to do. It is my duty to go, and his to remain with you.”
Then, seizing Thaouka’s bridle, he added—
“I will go.”
“No,” replied the Patagonian, calmly.
“I tell you,” cried Glenarvan, taking the bridle from the hands of the Indian, “I will go. Save this boy! I trust him to you, Thalcave!”
Glenarvan, in his excitement, mingled English and Spanish together. But what matters the language? In such a terrible situation, signs tell all, and men quickly understand each other.
However, Thalcave resisted, and the discussion was prolonged. The danger was increasing every moment. Already the broken stakes were yielding to the teeth and claws of the wolves. But neither Glenarvan nor Thalcave appeared willing to yield. The Indian had drawn Glenarvan towards the entrance of the enclosure. He pointed to the plain, now free from wolves. In his animated language, he explained that not a moment was to be lost; that the danger, if this plan failed, would be greater for those who remained; in short, that he alone knew Thaouka well enough to employ his marvelous agility and speed for the common safety. Glenarvan blindly persisted in his resolve to sacrifice himself, when suddenly he was pushed violently back. Thaouka pranced, reared on his hind legs, and all at once, with a spring, cleared the barrier of fire and the rampart of bodies, while a boyish voice cried—
“God save you, my lord!”
Glenarvan and Thalcave had scarcely time to perceive Robert, who, clinging to the horse’s mane, disappeared in the darkness.
“Robert, unfortunate!” cried Glenarvan.
But these words the Indian himself could not hear. Frightful howls resounded. The wolves, starting on the track of the horse, fled into the darkness with a terrible speed.
Thalcave and Glenarvan rushed out of the ramada. Already the plain had resumed its tranquillity, and they could scarcely distinguish a moving line which undulated afar in the shadows of the night.
Glenarvan sank upon the ground, overcome, in despair, clasping his hands. He gazed at Thalcave, who smiled with his accustomed calmness.
“Thaouka—good horse—brave child—he will be saved!” he repeated, nodding his head.
“But if he falls?” said Glenarvan.
“He will not fall!”
In spite of Thalcave’s confidence, his companion passed the night in terrible anguish. He was no longer even mindful of the danger still to be feared from the wolves. He would have gone in search of Robert, but the Indian restrained him, and explained that their horses could not overtake the boy, that Thaouka must have distanced his enemies, and could not be found in the darkness. They must wait for day to start in search of Robert.
At four o’clock in the morning day began to break. The mists of the horizon were soon tinged with pale rays. A sparkling dew covered the plain, and the tall grass began to wave under the first breezes of the dawn.
The moment of departure had arrived.
“Forward!” said the Indian.
Glenarvan did not reply, but sprang upon Robert’s horse, and the two were soon galloping towards the west in the direction from which their companions were to come.
For an hour they traveled thus with great speed, gazing around for Robert, and dreading at each step to behold his mangled body. Glenarvan tortured the flanks of his horse with his spurs. Suddenly shots were heard, and reports at regular intervals, like signals for recognition.
“It is they!” cried Glenarvan.
Thalcave and he urged their horses to a more rapid pace, and a few moments afterwards they joined the party led by Paganel.
To Glenarvan’s joy, Robert was there, alive, borne by the noble Thaouka, who neighed with pleasure at seeing his master.
“Ah, my boy! my boy!” cried Glenarvan, with unspeakable tenderness; and Robert and he, dismounting, rushed into each other’s arms.
Then it was the Indian’s turn to clasp to his breast the courageous son of Captain Grant.
“He lives! he lives!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes,” replied Robert, “thanks to Thaouka.”
The Indian had not waited for these words of gratitude to embrace his horse, but at that very moment he
