LII
Lorenzo called me very early. It was three by my watch. Owing to the moon, the night seemed only a dull day. We set out at four, Bibiano and his daughter commending us to the care of the Virgin.
It seemed incredible that our progress should be more difficult than it had been, but it was. To the Dagua nothing is impossible.
We passed that night in Saltico, a poor and disagreeable village. From Saltico to Salto the perils of the journey were beyond all exaggeration. The craggy rocks of La Víbora, Delfina, with its clear stream bursting out of the heart of the mountains to mingle its waters timidly with the rushing flow of the Dagua, and the Falls of Arrayan, one after the other, were passed. For an hour we had been in the midst of a violent rainstorm, and the river began to bear along bands of foam and small bushes.
“The girl is jealous,” said Gregorio, as we pushed up to a beach.
I thought he referred to a sombre and muffled music that seemed to come from a neighboring hut.
“What girl is that?” I asked.
“Why, Pepita, my master.”
Then I understood that he meant the beautiful river of that name, which flows into the Dagua below the village of Juntas.
“Why is she jealous?”
“Don’t your honor see what is going down?”
“No.”
“The freshet.”
“And why is not Dagua the jealous one? She is very lovely and better than he.”
Gregorio laughed and replied: “Dagua has a very bad temper. Pepita sends down a freshet to make the river flow as yellow as herself.”
Urged on by Lorenzo and the extra pay he had promised them, the boatmen exerted themselves to get me to Juntas before dark. Soon after we passed the little plain of Sombrerillo, whose verdure was in contrast with the barrenness of the mountains which shaded it on the south. It was four when we passed by the foot of the dangerous rocks of Media-luna. Shortly afterwards we emerged from the dreaded Credo, and at last we made a happy end of our strange trip, leaping out on the shore at Juntas.
D⸺, a former servant of my father’s, was expecting us, having been informed by the mail-carrier, who passed us at San Cipriano, that I would arrive that afternoon. He led me to his house, where I waited for Lorenzo and the boatmen. The latter were well satisfied with “my person,” as Gregorio expressed it. They would have to make an early start the next day, and took leave of me in the most cordial manner, wishing me good health, and carrying back for me a letter to the collector.
LIII
As we sat down at the table I told D⸺ that I wished to continue the journey the same afternoon, if it was possible. I besought him to overcome the difficulties in the way of that plan. He consulted with Lorenzo, who soon told me that the mules were in the village, and that there would be moonlight. I gave orders for our immediate departure; and in view of my decided manner, D⸺ made no objection.
Shortly afterwards Lorenzo brought me a riding suit, telling me in a low voice how glad he was that we were not to spend the night in Juntas. We arranged with D⸺ to pay for the transport of my baggage up to that point, and to forward it after us, and then took leave of him. We were mounted on good mules, and a boy rode behind us on another, carrying a small pair of saddlebags containing my clothes and some provisions which our host had pressed upon us.
By sunset we had ascended more than half of the Puerta slope. Whenever my mule stopped to take breath, I could only look back with satisfaction at the low ground whence we had come, and drank in with delight the stimulating air of the sierra. For the first time since my departure from London I felt that it was within my power to shorten the distance which separated me from María. The certainty that two days more would bring me to the end of my journey would have been enough to make me wear out four such mules as the one I was riding. Lorenzo, who knew the result of such eagerness on such roads, tried to make me moderate my pace somewhat, and with the justifiable pretext of showing me the way, rode in front the rest of the time we were going up the hill.
When we reached Hormigero, we were following the path by the light of the moon. I paused, for Lorenzo had leaped to the ground there, stirring up the dogs at the house as he did so. He leaned against my mule’s neck, and said to me, smiling: “Do you think it would be a good thing to sleep here? They are good people, and have pasture for the animals.”
“Don’t be lazy,” I replied. “I am not sleepy, and the mules are fresh.”
“Don’t be anxious,” he said, holding my stirrup for me to dismount; “all I want is to examine these traitors for fear that they will give out on our hands, they are such fat fellows. Justo is coming to Juntas with my mules,” he continued, loosening the cinch on mine, “and, according to that boy we met at Puerta, ought to put up tonight at Santana, unless he gets as far as Hojas. Wherever we meet him, we will take chocolate and sleep a minute. Does that plan suit you?”
“Of course. We must get to Cali by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Not quite so soon. We shall be getting into San Francisco at about seven, but only by going at my gait; otherwise we may be thankful to get as far as San Antonio.”
Busy while he was speaking, he bathed the mules’ loins with spirits. Then he lit a
