Jules Verne For Children: 16 Incredible Tales of Mystery, Courage & Adventure (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
in number. They came within a hundred yards of them, and stopped. This was near enough to observe them distinctly. They were fine specimens of the native races, which had been almost entirely swept away in 1833 by General Rosas, tall in stature, with arched forehead and olive complexion. They were dressed in guanaco skins, and carried lances twenty feet long, knives, slings, bolas, and lassos, and, by their dexterity in the management of their horses, showed themselves to be accomplished riders.
They appeared to have stopped for the purpose of holding a council with each other, for they shouted and gesticulated at a great rate. Glenarvan determined to go up to them; but he had no sooner moved forward than the whole band wheeled round, and disappeared with incredible speed. It would have been useless for the travelers to attempt to overtake them with such wornout horses.
“The cowards!” exclaimed Paganel.
“They scampered off too quick for honest folks,” said McNabbs.
“Who are these Indians, Thalcave?” asked Paganel.
“Gauchos.”
“The Gauchos!” cried Paganel; and, turning to his companions, he added, “we need not have been so much on our guard; there was nothing to fear.”
“How is that?” asked McNabbs.
“Because the Gauchos are inoffensive peasants.”
“You believe that, Paganel?”
“Certainly I do. They took us for robbers, and fled in terror.”
“I rather think they did not dare to attack us,” replied Glenarvan, much vexed at not being able to enter into some sort of communication with those Indians, whatever they were.
“That’s my opinion too,” said the Major, “for if I am not mistaken, instead of being harmless, the Gauchos are formidable out-and-out bandits.”
“The idea!” exclaimed Paganel.
And forthwith commenced a lively discussion of this ethnological thesis— so lively that the Major became excited, and, quite contrary to his usual suavity, said bluntly:
“I believe you are wrong, Paganel.”
“Wrong?” replied Paganel.
“Yes. Thalcave took them for robbers, and he knows what he is talking about.”
“Well, Thalcave was mistaken this time,” retorted Paganel, somewhat sharply. “The Gauchos are agriculturists and shepherds, and nothing else, as I have stated in a pamphlet on the natives of the Pampas, written by me, which has attracted some notice.”
“Well, well, you have committed an error, that’s all, Monsieur Paganel.”
“What, Monsieur McNabbs! you tell me I have committed an error?”
“An inadvertence, if you like, which you can put among the ERRATA in the next edition.”
Paganel, highly incensed at his geographical knowledge being brought in question, and even jested about, allowed his ill-humor to get the better of him, and said:
“Know, sir, that my books have no need of such ERRATA.”
“Indeed! Well, on this occasion they have, at any rate,” retorted McNabbs, quite as obstinate as his opponent.
“Sir, I think you are very annoying to-day.”
“And I think you are very crabbed.”
Glenarvan thought it was high time to interfere, for the discussion was getting too hot, so he said:
“Come, now, there is no doubt one of you is very teasing and the other is very crabbed, and I must say I am surprised at both of you.”
The Patagonian, without understanding the cause, could see that the two friends were quarreling. He began to smile, and said quietly:
“It’s the north wind.”
“The north wind,” exclaimed Paganel; “what’s the north wind to do with it?”
“Ah, it is just that,” said Glenarvan. “It’s the north wind that has put you in a bad temper. I have heard that, in South America, the wind greatly irritates the nervous system.”
“By St. Patrick, Edward you are right,” said the Major, laughing heartily.
But Paganel, in a towering rage, would not give up the contest, and turned upon Glenarvan, whose intervention in this jesting manner he resented.
“And so, my Lord, my nervous system is irritated?” he said.
“Yes, Paganel, it is the north wind—a wind which causes many a crime in the Pampas, as the TRAMONTANE does in the Campagna of Rome.”
“Crimes!” returned the geographer. “Do I look like a man that would commit crimes?”
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
“Tell me at once that I want to assassinate you?”
“Well, I am really afraid,” replied Glenarvan, bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which all others joined.
Paganel said no more, but went off in front alone, and came back in a few minutes quite himself, as if he had completely forgotten his grievance.
At eight o’clock in the evening, Thalcave, who was considerably in advance of the rest, descried in the distance the much-desired lake, and in less than a quarter of an hour they reached its banks; but a grievous disappointment awaited them—the lake was dried up.
CHAPTER XVIII
In Search of Water
LAKE SALINAS ends the string of lagoons connected with the Sierras Ventana and Guamini. Numerous expeditions were formerly made there from Buenos Ayres, to collect the salt deposited on its banks, as the waters contain great quantities of chloride of sodium.
But when Thalcave spoke of the lake as supplying drinkable water he was thinking of the RIOS of fresh water which run into it. Those streams, however, were all dried up also; the burning sun had drunk up every thing liquid, and the consternation of the travelers may be imagined at the discovery.
Some action must be taken immediately, however; for what little water still remained was almost bad, and could not quench thirst. Hunger and fatigue were forgotten in the face of this imperious necessity. A sort of leather tent, called a ROUKAH, which had been left by the natives, afforded the party a temporary resting-place, and the weary horses stretched themselves along the muddy banks, and tried to browse on the marine plants and dry reeds they found there— nauseous to the taste as they must have been.
As soon as the whole party were ensconced in the ROUKAH, Paganel asked Thalcave what he thought was best to be done. A rapid conversation followed, a few words of which were intelligible to Glenarvan. Thalcave spoke calmly, but the lively Frenchman gesticulated enough for both. After a little, Thalcave sat silent and folded his arms.
“What does he say?” asked Glenarvan. “I fancied he was advising us to separate.”
“Yes, into two parties. Those of us whose horses are so done out with fatigue and thirst that they can scarcely drag one leg after the other, are to continue the route as they best can, while the others, whose steeds are fresher, are to push on in advance toward the river Guamini, which throws itself into Lake San Lucas about thirty-one miles off. If there should be water enough in the river, they are to wait on the banks till their companions reach them; but should it be dried up, they will hasten back and spare them a useless journey.”
“And what will we do then?” asked Austin.
“Then we shall have to make up our minds to go seventy-two miles south, as far as the commencement of the Sierra Ventana,