Mr. Fortescue by William Westall (best books for 8th graders .TXT) 📕

the mountain range which divides Pachatupec from the desert. Anything more lonesome and depressing it were impossible to conceive. Not a tree, not a shrub, not a blade of grass nor any green thing; neither running stream nor gleam of water could be seen. It was a region in which the blessed rain of heaven had not fallen for untold ages, a region of desolation and death, of naked peaks, rugged precipices, and rocky ravines. The heat from the overhead sun, intensified by the reverberations from the great masses of rock around us, and unrelieved by the slightest breath of air, was well-nigh suffocating.

Into this plutonic realm we plunged, and, after a scorching ride, reached the head of a pass which led straight down to the desert. Here the cacique in command of the detachment told me, rather to my surprise, that we were to part company. They were already a long way from home and saw no reason why they should go farther. The desert, albeit four or five leagues distant, was quite visible, and, once started down the pass, the nandu would be bound to go thither. He could not climb the rocks to the right or the left, and the braves would take care that he did not return.

As objection, even though I had felt disposed to make it, would have been useless, I bowed acquiescence. The thought of resisting had more than once crossed my mind, and, by dint of struggling and fighting, I might have made the nandu so restive that I could not have been fastened on his back. But in that case my second condition would have been worse than my first; I should have been taken back to Pachatupec and either burned alive or hacked to pieces, and, black as seemed the outlook, I clung to the hope that the man-killer would somehow be the means of saving my life.

The binding was effected with considerable difficulty. It required the united strength of nearly all the braves to hold the nandu while the cacique and the keepers secured me on his back. As he was let go he kicked out savagely, ripping open with his terrible claws one of the men who had been holding him. The next moment he was striding down the steep and stony pass at a speed which, in a few minutes, left the pursuing and shouting Pachatupecs far behind. The ground was so rough and the descent so rapid that I expected every moment we should come to grief. But on we went like the wind. Never in my life, except in an express train, was I carried so fast. The great bird was either wild with rage or under the impression that he was being hunted. The speed took my breath away; the motion make me sick. He must have done the fifteen miles between the head of the pass and the beginning of the desert in little more than as many minutes. Then, the ground being covered with sand and comparatively level, the nandu slacked his speed somewhat, though he still went at a great pace.

The desert was a vast expanse of white sand, the glare of which, in the bright sunshine, almost blinded me, interspersed with stretches of rock, swept bare by the wind, and loose stones.

Instead of turning to the right or left, that is to say, to the north or south, as I hoped and expected he would, the man-killer ran straight on toward the sea. As for the distance of the coast from that part of the Cordillera I had no definite idea--perhaps thirty miles, perhaps fifty, perhaps more. But were it a hundred we should not be long in going thither at the speed we were making; and vague hopes, suggesting the possibility of signalling a passing ship or getting away by sea, began to shape themselves in the mind. The nandu could not go on forever; before reaching the sea he must either alter his course or stop, and if he stopped only a few minutes and so gave me a chance of steadying myself I thought that, by the help of my teeth, I might untie one of the cords which the movements of the bird and my own efforts had already slightly loosened, and once my arms were freed the rest would be easy.

An hour (as nearly as I could judge) after leaving the Cordillera I sighted the Pacific--a broad expanse of blue water shining in the sun and stretching to the horizon. How eagerly I looked for a sail, a boat, the hut of some solitary fisherman, or any other sign of human presence! But I saw nothing save water and sand; the ocean was as lonesome as the desert. There was no salvation thitherward.

Though my hope had been vague, my disappointment was bitter; but a few minutes later all thought of it was swallowed up in a new fear. The sea was below me, and as the ground had ceased to fall I knew that the desert must end on that side in a line of lofty cliffs. I knew, also, that nandus are among the most stupid of bipeds, and it was just conceivable that the man-killer, not perceiving his danger until too late, might go over the cliffs into the sea.

The hoarse roar of the waves as they surge against the rocks, at first faint, grows every moment louder and deeper. I see distinctly the land's end, and mentally calculate from the angle it makes with the ocean, the height of the cliffs.

Still the man-killer strides on, as straight as an arrow and as resolutely as if a hundred miles of desert, instead of ten thousand miles of water, stretched before him. Three minutes more and--I set my teeth hard and draw a deep breath. At any rate, it will be an easier end than burning, or dying of thirst--Another moment and--

But now the nandu, seeing that he will soon be treading the air, makes a desperate effort to stop short, in which failing he wheels half round, barely in time to save his life and mine, and then courses madly along the brink for miles, as if unable to tear himself away, keeping me in a state of continual fear, for a single slip, or an accidental swerve to the right, and we should have fallen headlong down the rocks, against which the waves are beating.

As night closes in he gradually--to my inexpressible relief--draws inland, making in a direction that must sooner or later take us back to the Cordillera, though a long way south of the pass by which we had descended to the desert. But I have hardly sighted the outline of the mighty barrier, looming portentously in the darkness, when he alters his course once again, wenching this time almost due south. And so he continues for hours, seldom going straight, now inclining toward the coast, anon facing toward the Cordillera but always on the southward tack, never turning to the north.

It was a beautiful night. The splendor of the purple sky with its myriads of lustrous stars was in striking contrast with the sameness of the white and deathlike desert. A profound melancholy took hold of me. I had ceased to fear, almost to think, my perceptions were blinded by excitement and fatigue, my spirits oppressed by an unspeakable sense of loneliness and helplessness, and the awful silence, intensified rather than relieved by the long drawn moaning of the unseen ocean, which, however far I might be from it, was ever in my ears.

I looked up at the stars, and when the cross began to bend I knew that midnight was past, and that in a few hours would dawn another day. What would it bring me--life or death? I hardly cared which; relief from the torture and suspense I was enduring would be welcome, come how it might. For I suffered cruelly; I had a terrible thirst. The cords chafed my limbs and cut into my flesh. Every movement gave an exquisite pain; I was continually on the rack; rest, even for a moment, was impossible, as, though the nandu had diminished his speed, he never stopped. And then a wind came up from the sea, bringing with it clouds of dust, which well-nigh choked and half blinded me; filled my ears and intensified my thirst. After a while a strange faintness stole over me; I felt as if I were dying, my eyes closed, my head sank on my breast, and I remembered no more.


CHAPTER XXVI.

ANGELA.

"_Regardez mon pere, regardez! Il va mieux, le pauvre homme._"

"_C'est ca, ma fille cherie, faites le boire._"

I open my eyes with an effort, for the dust of the desert has almost blinded me.

I am in a beautiful garden, leaning against the body of the dead ostrich, a lovely girl is holding a cup of water to my parched lips, and an old man of benevolent aspect stands by her side.

"_Merci mademoiselle, vous etes bien bonne_," I murmur.

"Oh, father, he speaks French."

"This passes comprehension. Are you French, monsieur?"

"No, English."

"English! This is stranger still. But whence come you, and who bound you on the nandu?"

"I will tell you--a little more water, I pray you, mademoiselle."

"Let him drink again, Angela--and dash some water in his face; he is faint."

"_Le pauvre homme!_ See how his lips are swollen! Do you feel better, monsieur?" she asked compassionately, again putting the cup to my lips.

"Much. A thousand thanks. I can answer your question now (to the old man). I was bound on the nandu by order of the Queen of the Pachatupec Indians."

"The Pachatupec Indians! I have heard of them. But they are a long way off; more than a hundred leagues of desert lies between us and the Pachatupec country. Are you quite sure, monsieur?"

"Quite. And seeing that the nandu went at great speed, though not always in a direct line, and we must have been going fifteen or sixteen hours, I am not surprised that we have travelled so far."

"_Mon dieu!_ And all that time you have neither eaten nor drunk. No wonder you are exhausted! Come with us, and we will give you something more invigorating than water. You shall tell us your story afterward--if you will."

I tried to rise, but my stiffened and almost paralyzed limbs refused to move.

"Let us help you. Take his other arm, Angela--thus, Now!" And with that they each gave me a hand and raised me to my feet.

"How was it? Who killed the nandu?" I asked as I hobbled on between them.

"We saw the creature coming toward us with what looked like a dead man on his back, and as he did not seem disposed to stop I told Angela, who is a famous archer, to draw her bow and shoot him. He fell dead where he now lies, and when we saw that, though unconscious, you still lived, we unloosed you."

"And saved my life. Might I ask to whom I am indebted for this great service, and to what beautiful country the nandu has brought me?"

"Say nothing about the service, my dear sir. Helping each other in difficulty and distress is a duty we owe to Heaven and our common humanity. I count your coming a great blessing. You are the first visitor we have had for many years, and the Abbe Balthazar gives you a warm welcome to San Cristobal de Quipai. The name is of good omen, Quipai being an Indian word which signifies 'Rest Here,' and I shall