a storm in the mountains—refuge found—converse round the fire.

the summit of the pass was at last gained, and not a moment too soon, for the storm which they had experienced a few days before was but the prelude to a gale such as is rarely experienced save in the winter months of the year, when most of the mountain passes are closed.

it began by mutterings of distant thunder, which caused the guide to look round the horizon and up at the sky somewhat anxiously.

“do you think we shall reach our next shelter before it breaks?” asked lawrence.

“i hope so,” said pedro, pausing on a ridge from which an almost illimitable view was had of mountain range and valley in all directions.

“far over in that direction,” he continued, pointing with his hand, “lies the land of the incas. you have heard of the incas, senhor?”

“yes, i have heard of them, but cannot say that i am intimately acquainted with their history.”

“it is a strange history—a very sad one,” returned pedro. “i will tell you something about it at another time; at present it behoves us to push on.”

there was no question as to that point, for just as he spoke a sudden and powerful gust of wind swept quashy’s straw hat off and sent it spinning gaily along the path. vaulting from his mule with a wild shout, the negro gave chase on foot, with an amount of anxiety that seemed not justified by the occasion. but as the poet truly puts it, “things are not what they seem,” and quashy’s head-piece, which presented much the appearance of a battered old straw hat, was in truth an article of very considerable value.

it was one of those hats made by the people of south america, with a delicate fibre so finely plaited that in texture it resembles fine canvas, though in appearance it is like straw. it is exceedingly tough, takes a very long time to manufacture, and costs many dollars—so many, indeed, that a hat of the kind is thought worthy of being preserved and left as an heirloom from father to son as long as it lasts.

no wonder then that the negro made frantic efforts to regain his property—all the more frantic that he was well aware if it should pass over one of the neighbouring precipices it would be lost to him for ever. at last a friendly gust sent it into a snowdrift, through which quashy plunged and captured it.

snow in considerable quantities lay here and there around them in the form of old patches or drifts, and this began to be swept up by the fierce wind in spite of its solidity. soon new snow began to fall, and, mingling with the old drifts, rendered the air so thick that it was sometimes difficult to see more than a few yards in advance. lawrence, being unused to such scenes, began to fear they should get lost in these awful solitudes, and felt specially anxious for manuela, who, despite the vigour of a frame trained, as it no doubt had been, in all the hardihood incidental to indian camp life, seemed to shrink from the fierce blast and to droop before the bitter cold.

“here, put on my poncho,” said the youth, riding suddenly up to the girl’s side and unceremoniously flinging his ample garment over the slight poncho she already wore. she drew it round her at once, and silently accepted the offering with a smile and an inclination of her small head which, even in these uncomfortable circumstances, were full of grace.

“why was she born a savage?” thought the youth, with almost petulant exasperation. “if she had only been white and civilised, i would have wooed and won—at least,” he added, modestly, “i would have tried to win and wed her in spite of all the opposing world. as it is, the—the—gulf is impassable!”

“you have anticipated me, senhor,” said the guide, who had reined in until the rest of the party overtook him. “i had halted with the intention of offering my poncho to manuela. poor girl, she is a daughter of the warm pampas, and unused to the cold of the mountains.”

he turned to her, and said something in the indian tongue which seemed to comfort her greatly, for she replied with a look and tone of satisfaction.

“i have just told her,” he said to lawrence, as they resumed the journey, “that in half an hour we shall reach a hut of shelter. it is at the foot of a steep descent close ahead; and as the wind is fortunately on our backs, we shall be partially protected by the hill.”

“surely the place cannot be a farm,” said lawrence; “it must be too high up for that.”

“no, as you say, it is too high for human habitation. the hut is one of those places of refuge which have been built at every two or three leagues to afford protection to travellers when assailed by such snow-storms as that which is about to break on us now.”

he stopped, for the party came at the moment to a slope so steep that it seemed impossible for man or mule to descend. being partly sheltered from the fitful gusts of wind, it was pretty clear of snow, and they could see that a zigzag track led to the bottom. what made the descent all the more difficult was a loose layer of small stones, on which they slipped continually. before they had quite completed the descent the storm burst forth. suddenly dense clouds of snow were seen rushing down from the neighbouring peaks before a hurricane of wind, compared with which previous gusts were trifles.

“come on—fast—fast!” shouted the guide, looking back and waving his hand.

the first deafening roar of the blast drowned the shout; but before the snowdrift blinded him, lawrence had observed the wave of the hand and the anxious look. dashing the cruel spanish spurs for the first time into the side of his no doubt astonished steed, he sprang alongside of manuela’s mule, seized the bridle, and dragged it forward by main force. of course the creature objected, but the steep road and slipping gravel favoured them, so that they reached the bottom in safety.

here they found the first of the refuge-huts, and in a few moments were all safe within its sheltering walls.

having been erected for a special purpose, the hut was well adapted to resist the wildest storm. it was built of brick and mortar, the foundation being very solid, and about twelve feet high, with a brick staircase outside leading to the doorway. thus the habitable part of the edifice was raised well above the snow. the room was about twelve feet square, the floor of brick, and the roof arched. it was a dungeon-like place, dimly lighted by three loop-holes about six inches square, and without furniture of any kind. a mark in the wall indicated the place where a small table had originally been fixed; but it had been torn down long before, as pedro explained, by imprisoned and starving travellers to serve for firewood. the remains of some pieces of charred wood lay on the floor where the fire was usually kindled, and, to pedro’s great satisfaction, they found a small pile of firewood which had been left there by the last travellers.

“a dismal enough place,” remarked lawrence, looking round after shaking and stamping the snow out of his garments.

“you have reason to thank god, senhor, that we have reached it.”

“true, senhor pedro, and i am not thankless; yet do i feel free to repeat that it is a most dismal place.”

“mos’ horriboble,” said quashy, looking up at the vaulted roof.

“ay, and it could tell many a dismal story if it had a tongue,” said the guide, as he busied himself arranging the saddles and baggage, and making other preparations to spend the night as comfortably as circumstances should permit. “luckily there’s a door this time.”

“is it sometimes without a door, then?” asked lawrence, as he assisted in the arrangements, while quashy set about kindling a fire.

“ay, the poor fellows who are sometimes stormstaid and starved here have a tendency to use all they can find about the place for firewood. some one has replaced the door, however, since i was here last. you’ll find two big nails in the wall, manuela,” he added in indian; “if you tie one of the baggage cords to them, i’ll give you a rug directly, which will make a good screen to cut off your sleeping berth from ours.”

in a short time quashy had a bright little fire burning, with the kettle on it stuffed full of fresh snow; the saddles and their furniture made comfortable seats and lounges around it; and soon a savoury smell of cooked meat rendered the cold air fragrant, while the cheery blaze dispelled the gloom and made a wonderful change in the spirits of all. perhaps we should except the guide, whose calm, grave, stern yet kindly aspect rarely underwent much change, either in the way of elation or depression, whatever the surrounding circumstances might be. his prevailing character reminded one of a rock, whether in the midst of a calm or raging sea—or of a strong tower, whether surrounded by warring elements or by profound calm. need we say that pedro’s imperturbability was by no means the result of apathy?

“blow away till you bust your buzzum,” said quashy, apostrophising the gale as he sat down with a beaming display of teeth and spread out his hands before the blaze, after having advanced supper to a point which admitted of a pause; “i don’ care a butt’n how hard you blow now.”

“ah! quashy,” said the guide, shaking his head slowly, as, seated on his saddle, he rolled up a neat cigarette, “don’t be too confident. you little know what sights these four walls have witnessed. true, this is not quite the season when one runs much risk of being starved to death, but the thing is not impossible.”

“surely,” said lawrence, stretching himself on his saddle-cloths and glancing at manuela, who was by that time seated on the opposite side of the fire arranging some hard biscuits on a plate, “surely people have not been starved to death here, have they?”

“indeed they have—only too often, senhor. i myself came once to this hut to rescue a party, but was nearly too late, for most of them were dead.”

he paused to light his cigarette. the negro, after making the door more secure, sat down again and gazed at the guide with the glaring aspect of a man who fears, but delights in, the horrible. manuela, letting her clasped hands fall in her lap, also gazed at pedro with the intense earnestness that was habitual to her. she seemed to listen. perhaps, being unusually intelligent, she picked up some information from the guide’s expressive face. she could hardly have learned much from his speech, as her knowledge of english seemed to be little more than “yes,” “no,” and “t’ank you!”

“it was during a change of government, senhor,” said pedro, “that i chanced to be crossing the mountains. there is usually a considerable row in south america when a change of government takes place. sometimes they cause a change of government to take place in order to get up a considerable row, for they’re a lively people—almost as fond of fighting as the irish, though scarcely so sound in judgment. i had some business on hand on the western side of the cordillera, but turned back to give a helping hand to my friends, for of course i try never to shirk duty, though i’m not fond of fighting. well, when i got to the farm nearest to this hut where we now sit, they told me that a tremendous gale had been blowing in the mountains, that ten travellers had been snowed up, and that they feared they must all have perished, since travelling in such weather was impossible.”

“‘have you made no effort to rescue them?’ i asked of the farmer.

“‘no,’ says he, ‘i couldn’t get any o’ my fellows to move, because they’ve been terrified about a ghost that’s been seen up there.’

“‘what was the ghost like?’ i asked; so he told me that it was a fearful creature—a mulish-looking sort of man, who was in the habit of terrifying the arrieros and peons who passed that way, but he said they were going to get a priest to put a cross up there, and so lay the ghost.

“‘meanwhile,’ i said, ‘the ten travellers are to be left to starve?’

“‘it’s my belief they’re starved already,’ answered the farmer.”

at this point pedro paused to relight his cigarette, and quashy breathed a little more freely. he was a firm believer in ghosts, and feared them more than he would have feared an army of redskins or jaguars. indeed it is a question whether quashy could ever have been brought to realise the sensation of fear if it had not been for the existence, in his imagination, of ghosts! the mere mention of the word in present circumstances had converted him into a sort of human sensitive-plant. he gave a little start and glance over his shoulder at every gust of unusual power that rattled the door, and had become visibly paler—perhaps we should say less black.

manuela was evidently troubled by no such fears, perhaps because she did not understand the meaning of the word ghost, yet she gazed at the speaker in apparently rapt attention.

“you may believe,” continued the guide, “that i was disgusted at their cowardice; so, to shame them, as well as to do what i could for the travellers, i loaded a couple of my mules with meat, and said i would set off alone. this had the desired effect, for three men volunteered to go with me. when we reached the hut we found that six of the ten poor fellows were dead. the bodies of two who had died just before our arrival were lying in the corner over there behind quashy. they were more like skeletons covered with skin than corpses. the four who still lived were in the corner here beside me, huddled together for warmth, and so worn out by hunger and despair that they did not seem to care at first that we had come to save them. we warmed and fed them, however, brought them gradually round, and at last took them back to the farm. they all recovered. during the time they were snowed up the poor fellows had eaten their mules and dogs. i have no doubt that if the ground were clear of snow you would find the bones of these animals scattered about still.”

this was not a very pleasant anecdote, lawrence thought, on which to retire to rest, so he changed the subject by asking pedro if there were many of the incas still remaining.

before he could reply manuela rose, and, bidding them good-night in spanish, retired to her screened-off corner.

“a good many of the incas are still left,” replied the guide to his companion’s question; “and if you were to visit their capital city you would be surprised to see the remains of temples and other evidences of a very advanced civilisation in a people who existed long before the conquest of peru.”

“massa pedro,” said quashy, who would have been glad to have the recollection of ghosts totally banished from his mind, “i’s oftin hear ob de incas, but i knows not’ing about dem. who is dey? whar dey come fro?”

“it would take a long time, quashy, to answer these two questions fully; nevertheless, i think i could give you a roughish outline of a notion in about five minutes, if you’ll promise not to stare so hard, and keep your mouth shut.”

the negro shut his eyes, expanded his mouth to its utmost in a silent laugh, and nodded his head acquiescently.

“well, then, you must know,” said pedro, “that in days of old—about the time that william the conqueror invaded england—a certain manco capac founded the dynasty of the incas. according to an old legend this manco was the son of a white man who was shipwrecked on the coast of peru. he married the daughter of an indian chief, and taught the people agriculture, architecture, and other arts. he must have been a man of great power, from the influence he exerted over the natives, who styled him the ‘blooming stranger.’ his hair was of a golden colour, and this gave rise to the story that he was a child of the sun, who had been sent to rule over the indians and found an empire. another tradition says that manco capac was accompanied by a wife named mama oello huaco, who taught the indian women the mysteries of spinning and weaving, while her husband taught the arts of civilisation to the men.

“whatever truth there may be in these legends, certain it is that manco capac did become the first of a race of incas—or kings or chiefs—and, it is said, laid the foundations of the city of cuzco, the remains of which at the present day show the power, splendour, and wealth to which manco capac and his successors attained. the government of the incas was despotic, but of a benignant and patriarchal type, which gained the affections of those over whom they ruled, and enabled them to extend their sway far and wide over the land, so that, at the time of the invasion by the spaniards under pizarro, the peruvians were found to have reached a high degree of civilisation, as was seen by their public works—roads, bridges, terrace-gardens, fortifications, and magnificent buildings, and so forth. it is said by those who have studied the matter, that this civilisation existed long before the coming of the incas. on this point i can say nothing, but no doubt or uncertainty rests on the later history of this race. cuzco, on lake titicaca, became the capital city of a great and flourishing monarchy, and possessed many splendid buildings in spacious squares and streets. it also became the holy city and great temple of the sun, to which pilgrims came from all parts of the country. it was defended by a fortress and walls built of stone, some blocks of which were above thirty feet long by eighteen broad and six thick. many towns sprang up in the land. under good government the people flourished and became rich. they had plenty of gold and silver, which they used extensively in the adornment of their temples and palaces. but evil followed in the train of wealth. by degrees their simplicity departed from them. their prosperity led to the desire for conquest. then two sons of one of the incas disputed with each other for supremacy, and fought. one was conquered and taken prisoner by the other, who is reported to have been guilty of excessive cruelties to his relations, and caused his brother to be put to death. finally, in 1532, the spaniards came and accomplished the conquest of peru—from which date not much of peace or prosperity has fallen to the lot of this unhappy land.

“yes,” said the guide in conclusion, “the incas were, and some of their descendants still are, a very fine race. many of the men are what i call nature’s gentlemen, having thoughts—ay, and manners too, that would grace any society. some of their women, also, are worthy to—”

“pedro!” interrupted lawrence eagerly, laying his hand on the guide’s arm, for a sudden idea had flashed into his mind. (he was rather subject to the flashing of sudden ideas!) “pedro! she is a daughter of a chief of the incas—is she not? a princess of the incas! have i not guessed rightly?”

he said this in a half whisper, and pointed as he spoke to the screen behind which manuela lay.

pedro smiled slightly and tipped the ash from the end of his cigarette, but made no answer.

“nay, i will not pry into other people’s affairs,” said lawrence, in his usual tone, “but you once told me she is the daughter of a chief, and assuredly no lady in this land could equal her in grace or dignity of carriage and manner, to say nothing of modesty, which is the invariable evidence.”

“not of high rank?” interrupted the guide, with a quick and slightly sarcastic glance.

“no, but of nobility of mind and heart,” replied the youth, with much enthusiasm. in which feeling he was earnestly backed up by quashy, who, with eyes that absolutely glowed, said—

“you’s right, massa—sure an’ sartin! modesty am de grandest t’ing i knows. once i knowed a young nigger gal what libbed near your fadder’s mill—sooz’n dey calls ’er—an’ she’s so modest, so—oh! i not kin ’splain rightly—but i say to ’er one day, when i’d got my courage screwed up, ‘sooz’n,’ ses i. ‘well,’ ses she. ‘i—i lub you,’ ses i, ‘more nor myself, ’cause i t’ink so well ob you. eberybody t’inks well ob you, sooz’n. what—what—’ (i was gitten out o’ bref by dis time from ’citement, and not knowin’ what more to say, so i ses) ‘what—what you t’ink ob you’self sooz’n?’

“‘nuffin’,’ ses she! now, wasn’t dat modest?”

“it certainly was, quashy. couldn’t have been more so,” said pedro. “and after that we couldn’t, i think, do better than turn in.”

the fire had by that time burned low, and the gale was still raging around them, driving the snowdrift wildly against the hut, and sometimes giving the door so violent a shake as to startle poor quashy out of sweet memories of sooz’n into awful thoughts of the ghost that had not yet been laid.

each man appropriated a vacant corner of the hut in which to spread his simple couch, the negro taking care to secure that furthest from the door.

lawrence armstrong thought much over his supposed discovery before falling asleep that night, and the more he thought the more he felt convinced that the indian girl was indeed a princess, and owed her good looks, sweet disposition, graceful form and noble carriage to her descent from a race which had at one period been highly civilised when all around them were savage. it was a curious subject of contemplation. the colour of his waking thoughts naturally projected itself into the young man’s dreams. he was engaged in an interesting anthropological study. he found himself in the ancient capital of the incas. he beheld a princess of great beauty surrounded by courtiers, but she was brown! he thought what an overwhelming pity it was that she was not white! then he experienced a feeling of intense disappointment that he himself had not been born brown. by degrees his thoughts became more confused and less decided in colour—whitey-brown, in fact,—and presented a series of complicated regrets and perplexing impossibilities, in a vain effort to disentangle which he dropped asleep.