Tierra del Fuego Read Free

the three horses, mine is in the best shape. You stay here and look after Schaeffer, and I’ll go. I’ll be back.”
    Those two black flies of Spiro’s blinked at Novak. Then he gave a sly smile, and his eyes slithered across the grass to the German’s heels.
    â€œAll right, then,” he said. “Go . . .”
    Novak mounted and set off at a fast trot, bent over his horse.
    The Fuegian twilight slowly began to descend from the opaque sky, making Schaeffer’s face even paler and emphasizing Spiro’s whiteness. Spiro watched until Novak was out of sight between the low ridges, then turned to look at Schaeffer. The old man seemed to have fallen asleep again.
    â€œI’m going up the hill to keep watch and make sure nobody’s following us,” he said in a voice as soft as velvet, as if trying not to wake him.
    â€œDon’t worry about me,” the old man replied, surprisingly alert, and added, looking straight at him, “Just take your horse and get out of here!”
    â€œIt’s just that—”
    â€œNothing . . . Novak’s not coming back. Catch him up.”
    â€œIs that what you think?”
    â€œHe got away before you did.”
    â€œWhy are you like that, Schaeffer? You really don’t think he’s coming back?” And in a voice as subdued as the dying afternoon, he added, “How can I leave you here? You’ll die of hunger and cold!”
    â€œI’ll shoot myself before that happens,” Schaeffer replied, and added dispassionately, “Pass me the rifle, in case . . . Don’t worry, it’s not to stop you getting away. I may need it later.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, getting away?”
    â€œNo point in hiding it . . . You’re going to follow Novak.”
    â€œNo, Schaeffer, I’m not giving you the rifle . . .”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œYou might do something stupid . . . you have to hold on . . . So you don’t think Novak’s coming back?”
    â€œWhy are you so worried about Novak? Worry about yourself!”
    â€œIt’s just that sometimes, you know, Schaeffer . . . there are circumstances . . . If a man knew when things were going to go wrong, he’d behave differently.”
    â€œJust go, and leave me the rifle . . . Novak won’t be back, so give it to me.”
    â€œSo, you say he won’t be back, Schaeffer? I’m sure he will! I’m not giving you the rifle, I don’t want you doing anything stupid . . .”
    â€œLet me sleep, then!” the old man said, somewhat plaintively, and he rolled onto his good leg and made himself comfortable.
    Short as they are, November nights in Tierra del Fuego are pitch black, especially when a curtain of clouds casts its shadow over the earth. Schaeffer fell into a sleep as heavy as the night.
    He was woken by Novak shaking him by the shoulder and asking after Cosme Spiro. But Spiro was nowhere to be found. He was gone, and although he had left the rifle with the sawn-off barrel next to the old man, he’d taken his horse, saddle and all.
    Â 
    Novak had found a decent shelter amid a group of volcanic rocks near the coast, and that same night he took Schaeffer there. The rocks had formed a kind of cave, and the horse dung inside it indicated that the peasants used it as a shelter when the weather was bad.
    â€œIt’s all the same . . . whether he stayed or ran away like a coward,” Schaeffer said a few days later, discussing Spiro’s escape with Novak.
    â€œIt did matter,” Novak replied. “The sooner you discover a traitor, the better.”
    â€œI had my doubts about you, too,” the old man said calmly, “but I was sure Spiro was going to run away. You just have to look in people’s eyes. He didn’t fool me. The only thing that bothers me is that he took Molly. How am I going to manage without my horse when I get better?”
    â€œWe’ll see . . .” Novak