he war
weapons and implements of the chase, there are articles of dress and
adornment; bracelets of gold, bead necklets and belts, with coronets of
bright-coloured plumes; while most conspicuous of all is a large
feather-embroidered _manta_, covering the corpse from head to foot, even
concealing the face.

Still there is nothing in all this to astonish Gaspar Mendez, or in any
way give him a surprise. He has seen the like before, and often among
the Auracanian Indians, who are kindred with the tribes of the Chaco.
He but makes the reflection, how silly it is in these savages thus to
expose such fine commodities to the weather, and let them go to loss and
decay--all to satisfy a heathen instinct of superstition! And thus
reflecting, he would in all probability have lowered himself back to the
ground, but for that presentiment still upon him. It influences him to
remain a moment longer balancing himself upon the notched upright, and
gazing over the platform. Just then the moon getting clear of some
cirrhus clouds, and shining brighter than ever, lights up an object
hitherto unnoticed by him, but one he recognises as an old acquaintance.
He starts on beholding a felt hat of the Tyrolese pattern, which he
well remembers to have seen worn by his master, the hunter-naturalist,
and by him given to the aged _cacique_ of the Tovas as a token of
friendship. And now he feels the presentiment which has been upon him
all explained and fulfilled. Springing up on the platform, and
uncovering the face of the corpse, he beholds--Naraguana!

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

GASPAR DESPONDENT.

"Naraguana dead!" exclaims the gaucho, as standing upon the scaffold he
gazes upon the form at his feet. "_Santissima_! this is strange!"

"But is it certainly the old _cacique_?" he adds, again stooping down
and raising the selvedge of feather cloth, which had fallen back over
the face. Once more exposed to view, the features deeply-furrowed with
age--for Naraguana was a very old man--and now further shrivelled by the
dry winds of the Chaco, with the skin drawn tight over high-cheek bones,
and hollow, sightless sockets, where once shone pair of eyes coal-black
and keen--all this under the pale moonlight, presents a spectacle at
once weird-like and ghastly, as if of a death's head itself!

Still it is the face of Naraguana, as at a glance the gaucho perceives,
muttering, "Yes; it's the old chief, sure enough. Dead, and dried up
like a mumm