he knows the tree well,
knows it to possess certain strange properties, one of which has been
his reason for riding up to it, and acting as he now does.

The other two have also drawn near; and dismounting, hold their horses
in hand while they watch him with wondering eyes. One of them cries
out--

"What now, Caspar? Why are you gathering those flowers?" It is
Cypriano who speaks, impatiently adding, "Remember, our time is
precious."

"True, master," gravely responds the gaucho; "but however precious it
is, we may soon have to employ it otherwise than in taking up a trail.
If this tree tells truth, we'll have enough on our hands to take care of
ourselves, without thinking of Indians."

"What mean you?" both interrogated together.

"Come hither, _senoritos_, and set your eyes on these flowers!"

Thus requested they comply, leading their horses nearer to the tree.

"Well?" exclaims Cypriano, "I see nothing in them; that is, nothing that
strikes me as being strange."

"But I do," says Ludwig, whose father had given him some instruction in
the science of botany. "I observe that the corollas are well nigh
closed, which they should not be at this hour of the day, if the tree is
in a healthy condition. It's the _uinay_; I know it well. We have
passed several on the way as we started this morning, but I noticed none
with the flowers thus shrivelled up."

"Stand still a while," counsels Gaspar, "and watch them."

They do as desired, and see what greatly surprises them. At least
Cypriano is surprised; for the young Paraguayan, unlike his half-German
cousin, unobservant of Nature generally, has never given a thought to
any of its particular phenomena; and that now presented to his gaze is
one of the strangest. For while they stand watching the _uinay_, its
flowers continue to close their corollas, the petals assuming a shrunk,
withered appearance.

The gaucho's countenance seems to take its cue from them, growing graver
as he stands contemplating the change.

"_Por Dios_!" he at length exclaims, "if that tree be speaking truth,
and I never knew of the _uinay_ telling lies, we'll have a storm upon us
within twenty minutes' time; such a one as will sweep us out of our
saddles, if we can't get under shelter. Ay, sure it's going to be
either a _temporal_ or _tormenta_! And this is not the where to meet
it. Here we'd be smothered in a minute, if not blown up into the sky.
Stay! I think I know of a place near