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A pigeon took to flight, then another, and still another; he turned his head, following them with his gaze until they were out of sight, and then returned to his melancholy contemplation. Caboclo signifies copper-colored. Indigenous tribes of Brazil are so called from the color of their skin.
Well he knew that the life of his little son was at stake, and depended upon the decision of the birds. "When the pigeons leave, misfortune quickly follows." Joanna noticed his preoccupation. "What is the matter?" she asked. The caboclo scratched his head and made no reply. The woman insisted. "What is the trouble, Tiburcio?" "The pigeons have taken a whim into their heads, Joanna."
The fields became less obscure and, in the light, the shadows of the trees, very black, stretched across the ground. "Patience, dear woman, patience!" The strident crickets were chirping. The caboclo murmured, "Yes, I know ..." Of a sudden Joanna shuddered.
Gnashing his teeth, Tiburcio squeezed the fledglings and crushed them. Their tender bones cracked like bits of wood. The blood gushed forth and trickled, warm, through the tightened fingers of the man. Under the impulse of his fury he threw them to the ground; they flattened out, soft as rotten fruit. And the caboclo, growling to himself, trampled upon them.
This cattle ranch is managed by the colonel's uncle, his mother's brother, a hale old man of seventy, white-haired but as active and vigorous as ever; with a fine, kindly, intelligent face. His name is Miguel Evangalista. He is a native of Matto Grosso, of practically pure Indian blood, and was dressed in the ordinary costume of the Caboclo hat, shirt, trousers, and no shoes or stockings.
They were dressed in hat, shirt, trousers, and sandals, precisely like the ordinary Brazilian caboclos, as the poor backwoods peasants, usually with little white blood in them, are colloquially and half-derisively styled caboclo being originally a Guarany word meaning "naked savage." These two Indians were in the employ of the Telegraphic Commission, and had been patrolling the telegraph-line.
"And you are lost in the contemplation of it? I have not cared to speak, but I know well the meaning of what I see." The caboclo slung the spade across his shoulder and walked slowly up the road that led to the plantation, through the wet hay which exhaled a piquant odor.
Uncertain of their direction in the clearness of the night, they lit upon the roof of the hut. The caboclo slid down lightly along the trunk and saw two little bodies who were whining, staggering, dragging themselves along. They were two little pigeons. He bent over them, took them in his hands and began to examine them.
At the edge of the ravine, turtle-doves and starlings were circling in the air, making a joyous noise above the high branches of the neighboring trees. The caboclo Indian did not remove his eyes from the pigeon-house. The wrinkles on his forehead bore witness to an inner struggle , grave thoughts which were clouding his spirit.
Quivering she turned towards the cabin, from whose wide door shone a ray of livid light; for a moment her astonished gaze lingered and then, with a bound she was gone. Tiburcio, motionless, without understanding what his wife had just done, quietly awaited her return, when a piercing cry rang out. The caboclo rushed to the cabin and made for the room where the candle was burning.
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