The pass which our travellers had just crossed merely led them over a
mountain chain which may be described as the Peruvian Cordillera.
Beyond it lay a fruitful valley of considerable extent, which terminated
at the base of the great range, or backbone, of the Andes. Beyond this
again lay another valley of greater extent than the first, which was
bounded by a third range or cordillera of inferior height, the eastern
slopes of which descended on one hand in varying undulations to the
dense forests of equatorial Brazil, on the other, by easy gradations to
the level Pampas or plains which extend for hundreds of miles through
the lands of the Argentine Confederation to the Atlantic.
Two mountain passes, therefore, were still to be crossed, and Lawrence
Armstrong began to think that if things went on as they had begun a
pretty lively experience probably lay before them.
But in this he was mistaken, at least as regarded banditti, though in
some other respects the journey was not quite devoid of stirring
incidents--as we shall see.
We have said that the good-nature of the young Englishman induced him to
attempt conversation with the Indian girl, and at first Manuela appeared
to be amused, if not interested, by his unsuccessful efforts; but after
one of these futile attempts Pedro made some remarks to the girl in the
Indian tongue, and in a tone of remonstrance, which had the effect of
rendering her more silent and grave than before. Lawrence, therefore,
finally ceased to address her, though his natural gallantry prompted him
to offer assistance when it seemed necessary, and to accost her with a
hearty good-night and good-morning each day.
As Pedro, in his capacity of guide, usually rode a few paces in advance,
and was frequently in a silent, abstracted mood, Lawrence was thus
thrown almost entirely on the negro for companionship. Although the
young Englishman may not have estimated his company very highly, nothing
could have been more satisfactory to Quashy, who, with delight expressed
in every wrinkle and lineament of his black visage, fully availed
himself of his opportunities.
"O Massa Lawrie!" he exclaimed, at the close of one of their
conversations, "how I does lub to talk ob de ole times when me an' you
was play togidder!"
"Yes, it's very nice to recall old times," answered Lawrence, with a
half-suppressed yawn, for they had by that time gone over the old times
so often that the novelty had rather worn off.
"Yes, bery nice," repeated Quashy, with gleaming eyes, "when I tink ob
de ole fadder an' de ole mill an' de ole fun what me an' you carried
on--oh! my heart goes like to bu'st."
"Don't let it bu'st here, whatever you do, Quashy, for you'll need all
the heart you possess to carry you safely over these mountain passes."
Quashy opened his huge mouth, shut his eyes, and went off in a high
falsetto--his usual mode of laughing. He always laughed at Lawrence's
little jokes, whether good or bad, insomuch that the youth finally
abstained from jesting as much as possible.
"I did not know," continued Lawrence, "that there were so many robbers
about. Pedro tells me that the mountains are swarming with them just
now."
"Ho yis, massa, plenty ob rubbers eberywhar," said Quashy, with a nod,
"more nor 'nuff ob dem. You see, massa, Chili an' Proo's a-fightin' wid
each oder jus' now. What dey's fightin' about no mortial knows; an',
what's more, nobody cares. I s'pose one say de oder's wrong an' de oder
say de one's say not right. Bof say das a big lie so at it dey goes
hammer an' tongs to prove--ha! ha! to prove dey's bof right. Oh my!"
Here the negro opened his cavernous jaws and gave vent to another
explosion of shrill laughter.
"What fools dey is!"
"Then you think it is only fools who fight, Quashy?"
"Ob coorse, massa. Don' you see, if dey wasn't fools dey wouldn't
fight; 'cause fightin' can't prove nuffin', an' it can't do nuffin',
'cep' waste life an' money. No doubt," added the negro, with a
meditative gaze at the ground, "when rubbers come at a feller he's boun'
to fight, for why? he can't help it; or when Red Injin savages--"
"Have a care, Quashy, what you say about Indians. I've warned you once
already."
"O massa!" said the poor black, with a look of almost superhuman
penitence, "I beg your pard'n. I's quite forgit to remimber. I was
just agwine to say that there _is_ times when you _mus'_ fight. But
isn't Chili Christ'n, an' isn't P'roo Christ'n? I don' bleeve in
Christ'ns what cut each oder's t'roats to prove dey's right. Howsever,
das noting. What I's agwine to say is--dars a lot o' white livers on
bof sides, an' dese dey runs away, takes to de mountains and becomes
rubbers. But dey's not all bad alike, dough none of em's good. You's
heer'd ob Conrad ob de Mountains, massa?"
"Yes, Pedro mentioned his name. He seems to be a celebrated bandit."
"Well, I's not sure. Some peepil say he's not a rubber at all, but a
good sort o' feller as goes mad sometimes. He's bery kind to women an'
child'n, but he's bery awrful."
"That's a strange character. How do you know he's so very awful,
Quashy?"
"Because I seed 'im, massa."
"Indeed, where?"
"On de plains ob Proo, massa," replied the negro, with that
self-satisfied clearing of the throat which was usually the prelude to a
long story.
"Come now, Quashy," said Lawrence, with a laugh, "don't be too
long-winded, and don't exaggerate."
"Don't ex-what-gerate, massa?"
"Exaggerate."
"What's dat, massa?"
"Never mind, Quashy--go on."