Part 5 (1/2)
”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 pa.s.ses.”
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, ma.s.sa, plenty ob rubbers eberywhar,” said Quashy, with a nod, ”more nor 'nuff ob dem. You see, ma.s.sa, Chili an' Proo's a-fightin' wid each oder jus' now. What dey's fightin' about no mortial knows; an', what's more, n.o.body 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, ma.s.sa. 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 ma.s.sa!” 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, ma.s.sa?”
”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, ma.s.sa.”
”Indeed, where?”
”On de plains ob Proo, ma.s.sa,” 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, ma.s.sa?”
”Exaggerate.”
”What's dat, ma.s.sa?”
”Never mind, Quashy--go on.”
With a genial and highly exaggerated smile, the negro proceeded:--
”Well, as I was agwine to say, I see dis man, Conrad ob de Mountains, on de plains ob Proo. I's in de Proo camp at de time, attendin' on you's fadder, an' de army ob Chili was in front ob us on de slopes ob de hills, agwine to go in for a fight wid us. De sojers of Proo wasn't bery keen for fightin'. I could see dat, but their gin'ral screwed 'em up to de pint, an' dey was all ready, when all of a sudden, we sees a pris'ner brought in by four sojers. Dey seem so 'fraid ob him dey darn't touch him, tho' he was unarmed. Two walked behind him, an' two walked in front ob 'im, all wid dere baynets pintin' at 'im, ready to skewer 'im all round if he was try to run. But, poor chap, he walk wid his head down, bery sad-like--nebber t'inkin' ob runnin'. So dey druv'
'im up to our gin'ral. I was in a crowd o' tall fellers, an' de pris'ner had his back to me, so I not seed his face well. `Das Conrad ob de Mountains dey've cotched,' says a feller near me. `Listen!' We all listen'd so quiet you could hear a 'skito sneeze. `What's you'