Part 19 (1/2)
”Now, what?” asked Hazelton.
”Luncheon, if I had my choice,” muttered Tom. ”But that's out of the question, I fear.”
”Unless we can catch a rabbit, or something, with our hands.”
”Harry, I wonder if we can find the trail all the way back to the railroad. These mountain paths are crooked affairs at best.”
”We know the general direction, and our pocket compa.s.ses will serve us,” Hazelton nodded.
”Don Luis seems to think that he can stop us from getting through to the railroad.”
”I'm not so sure that he can't, either, Tom. Hang these little Mexicans. With our hands either one of us could thrash an armful of these people, but a Mexican with a gun is almost the size of an American with a gun. Tom, if we only had a brace of revolvers I believe we could go through to civilization without mishap.”
”We haven't any pistols, so there's no use in talking about them,”
Reade retorted.
”But we would have had revolvers, at least in our baggage, if you hadn't always been so dead set against carrying them,” Harry complained.
”I'm just as much set against firearms as ever,” Tom answered, dryly. ”Revolvers are made for killing people. Now, why any sane man should desire to kill any one goes beyond me.”
”Humph! We'll be lucky if we can get out of these mountains without killing any one,” grunted Hazelton.
”Cheer up!” laughed Tom. ”The whole world hasn't turned black just because we've skipped our luncheon.”
”I wouldn't mind the luncheon,” Harry began, ”if--”
He stopped short, as he caught a glimpse of the spot where they had left their trunks.
”Tom, let's hustle back to where we left our trunks,” he whispered.
”I just saw some one moving about on that spot”
”Oh, if any thief is after our baggage, let him have it,” smiled Tom. ”The stuff all goes to a thief in the end, anyway, for we know that we can't carry our trunks with us.”
But that didn't suit. Hazelton, who still felt as though he owned his own trunk. So he started back, soft-footed. Presently they came in sight of a human being seated on Reade's trunk.
”Nicolas!” breathed Tom.
”_Si, senor_,” (yes, sir) returned the servant.
”But what are you doing here?”
”I am your servant,” replied the Mexican, calmly.
”Wrong; you're Don Luis's servant.”
”But he ordered me to wait on you both unceasingly, senor.”
”We have left Don Luis's house, for good,” Tom continued, walking over to where the barefooted one sat.
”That may be true, senor; it is true, since you say it, but my orders have not been changed. Until Don Luis tells me differently I shall go on serving you.”