Part 6 (1/2)

”I go to seek a merchant who will start me as a goat-skin-buyer. Do you know of any such?”

”A goatskin-buyer? Friend, for almost every goat there is a goatskin-buyer. My brother is one, my father-in-law another. I myself shall become one after this trip is over. You would do well to choose some other occupation.”

Lewis did not smile at the man's guile, though it had not escaped him.

He was gazing open-mouthed at a horseman who was forcing his way past the laden mules. From some distance the horseman yelled in English:

”What the devil's the matter now? Ye G.o.ds and little fishes! what are you stopping for now?”

The guide shrugged his shoulders and tapped his head.

”Mad,” he said; ”an idiot. Imagine! He thinks those are words!”

The horseman drew up beside them, wrath in his face.

”Sir,” said Lewis, ”your guide stopped to greet me. It is the custom of the country.”

Lewis and Natalie spoke English with the precision of the adults from whom they had learned it. They had never heard the argot of American childhood, but from mammy and from the tongue of their adopted land they had acquired a soft slurring of speech which gave a certain quaintness to their diction.

It was the turn of the stranger to stare open-mouthed. Lewis wore the uniform of the local cow-boy: a thick, wide-brimmed leather hat, fastened under the chin with a thong; a loose deerskin jumper and deerskin breeches that fitted tightly to the leg and ended in a long flap over the instep. On his feet were sandals and grotesque, handwrought spurs. His red bundle was tied to the cantle of his saddle.

At hearing precise English from such a source, the stranger felt an astonishment almost equal to Balaam's surprise on hearing his a.s.s speak.

No less was Lewis's wonder at the stranger's raiment. A pith helmet, Norfolk jacket, moleskin riding-breeches, leather puttees, and stout, pigskin footwear--these were strange apparel.

The stranger was not old. One would have placed him at forty-five. As a matter of fact, he was only forty. He was the first to recover poise. He peered keenly into Lewis's face.

”May I ask your name?”

”My name is Lewis Leighton. And yours?”

The stranger waved his hand impatiently.

”Where are you going?”

”I am on my way to Oeiras to seek employment,” said Lewis.

”To seek employment, eh?” said the stranger, thoughtfully. ”Will you tell this misbegotten guide that I wish to return to the water we pa.s.sed a little while ago? I should like to talk to you, if you don't mind.”

Lewis translated the order.

”So they are words, after all,” said the guide. He shook his head from side to side, as one who suspects witchcraft.

When the pack-train was headed back on the road it had come, Lewis turned to the guide.

”Whither was your master bound?” he asked.

”Him?” said the guide, with a shrug of his shoulder. ”Who knows? No sooner does he reach one town than he is off for another. It is his life, the madman, to bore a hole through this world of Christ. Just now we were headed for the ranch of Dom Francisco. After that, who knows?

But he pays, friend. Gold oozes from him like matter from a sore.”