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 backbone2, 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 descended3 on one hand in varying undulations to the dense4 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 devoid6 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 futile7 attempts Pedro made some remarks to the girl in the Indian tongue, and in a tone of remonstrance8, which had the effect of rendering9 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 accost10 her with a hearty11 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 entirely12 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, fully13 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 abstained14 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 swarming15 with them just now.”
“Ho yis, massa, plenty ob rubbers eberywhar,” said Quashy, with a nod, “more nor ’nuff ob dem. You see, massa, Chili16 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’ tongs17 to prove—ha! ha! to prove dey’s bof right. Oh my!”
Here the negro opened his cavernous jaws18 and gave vent19 to another explosion of shrill20 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 meditative21 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 penitence22, “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, dough23 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 celebrated24 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 prelude25 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.”
“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 pint27, 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 skewer28 ’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’ name?’ asks de gin’ral, ridin’ close up to Conrad on his splendid war-hoss—a child ob one ob de war-hosses as come ober wid Pizarro from Spain. ‘My name’s Pumpkin,’ answers de pris’ner. ‘Das a lie!’ says de gin’ral. ‘No’s not,’ says Conrad, lookin’ up, as I could see by de back ob his head. ‘What side you b’longs to, raskil?’ ‘To no side, gin’ral.’ ‘Whar you come fro’?’ ‘Fro’ de mountains, gin’r’l.’ ‘Whar you go to?’ ‘Ober de mountains, gin’ral.’ I could see by de way de fedders in de gin’ral’s hat shake dat he’s gittin’ in a wax at de cool imprence ob de pris’ner, but he ’strain hisself, an’ spoke29 sarkmustic. ‘Senhor Pumpkin,’ says he, ‘you are Conrad ob de Mountains,’—(’cause he guess who he was by dat time); ‘how you prepose to go ober de mountains?’ ‘Dis way!’ says Conrad, an’, nixt momint, up goes de gin’ral’s leg, down goes his head an’ fedders on de ground, and Conrad sits in de saddle afore you can wink30. All round de baynets was charge, but dey haul up jist in time not to skewer one anoder, for de horse shotted out fro’ between dem all, an’ away straight to de Chili lines, whar dere was a great cheerin’, for dey t’ought it was a deserter. When Conrad came up, he trotted31 quietly troo de ranks, till he got near to whar de Chili commander stood wid his hofficers, wonderin’ who he was. As he couldn’t ’spec’ to git no furder, he rides quietly up to a hofficer, takes de sword out ob his hand afore he understand what he wants, den5, diggin’ de spurs into de big war-hoss, off he goes wid a yell like a Red Inj—oh! I’s mean like a—a buff’lo bull. Out comes de swords. Dey close all round ’im. I no see him by dat time. He too fur off; but a friend ob mine was near, an’ he say dat Conrad swing de long sword so quick, an’ de sun was shinin’ so clar, dat it look like a circle ob fire all round him. Down dey hoed on ebery side. Off goed a head here, an arm dere. One trooper cut troo at de waist, an’ fall’d off, but de legs stick on. Anoder splitted right down fro’ de helmet, so as one half fall on one side, an’ de odour half fall—”
“Come now, Quashy,” interrupted Lawrence, with a laugh, “you exaggerate.”
“What! you call dat exaggerate, massa? Den Conrad exaggerate about ten more afore he cut his way troo an’ ’scaped to de hills. Oh, he’s an awrful man!”
“Truly he must be very awful, if all you relate of him be true,” said Lawrence; “and I sincerely trust that if we fall in with him we may find him friendly. Now, I shall ride forward, and ask Pedro if we are far from our halting-place.”
This abrupt32 change of subject was usually understood by the amiable33 negro to mean that our hero—whom he persisted in regarding as his master—had had enough of his conversation at that time, so he reined34 back his mule35, while Lawrence pushed forward.
To his question Pedro replied that he expected to reach the next sleeping-place very soon.
“It will not be as luxurious36 as the last,” he said; “but, doubtless, one who has traversed the mountains of Scotland is prepared to rough it in South America.”
“You speak as if you were yourself somewhat acquainted with the Scottish mountains.”
“So I am, senhor,” replied the guide. “I had clambered up Ben Nevis while I was yet a little boy.”
“Surely you are not a Scot?” said Lawrence, with a quick glance.
“No, I am not a Scot, senhor. To have travelled in a country does not render one a native, else might I claim England, Ireland, and Switzerland as my native lands. See, yonder lies the little farm where I hope to put up for the night.”
He pointed37 as he spoke to the head of the glen or valley, which was somewhat narrower and more gloomy than the vales through which they had ridden in the earlier part of the day. Since crossing the first cordillera on the Pacific side of the Andes they had, indeed, traversed a great variety of country. In some places the land was rocky and comparatively barren. In others, where the peculiar38 form of the mountains sheltered the table-lands, the country was fertile, and numerous farms dotted the landscape, but as they ascended39 higher on the main chain the farms became fewer, until they finally disappeared, and an occasional hut, with a mere1 patch of cultivated ground, was all that remained in the vast solitudes40 to tell of the presence of man.
It was to one of these huts that Pedro now directed his companion’s attention.
“A most suitable place for the abode41 of banditti,” remarked Lawrence, as they advanced up the winding42 path.
“And many a time do the bandits lodge43 there,” returned Pedro. “Of course, robbers of the Andes do not go about with placards on their backs announcing their profession to all the world, and, as long as they behave themselves, farmers are bound to regard them as honest men.”
“You said, if I heard rightly,” observed Lawrence, “that you had formerly44 met with the rascal45 whom we let off the other day.”
“Yes, I know him well. One of the worst men in the land. I’m almost sorry we did not shoot him, but I never could take human life in cold blood, even when that life had been forfeited46 over and over again. However, he’s sure to get his deserts sooner or later.”
“Then he is not Conrad of the Mountains whom you mentioned to me lately?”
“No, Conrad is a very different stamp of man—though he has not too much to boast of in the way of character if all that’s said of him be true. The man we let go is a gaucho47 of the Pampas named Cruz. He delights in war, and has fought in the armies of Chili, Peru, and the Argentine Confederation without much regard to the cause of quarrel. In fact, wherever fighting is going on Cruz is sure to be there. Lately he has taken to the mountains, and now fights for his own hand.”
“And the other poor fellow who went over the precipice,” asked Lawrence, “did you know him?”
“I knew him slightly. Antonio is his name, I think, but he is a villain48 of no note—an inferior bandit, though quite equal to his captain, no doubt, in selfishness and cruelty.”
On arriving at the hut or small farm at the head of the valley, they found its owner, a burly, good-humoured Creole, alone with his mother, an old woman whose shrivelled-up appearance suggested the idea of a mummy partially49 thawed50 into life. She was busy cooking over a small fire, the smoke of which seemed congenial to her—judging from the frequency with which she thrust her old head into it while inspecting the contents of an iron pot.
There was plenty of room for them, the host said, with an air of profound respect for Pedro, whom he saluted51 as an old acquaintance. The house had been full two days before, but the travellers had gone on, and the only one who remained was a poor man who lay in an out-house very sick.
“Who is he?” asked Pedro, as he assisted Manuela to alight.
“I know not, senhor,” replied the host. “He is a stranger, who tells me he has been robbed. I can well believe it, for he has been roughly handled, and there are some well-known bandits in the neighbourhood. His injuries would not have been so serious, however, if he had not caught a fever from exposure.”
“Indeed,” returned the guide, who, however, seemed more interested in unsaddling his mules52 than in listening to the account of the unfortunate man, “was it near this that he fell in with the bandits?”
“No, senhor, it was far to the west. The travellers who brought him on said they found him almost insensible on the banks of a stream into which he appeared to have fallen or been thrown.”
Pedro glanced at Lawrence.
“Hear you that, senhor?”
“My Spanish only suffices to inform me that some one has been robbed and injured.”
Explaining fully what their host had said, Pedro advised Lawrence to visit the stranger in his medical character.
“My friend is a doctor,” he said, turning to the host, “take him to the sick man; for myself, I will put up the mules and then assist the old mother, for mountain air sharpens appetite.”
In a rude, tumble-down hut close to the main building Lawrence found his patient. He lay stretched in a corner on a heap of straw in a state of great exhaustion—apparently dying—and with several bandages about his cut and bruised53 head and face.
The first glance told Lawrence that it was Antonio, the robber whom he had tried to rescue, but he carefully concealed54 his knowledge, and, bending over the man, addressed him as if he were a stranger. The start and look of surprise mingled55 with alarm on the robber’s face told that he had recognised Lawrence, but he also laid restraint on himself, and drew one of the bandages lower down on his eyes.
Feeling his pulse, Lawrence asked him about his food.
“My poor man,” said Lawrence in his bad Spanish, “they are starving you to death. But I’ll see to that.”
He rose and went out quickly. Returning with a basin of soup, he presented it to the invalid57, who ate it with relish58. Then the man began to relate how he had been attacked a few days before by a party of robbers in one of the mountain passes, who had cut the throats of all his party in cold blood, and had almost killed himself, when he was rescued by the opportune59 arrival of some travellers.
Lawrence was much disgusted at first by the man’s falsehood. Observing the poor fellow’s extreme weakness, however, and his evident anxiety lest he should be recognised, the feeling changed to pity. Laying his hand gently on the man’s shoulder, he said, with a look of solemnity which perchance made, up to some extent for the baldness of the phraseology—
“Antonio, tell not lies; you are dying!”
The startled man looked at his visitor earnestly. “Am I dying?” he asked, in a low tone.
“You are, perhaps; I know not. I will save you if possible.”
These words were accompanied by a kind look and a comforting pat on the shoulder, which, it may be, did more for the sick man than the best of physic. At all events the result was a sudden grasp of the hand and a look of gratitude60 which spoke volumes. The robber was about to give vent to his feelings in speech when the door opened, and the burly host, putting his head in, announced that supper was ready.
Giving his patient another reassuring61 pat, the young doctor left him and returned to the banqueting-hall of the mountain farm, where he found that Manuela, Pedro, and Quashy were more or less earnestly engaged with the contents of the iron pot.
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1
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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accost
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| v.向人搭话，打招呼 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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chili
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| n.辣椒 | |
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tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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pint
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skewer
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| n.（烤肉用的）串肉杆；v.用杆串好 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gaucho
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| n. 牧人 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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53
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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54
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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55
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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59
opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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60
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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61
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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