The Rover of the Andes | Page 7

Indian, for robbers are cowards as a rule."
"Have we, then, much chance of meeting with robbers?"
"Well, I should say we have little chance of altogether escaping them,
for in times of war there are always plenty of deserters and other

white-livered scoundrels who seize the opportunity to work their will.
Besides, there are some noted outlaws in the neighbourhood of the pass
we are going to cross. There's Conrad of the Mountains, for instance.
You've heard of him?"
"No, never."
"Ah, senhor, that proves you to be a stranger here, for his name is
known from the Atlantic to the Pacific--chiefly, however, on the east
side of the Cordillera, and on the Pampas. He is an outlaw--at least he
is said to be so; but one cannot believe all one hears. Some say that he
is cruel, others that he is ferocious among men, but never hurts women
or children."
"Well, it is to be hoped we may not fall in with him, or any of his
band," said Lawrence; "for it is better to hear of his qualities than to put
them to the test."
"Yet, methinks," resumed Pedro, "if you fell in with him alone you
should have no cause to fear him, for you must be more than his
match."
"I don't think I should fear him," returned Lawrence, with a simple look.
"As to being more than his match, I know not, for my spirit does not
prompt me to light, and I cannot boast of much capacity in the use of
arms--unless you count my good oak-cudgel a weapon. I have acquired
some facility in the use of that, having practised singlestick as an
amusement at school."
As he spoke, the youth was surprised and somewhat startled by his
companion suddenly drawing a pistol from his belt, and pointing it
steadily at the open doorway of the hut. Turning his eyes quickly in that
direction, he beheld, with increased astonishment, a pair of glaring eyes,
two rows of glittering teeth, and a pair of thick red lips! The flesh
which united these striking objects was all but invisible, by reason of
its being nearly as black as its background.
Most eyes, if human, would have got away from a pistol's line of fire

with precipitancy, but the eyes referred to did not disappear. On the
contrary, they paid no regard whatever to the owner of the pistol, but
continued to glare steadily at Lawrence Armstrong. Seeing this, Pedro
hesitated to pull the trigger. He was quick to defend himself, but not
prompt to kill. When he saw that the eyes slowly advanced out of the
gloom, that they with the lips and teeth belonged to a negro who
advanced into the room unarmed and with outspread hands, he quietly
lowered his weapon, and glanced at Lawrence. No doubt Pedro felt, as
he certainly looked, perplexed, when he observed that Lawrence
returned the intruder's gaze with almost equal intensity.
Suddenly the negro sprang towards the Englishman. He was a short,
thick-set, and exceedingly powerful man; yet Lawrence made no move
to defend himself.
"Quashy!" he exclaimed, as the black fell on his knees, seized one of
his hands, and covered it with kisses, at the same time bursting into
tears.
"Oh! massa Lawrie--oh! massa Lawrie, why you no come sooner? Why
you so long? De sodger brutes nebber dar to touch de ole house if you
was dere. Oh! Massa Lawrie, you's too late--too late!--My! how you's
growed!"
In the midst of his sobs the young negro, for he was little more than a
youth, drew back his head to obtain a better view of his old companion
and playmate.
Need we say that Lawrence reciprocated the affection of the man?
"He was a boy like myself when I was here," said Lawrence in
explanation to the amused Peruvian. "His father was one of my father's
most attached servants, whom he brought from Kentucky on his way to
this land, and to whom he gave his freedom. Quashy himself used to be
my playmate.--But tell me about the attack on the mill, Quash. Were
you present?"
"Prisint! You bery sure I was, an' I poke some holes in de varmints 'fore

dey hoed away."
"And how did you escape, Quash? Come, sit down and tell me all about
it."
The negro willingly complied. Meanwhile the Indian girl, who had
been roused by his sudden entrance, resumed her seat on the saddle,
and, looking intently into his black face, seemed to try to gather from
the expression of his features something of what he said.
We need not repeat the story. It was a detailed account of murder and
destruction; the burning of the place and the scattering of the old
servants. Fortunately Lawrence had no relatives to