The Rover of the Andes | Page 8

deplore.
"But don't you know where any of the household have gone?" he asked,
when the excited negro paused to recover breath.
"Don't know nuffin'. Arter I poke de holes in de scoundrils, I was
'bleeged to bolt. When I come back, de ole house was in flames, an'
eberybody gone--what wasn't dead. I hollered--ay, till I was a'most
busted--but nobody reply. Den I bury de dead ones, an' I've hoed about
eber since slobberin' an' wringin' my hands."
"Was our old clerk among the slain?" asked Lawrence.
"No, massa, but I tinks he's a dead one now, for he too ole to run far."
"And I suppose you can't even guess where any of those who escaped
went to?"
"Couldn't guess more nor a Red Injin's noo-born babby."
"Quashy," said Lawrence in a low voice, "be careful how you speak of
Indians."
He glanced, as he spoke, at Manuela, who now sat with grave face and
downcast eyes, having apparently found that the human countenance,
however expressive, failed to make up for the want of language.

And, truly, Quashy's countenance was unwontedly mobile and
expressive. Every feature seemed to possess the power of
independently betraying the thoughts and feelings of the man, so that
when they all united for that end the effect was marvellous. Emotional,
and full of quick sympathy, Quashy's visage changed from grave to gay,
pitiful to fierce, humorous to savage, at a moment's notice. When,
therefore, he received the gentle rebuke above referred to, his animated
countenance assumed a sudden aspect of utter woe and
self-condemnation that may be conceived but cannot be described, and
when Lawrence gave vent to a short laugh at the unexpected change,
Quashy's eyes glistened with an arch look, and his mouth expanded
from ear to ear.
And what an expansion that was, to be sure! when you take into
account the display of white teeth and red gums by which it was
accompanied.
"Well, now, Quash," resumed Lawrence, "what did you do after that?"
"Arter what, massa?"
"After finding that slobbering and wringing your hands did no good."
"Oh! arter dat, I not know what to do, an' den I tried to die--I was so
mis'rable. But I couldn't. You've no notion how hard it is to die when
you wants to. Anyhow I couldn't manage it, so I gib up tryin'."
At this point Manuela rose, and, bidding Pedro good-night in the Indian
tongue, passed into her little chamber and shut the door.
"And what do you intend to do now, Quash?" asked Lawrence.
"Stick to you, massa, troo t'ick an' t'in," returned the negro with
emphatic promptitude, which caused even Pedro to laugh.
"My poor fellow, that is impossible," said Lawrence, who then
explained his position and circumstances, showing how it was that he
had little money and no immediate prospect of obtaining any,--that, in

short, he was about to start out in the wide world friendless and almost
penniless to seek his fortune. To all of which the negro listened with a
face so utterly devoid of expression of any kind that his old master and
playmate could not tell how he took it.
"And now," he asked in conclusion, "what say you to all that?"
"Stick to you troo t'ick and t'in," repeated Quashy, in a tone of what
might be styled sulky firmness.
"But," said Lawrence, "I can't pay you any wages."
"Don' want no wages," said Quashy.
"Besides," resumed Lawrence, "even if I were willing to take you,
Senhor Pedro might object."
"I no care for Senhor Pedro one brass buttin," retorted the negro.
The Peruvian smiled rather approvingly at this candid expression of
opinion.
"Where you gwine?" asked Quashy, abruptly.
"To Buenos Ayres."
"I's gwine to Bens Airies too. I's a free nigger, an' no mortial man kin
stop me."
As Quashy remained obdurate, and, upon consultation, Lawrence and
Pedro came to the conclusion that such a sturdy, resolute fellow might
be rather useful in the circumstances, it was finally arranged, to the
poor fellow's inexpressible delight, that he should accompany them in
their long journey to the far east.
CHAPTER THREE.
LINGUAL DIFFICULTIES ACCOMPANIED BY PHYSICAL
DANGERS AND FOLLOWED BY THE ADVENT OF BANDITTI.

After several days had passed away, our travellers found themselves
among the higher passes of the great mountain range of the Andes.
Before reaching that region, however, they had, in one of the villages
through which they passed, supplied themselves each with a fresh stout
mule, besides two serviceable animals to carry their provisions and
camp equipage.
Pedro, who of course rode ahead in the capacity of guide, seemed to
possess an unlimited supply of cash, and Lawrence Armstrong had at
least sufficient to enable him to bear his fair share of the expenses of
the journey. As for Quashy,