The Rover of the Andes | Page 7

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 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