Pointing to the open country on our right, where the blue gleam of a
river was visible, I said: "My friend, I assure you, I fear nothing,
but I cannot understand why you keep near these hills when the valley
over there would have been pleasanter for ourselves, and easier for
our horses."
"I do nothing without a reason," he said, with a strange smile. "The
water you see over there is the Rio de las Canas [River of Grey Hairs],
and those who go down into its valley grow old before their time."
Occasionally talking, but oftener silent, we jogged on till about three
o'clock in the afternoon, when suddenly, as we were skirting a patch
of scraggy woodland, a troop of six armed men emerged from it, and,
wheeling about, came directly towards us. A glance was enough to tell
us that they were soldiers or mounted policemen, scouring the country
in search of recruits, or, in other words, of deserters, skulking
criminals, and vagabonds of all descriptions. I had nothing to fear
from them, but an exclamation of rage escaped my companion's lips,
and, turning to him, I perceived that his face was of the whiteness
of ashes. I laughed, for revenge is sweet, and I still smarted a little
at his contemptuous treatment of me earlier in the day.
"Is your fear so great?" I said.
"You do not know what you say, boy!" he returned fiercely. "When you
have passed through as much hell-fire as I have and have rested as
sweetly with a corpse for a pillow, you will learn to curb your
impertinent tongue when you address a man.
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