“It matters nothing to me.”
“It is a hard journey.”
“I will endure everything.”
“You will have to travel alone.”
“I fear nothing, if I can only find my mother. Have compassion!”
The capataz drew his face close to a lantern, and scrutinized him. Then he said, “Very well.”
The lad kissed his hand.
“You shall sleep in one of the wagons to-night,” added the capataz, as he quitted him; “to-morrow morning, at four o’clock, I will wake you. Good night.”
At four o’clock in the morning, by the light of the stars, the long string of wagons was set in motion with a great noise; each cart was drawn by six oxen, and all were followed by a great number of spare animals for a change.
The boy, who had been awakened and placed in one of the carts, on the sacks, instantly fell again into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the convoy had halted in a solitary spot, full in the sun, and all the men—the peones—were seated round a quarter of calf, which was roasting in the open air, beside a large fire, which was flickering in the wind. They all ate together, took a nap, and then set out again; and thus the journey continued, regulated like a march of soldiers. Every morning they set out on the road at five o’clock, halted at nine, set out again at five o’clock in the evening, and halted again at ten. The peones rode on horseback, and stimulated the oxen with long goads. The boy lighted the fire for the roasting, gave the beasts their fodder, polished up the lanterns, and brought water for drinking.