“To be sure, Master Darry—you could not keep out of them. You see I have not forgotten how one of my horses once ran away with you,” and Enrique Morano laughed.
Besides being an instructor at the Caracas University, Enrique Morano was the owner of a large plantation just outside of the city, which the party had once visited, much to the delight of all hands. Now Morano insisted that he be allowed to send for his largest carriage and take them for a drive to such points of interest as they elected to see.
This was just what the boys wished, and inside of an hour the carriage was on hand and they piled in. Enrique Morano himself drove, with Professor Strong beside him. Soon the city itself was left behind and they were bowling along over a smooth highway in the direction of Antimano, situated some miles to the westward.
It was a perfect day and the boys enjoyed the sights greatly, as they passed plantation after plantation. The roadway was lined at some points with beautiful tropical trees, and flowers were by no means lacking.
“Tell you what, Señor Morano keeps good horse-flesh,” remarked Darry as they spun along. “This is better than a drive in Lincoln Park.”
“Or Central Park either,” added Frank.
“Oh, my father keeps just as good horses,” came from Hockley. “He’s got a trotter that can beat all creation for stepping out on a smooth road like this.”
So far they had passed but few turnouts on the highway. But now they saw approaching a carriage with a single seat, drawn by a team of horses which were covered with foam. On the seat sat two men, both evidently Americans.
“Reckless drivers,” murmured Enrique Morano, as the other carriage came closer. “Be careful there!” he called out, in Spanish, and pulled sharply to one side.
“Clear the track!” shouted one of the men, in English, and the tone of voice showed that he had been drinking. “We don’t get out of the way for no sun-baked native!” And he cracked his whip loudly.