“Get onto your horses, and I’ll tell you as you ride along,” replied Pedro. “Here, Fillipe!” he called, “come and saddle the horses.”
Not only Fillipe, but several other peons, who had made their appearance while the boys were talking, hastened to obey Pedro’s command, and in a very few minutes the four boys were jogging along toward the Hacienda del Rio, for so the estate of Pedro’s uncle was called.
“Now for the story,” laughed Billie, “and I wish you would tell it in English so I can understand.”
“If you won’t laugh at my English,” said Pedro, “I’ll try.”
“What, do you speak English?” asked Adrian.
“A little. My sister, Guadalupe, speaks it well, as does my uncle; but they call me the lazy one, because I have never tried very hard. I’m sorry now I didn’t try harder.”
“Well, try now,” insisted Billie. “We have so many foreigners in the United States and so many speak poor English that we can understand most anything.”
Pedro laughed heartily.
“I hope I can do as well as some; so, to begin with, I must tell you something about my home. We live on a large hacienda, in the State of Michoa-can, and our house is built only a little ways from the shore of a small lake, Tiasca by name. On the other side of this lake are mountains, very much like these across the Concho,” and he pointed across the river to the west.
“On the shore of the lake, nearest the mountains, is a little village of fisher-folk, but they are a bad lot. They are lazy and dishonest. They steal at every opportunity. Hardly a week passes that some of them do not cross the lake and steal chickens, pigs, goats, and even cattle. We call them pirates, because they come over in little boats. They have always been bad, but since they became Zapatists they are worse than ever.”