There was a troubled and meaning tone in my uncle’s words, and more than once I caught his eye directed at me. But directly after he moved off towards the hacienda, closely followed by Garcia, while I hung back undecided how to act; for I was suffering from a troubled conscience, as I thought of the promise I had so lately given.
My reverie was interrupted by Tom, who had been standing unnoticed.
“Did you see Muster Garshar, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “how he showed you the whole of his teeth, just like a mad dog going to bite?”
“No, Tom; I did not take particular notice of him,” I said.
“Well, I did, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “and if you take my advice you’ll look out; for they’re a rum lot here, as you know. They don’t hit with the fist, only when that there fist has got an ugly-looking knife in it, sharp as a razor; and when they hit a poor fellow with it, and he dies afterwards, they don’t call it murder—they call it fighting—a set of uncultivated, ignorant savages! I only wish I had the teaching of them! But look here, Mas’r Harry, you’ll take care, won’t you?”
“Why, Tom?” I said dreamily.
“Why, Mas’r Harry? Why? because Muster Garshar don’t like you—not a bit. That’s all.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Ah! you may hyste your shoulders till you skretches your ears with them, Mas’r Harry; but that don’t make no better of it. I promised your mother as I’d take care of you and stick to you; but how am I to do that if you get yourself spoiled somehow or other? But, say, Mas’r Harry, was it such a werry big un?”
“Was what a very big one?” I said wonderingly.