“Yes, several days’ hard ride.”
Peter groaned.
“But we’ll have a good rest when we get there. Then a few days more will take us home.”
Peter smiled now, and passed his plate to Jill again.
“Last time, and the only time in fact,” continued our cacique, “that I visited Kaiso, he condemned me to death. But this was at night, and Kaiso had some rum. He told me he would himself do me the honour to cut my head off with one of his very best swords. I thanked him, of course, and appeared quite pleased about it. But lo! in the morning he had forgotten all about it. We were half-way through breakfast when he said, ‘Oh, by de way, I was goin’ to lop your head off dis mornin’. But I too tire. I much too tire. Some oder day p’r’aps.’ I assured him not to trouble about the matter; that I could afford to wait, and would wait to oblige him.”
“And there was no more about it?”
“Never a word. He had finished all the rum, you see. But Kaiso lives in a strange land. His home is in the country of the Gualichu.”
“Gualichu! That’s the evil spirit, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Jill. But the only evil spirit I ever saw there had been imported from Jamaica.”
“Rum?”