"Very true," said her father; "yet he seems to display a coldness which, I confess, makes me uneasy."
"It is impossible to think ill of a man who, in spite of all, has shown us nothing but kindness hitherto," replied Doña Hermosa, with a certain degree of warmth of manner; "we owe him our lives, especially myself, whom he saved from a certain and horrible death."
"Very true, my daughter; yet all this is most difficult to account for."
"Not the least in the world, father: this man, accustomed to live amongst Indians, has unconsciously adopted their sententiousness, and the reserve of their manners. What you consider coldness, is probably no more than bashfulness in the presence of a class of persons he is not accustomed to; and his want of knowledge of our habits prevents his speaking."
"It is not impossible that you may be right, my child; however, I intend to ease my mind of this anxiety; and I will not leave him till I have made an effort to loosen his tongue."
"Why should you distress him, father? We cannot exact anything from him, beyond leading us in safety to the hacienda. Let him do as he likes, if he only fulfils the promise he made us."
"All very well, señorita," objected the capataz; "but you must confess that we should be seriously at a loss if he takes it into his head not to come back."
"That supposition is inadmissible, Don Luciano: his horse is feeding with ours; besides, for what purpose should he commit such an unwarrantable treason."
"This man, in spite of the whiteness of his skin, is more an Indian than an individual of our colour; and, right or wrong, señorita, I distrust the redskins amazingly."
"Moreover," added Don Pedro, "I cannot see what urgent business could induce him to leave us all alone, and to plunge into the forest."