"Threatened persons live a long time," the bandit said with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I do not threaten; I merely take my precautions—that is all. Now, let us converse."
The two men drew their chairs together and commenced a conversation, ear to ear, in so low a voice that no one could have overheard them.
[CHAPTER XVII.]
GUAYMAS.
The Mexicans are only children, though terrible children we allow, on whom it is impossible to calculate, no matter in what way. Their deplorable conduct, under all circumstances, since they succeeded in constituting themselves an independent nation, proves that, unless an entire change takes place in their character, no more is to be hoped from them in the future than they have effected in the past.
Curious, fickle, cowardly, rash, distrustful, cruel, and superstitious—such is the Mexican.
Let it not be supposed that we speak thus through a hatred of a people, among whom we lived so long; on the contrary, we love the Mexicans, we pity them, we should like to see them regard seriously their position, as a free nation, and behave as men; but we repeat it, they are terrible, stormy, and obstinate children, from whom no good can be derived, we are honestly afraid.
One of the manias of this people is to attract, by the most handsome promises, fallacious offers, and most friendly demonstrations, those strangers whom they fancy may prove useful in any way. They receive these foreigners with open arms, weep with joy while embracing them, offer them the most tenderly fraternal caresses, and give them more than they ever ventured to ask. Then one fine day, without any reason, motive, or slightest pretext, they change from white to black, begin hating with their whole soul the foreigners they have so greatly petted, insult and betray them, lay snares for them, and eventually ill treat or assassinate them, and that, too, while offering them a hand, and smiling on them.