"Dear me, Rosa," exclaimed Miss Maclan, the tent being cleared once more, "I thought all you Southern Americans rode horses like centaurs. At least, you know my meaning though the simile is bad."
Rosario gave her a hug.
"Eh, darling!" she whispered; and added with a fine smile. "At present I do not know how to ride."
"But I should have thought—"
"You are not good at the kind of thinking wanted out here, lassie! The guide spoken of by the captain is devoted to us, eh? Yes; well, then, if he got that idiot of a Captain Kidd to put these questions to me, it is because he wanted no for an answer. Do you comprehend now?"
"Better than ever. Oh, you are keen, Rosario! They will not cheat you easily!"
"Alas, dear, it is misfortune's grindstone that sharpens wits. When even girls are constantly surrounded by tricks and stratagems, the senses wear clear and bright. Cunning and dissimulation are the slave's sole weapons. We can only baffle our enemies with skill and finesse."
When the starting time came Captain Kidd's bugle sounded it, and gave orders for the movement. The guide had not come back from his hunt, but as he had left precise directions, the leader showed no tokens of being crossed by that absence, and took the lead himself.
It was a most painful journey.