"Pray, what do you find so agreeable in what has happened that you are or affect to be so merry, Ño Carnero?" he at length asked with considerable ill temper.
"Forgive me, mi amo," the capataz answered humbly; "but you know the proverb, 'What can't be cured must be endured,' and consequently I forgot."
"Hum!" said the master, without any other reply.
"And besides," the capataz added, as he stooped down to the chief, and almost whispering, "however bad our position may be, is it not better to pretend to consider it good?"
His master gave him a piercing look, but the other continued imperturbably with an obsequious smile—
"The duty of a devoted servant, mi amo, is to be always of his master's opinion, whatever may happen. The peons were murmuring this morning after your departure, and you know what the character of these brutes is; if they feel alarmed we shall be lost, for it will be impossible for us to get out of our position; hence I thought that I was carrying out your views by attempting to cheer them up, and I feign a gaiety which, be assured, I do not feel, under the supposition that it would be agreeable to you."
The Mexican shook his head dubiously, but the observations of the capataz were so just, the reasons he offered appeared so plausible, that he was constrained to yield and thank him, as he did not care to alienate at this moment a man who by a word could change the temper of his peons, and urge them to revolt instead of adhering to their duty.
"I thank you, Ño Carnero," he said, with a conciliatory air. "You perfectly understood my intentions. I am pleased with your devotion to my person, and the moment will soon arrive, I hope, when it will be in my power to prove to you the value I attach to you."
"The certainty of having done my duty, now as ever, is the sole reward I desire, mi amo," the capataz answered, with a respectful bow.
The Mexican gave him a side glance, but he restrained himself, and it was with a smile that he thanked the capataz for the second time. The latter thought it prudent to break off the interview here, and, stopping his horse, he allowed his master to pass him. The chief of the caravan was one of those unhappily constituted men who after having passed their life in deceiving or trying to deceive those with whom the accidents of an adventurous existence have brought them into contact, had reached that point when he had no confidence in anyone, and sought, behind the most frivolous words, to discover an interested motive, which most frequently did not exist. Although his capataz Carnero had been for a long time in his service, and he granted him a certain amount of familiarity—although he appeared to place great confidence in him, and count on his devotion, still, in his heart, he not only suspected him, but felt almost confident, without any positive proof, it is true, that he was playing a double game with him, and was a secret agent of his deceivers.