"Halloh, José!" he shouted.
In Mexico all the Mansos, or civilised Indians, are called José, and reply to this name, which has grown generic. The Indian thus hailed turned round.
"What do you want?" he asked with a careless air.
It was the man whom we saw at Guaymas, watching so attentively the preparations for the hacendero's departure. Was it chance that brought him to this spot? That was a question which none but himself could have answered.
Blas Vasquez was what is called in Mexico a hombre de a caballo, versed for a long period in Indian tricks. He bent on the traveller an enquiring glance, which the latter supported with perfect ease. With his head timidly bowed, his hands laid on the donkey's neck, his naked legs hanging down on either side, he offered a complete type of the Indian manso, almost brutalised by the vicious contact with the whites. The capataz shook his head with a dissatisfied air; his investigation was far from satisfying him. Still, after a moment's hesitation, he resumed his interrogatory.
"What are you doing all alone on this road, José?" he asked him.
"I have come from del Puerto, where I have been engaged as a carpenter. I remained there a month, and as I saved the small sum I wanted, I started yesterday to return to my village."
All this was perfectly probable; the majority of the Hiaqui Indians act in this way; and then what interest could the man have in deceiving him? He was alone and unarmed; the caravan on the other hand, was numerous and composed of devoted men. No danger was, therefore, to be apprehended.
"Well, did you earn much money?" the capataz continued,
"Yes," the Indian said triumphantly; "five piastres and these three besides."