"What good are horses, then?"
"To break your neck. Besides, there are plenty of infirmities in life without making one out of the horse."
"The horse an infirmity!" cried the Mexican.
"Yes, certainly—among your caste at least; for you could no more do without a horse than a cripple without his crutch."
Don Antonio whistled without making any reply, and, untying his horse, took Lucien up in front, and accompanied us for more than a league. At last, as his duties called him home, he shook us by the hand and turned back. Even after we had lost sight of him, we could still hear him wishing us a pleasant journey.
We had to cross a wide prairie; the heat was suffocating, and we marched on side by side in dead silence. Lucien's walking was much hindered by his game-pouch and gourd, which, in spite of all his efforts, would work round in front of him. I soon noticed that he had got rid of the troublesome gear.
"Hallo!" I cried, "what have you done with your provisions?"
"L'Encuerado wished to carry them for me."
"L'Encuerado's load is quite heavy enough now, and you must get accustomed to your own. In a few days you won't feel it. Habit makes many things easy which at first seem impossible."
"Señor," said l'Encuerado, "Chanito (this was the name he gave to Lucien) is tired, and this is his first journey; I'll give him back all his things to-morrow."