"It's your limbs that I mean, my poor fellow!"
"Oh! my nose and arms are a little scratched, and my body is rather knocked about; but there's not a single rent either in my jacket or breeches," added he, looking with complacency at the leathern garments which had given him the name of l'Encuerado.
"Well, you have had a narrow escape."
"Oh! señor, God is good! In spite of the basket-work case, the bottles might have been broken, and they are not the least hurt."
For my part, I was more inclined to recognize God's goodness in l'Encuerado's almost miraculous preservation. As to the basket, the Indian had tied it up so strongly, that I was not at all surprised to find that our provisions were uninjured.
"Give a call-cry," said I to the Indian, "Sumichrast can not see us, and may think that you are killed."
"Chanito, hiou, hiou, hiou, Chanito!"
"Ohé! ohé!" replied Lucien.
And the boy, looking pale and alarmed, almost immediately made his appearance. He rushed up to his friend, threw his arms round his neck, and embraced him. The brave Mistec, who had been but little injured by his terrible descent, could not help weeping at this proof of Lucien's attachment.
"It was nothing but a joke," he said. "You'll see me perform many a feat like that."