There were two things still unexplained, and which no little puzzled me: how my guide had contrived to come safe out of so many hair-breadth perils? And how he managed to keep his peace with the salteadores?
The explanation was asked for, and freely given.
The secret lay in a nutshell.
No matter what happened, Sam always remained neutral!
“Ye see, cap’n,” said he—by way of explanation rather than apology, “as I’m only the driver, they hain’t no ill-will agin me. They know I’m but doin’ my duty. Besides, if thar was no driver, there ked be no diligencia; an’ if it war off the road, all the wuss for them, I reck’n. They look upon me as bein’ nootral; otherwise I needn’t go that way agin. I keep on my box, an’ leave ’em do as they’ve a mind—knowin’ that I ked be of no sarvice to the poor passengers that’s bein’ plundered. I kin do them more good, arter it’s all over—by drivin’ them on to thar destinashun.”
For a time my companion was silent, and I too. I became absorbed in thoughts, cheerless, if not absolutely sad.
The sight of Tezcoco, along whose shores we were now proceeding, was not calculated to cheer me. The lake looked still, and dark as Acheron itself—its sombre silence relieved only at intervals by sounds yet more lugubrious—the scream of the great curlew, or the screech-like call of the American ibis!
Giving way to a string of unpleasant fancies, I rode on without speaking to any of my comrades.
I was roused from my reverie by the voice of Sam Brown; who appeared desirous of once more entering into conversation.
“Cap’n!” said he, spurring alongside of me, and dragging the pack-mule after him. “’Scuse me for intrudin’ upon you; but I’ve got somethin’ more to say about this business we’re on. What air ye goin’ to do?”