“No, certainly not,” rejoined Kearney, hastening to signify his approval of them.
“What do you think we should do with him, Rock?” he added, addressing himself to the Texan, who quite comprehended the difficulty.
“Wal’, Cap; ’t ’ud be marciful to knock him on the head at onc’t, than leave him to gasp it out with a stopper in his mouth; as ye say the Mexikin thinks he mout. But thar ain’t no need for eyther. Why not toat him along? Ef he should bother us I kin heist him on my back, easy enuf. A ugly burden he’d be, tho’ ’tain’t for the weight o’ him.”
The Texan’s suggestion was entertained, no other course seeming safe, except at the probable sacrifice of the creature’s life. And that none of them contemplated for a moment. In fine, it was determined to take him on.
The colloquy now coming to an end, Rivas and the Irishman caught up the pieces of chain still attached to their ankles, each making the end of his own fast round his wrist, so as not to impede their onward march. This done, they all moved on again, the Mexican, of course, foremost, Kearney at his heels. After him, Cris Rock, chain in hand, half leading, half-dragging the dwarf, as a showman might his monkey.
In this way there was no danger of his betraying them. He could shout and still have been heard by those behind. But an expressive gesture of the Texan admonished him that if he made a noise, it would be the last of him.