“Well, Cris, supposing these to be on the road now, what ought we to do, think you?”
“Neery use thinkin’, Cap, since thar’s no choice left us. ’Tain’t die dog, or eet the hatchet; and this chile goes for chawin’ the steel. Whativer they be, we’re bound to stick to ’em, an’ oughter be glad o’ the chance, seein’ we haint the shadder o’ another. If tuk agin’ we’d be strung up or shot sure. Highwaymen or lowwaymen, they’re the only ones about these diggin’s that kin gie us purtekshun, an’ I reck’n we may rely on them for that—so far’s they’re able.”
For a time Kearney was silent, though not thinking over what the Texan had said, much of which had passed through his mind before. The train of his reflections was carried further back, to the point where he was first brought into contact with Rivas, by their legs getting linked together. Then forward throughout the hours and incidents that came after, recalling everything that had occurred, in act as in conversation—mentally reviewing all, in an endeavour to solve the problem that was puzzling them.
Seeing him so occupied, and with a suspicion of how his thoughts were working, the Texan forebore further speech, and awaited the result.
“If we’ve fallen among banditti,” Kearney at length said, “it will be awkward to get away from them. They’ll want us to take a hand at their trade, and that wouldn’t be nice.”
“Sartinly not, Cap; anything but agreeable to eyther o’ us. It goes agin the grit o’ a honest man to think o’ belongin’ to a band o’ robbers. But forced to jine ’em, that ’ud be different. Besides, the thing ain’t the same in Mexico as ’twud be in Texas and the States. Hyar ’tisn’t looked on as beein’ so much o’ a disgrace, s’long’s they don’t practice cruelty. An’ I’ve heern Mexikins say ’tain’t wuss, nor yet so bad, as the way some our own poltishuns an’ lawyers plunder the people. I guess it be ’bout the same, when one gits used to it.”
To this quaint rigmarole of reasoning—not without reason in it, however,—Kearney only replied with a smile, allowing the Texan to continue; which he did, saying—
“After all, I don’t think they’re robbers any more than monks; if they be, they’re wonderfully well-behaved. A perliter set o’ fellers or better kump’ny this chile niver war in durin’ the hull coorse of his experience in Texas, or otherwhars. They ain’t like to lead us into anythin’ very bad, in the way o’ cruelty or killin’. So I say, let’s freeze to ’em, till we find they ain’t worthy of being froze to; then we must gie ’em the slip somehow.”
“Ah! if we can,” said his fellow-filibuster doubtingly. “But that is the thing for the far hereafter. The question is, what are we to do now?”
“No guess’n at all, Cap, as thar’s no choosin’ atween. We’re boun’ to be robbers for a time, or whatsomever else these new ’quaintances o’ ours be themselves. Thet’s sure as shootin’.”