This appeared to please the guerilleros; and one of them, bending over the Irishman, slackened his fastenings a little—still, however, leaving him bound.
“Thank yer honner,” said Chane; “that’s dacent of ye. That’s what Misther O’Connell wud call amaylioration. I’m a hape aysier now.”
“Mucho bueno,” said the man, nodding and laughing.
“Och, be my sowl, yes!—mucho bueno. But I’d have no objecshun if yer honner wud make it mucho bettero. Couldn’t ye just take a little turn aff me wrist here?—it cuts like a rayzyer.”
I could not restrain myself from laughing, in which Clayley and Raoul joined me; and we formed a chorus that seemed to astonish our captors. Lincoln alone preserved his sullenness. He had not spoken a word.
Little Jack had been placed upon the ground near the hunter. He was but loosely tied, our captors not thinking it worth while to trouble themselves about so diminutive a subject. I had noticed him wriggling about, and using all his Indian craft to undo his fastenings; but he appeared not to have succeeded, as he now lay perfectly still again.
While the guerilleros were occupied with Chane and his saints, I observed the boy roll himself over and over, until he lay close up against the hunter. One of the guerilleros, noticing this, picked Jack up by the waistbelt, and, holding him at arm’s length, shouted out:
“Mira, camarados! qui briboncito!” (Look, comrades! what a little rascal!)
Amidst the laughing of the guerilleros, Jack was swung out, and fell in a bed of shrubs and flowers, where we saw no more of him. As he was bound, we concluded that he could not help himself, and was lying where he had been thrown.
My attention was called away from this incident by an exclamation of Chane.