“And yet they hate him, do they not?”
“Him and his. And they have reason.”
“It is strange they do not rebel.”
“They have at times; but what can they do? Like all true tyrants, he has divided them, and makes them spend their heart’s hatred on one another.”
“But he seems not to have a very large army; no bodyguard—”
“Bodyguard!” cried Saint Vrain, interrupting me; “look out! there’s his bodyguard!”
“Indios bravos! les Navajoes!” exclaimed Gode, at the same instant.
I looked forth into the street. Half a dozen tall savages, wrapped in striped serapes, were passing. Their wild, hungry looks, and slow, proud walk at once distinguished them from “Indios manzos,” the water-drawing, wood-hewing pueblos.
“Are they Navajoes?” I asked.
“Oui, monsieur, oui!” replied Gode, apparently with some excitement. “Navajoes!”