“There’s no mistaking them,” added Saint Vrain.
“But the Navajoes are the notorious enemies of the New Mexicans! How come they to be here? Prisoners?”
“Do they look like prisoners?”
They certainly showed no signs of captivity in either look or gesture. They strode proudly up the street, occasionally glancing at the passers with an air of savage and lordly contempt.
“Why, then, are they here? Their country lies far to the west.”
“That is one of the secrets of Nuevo Mexico, about which I will enlighten you some other time. They are now protected by a treaty of peace, which is only binding upon them so long as it may suit their convenience to recognise it. At present they are as free here as you or I; indeed, more so, when it comes to that. I wouldn’t wonder it we were to meet them at the fandango to-night.”
“I have heard that the Navajoes are cannibals.”
“It is true. Look at them this minute! See how they gloat upon that chubby little fellow, who seems instinctively to fear them. Lucky for the urchin it’s broad daylight, or he might get chucked under one of those striped blankets.”
“Are you in earnest, Saint Vrain?”
“By my word, I am not jesting! If I mistake not, Gode’s experience will confirm what I have said. Eh, voyageur?”