CHAPTER XX
THROUGHOUT the slow, tortuous journey, while the train crept up and ever upward into the hills, Don Juan entertained his patron with alternate snatches of the song closest to his heart (or rather his stomach)—“The Cruiskeen Lawn,” which, liberally translated for the benefit of those not familiar with the Gaelic, means “the morning's morning.” Between verses the outcast suggested the advisability of a drink to ward off approaching faintness or discoursed most learnedly on the roadbed, which was a tribute to his efficiency as a section-boss in his other incarnation.
Arrived at San Miguel de Padua about midnight, Webster found the climate temperate, in fact, decidedly cool. Billy was waiting for them and was properly amazed, but not scandalized when Don Juan Cafetéro, abusing the station hands in a horrible hodgepodge of English and Spanish, superintended the landing of the baggage on the platform.
“I had to bring him with me,” Webster explained. “I'm going to wean him, and after that baby quits crying for his bottle, believe me, Bill, we'll have the prince of a foreman for our Mine. Quite a character, is Don Juan, when you dig down into him.”
“Dig far enough into that ruin and you'll find firecrackers,” Billy admitted. “However, John, I'm afraid he won't explode. The powder's damp. How did you leave Dolores?”
“Fit as a fiddle, Bill.”
“How does she stack up on better acquaintance, Johnny?”
“She's a skookum lass. She sent her love and I promised to send you back to her P. D. Q. So don't bother me with talk about her. If you think you're going to sit by my bed half the night and talk about your heart's desire, you've another guess coming. You'll see her again in a week or ten days, I hope.”
“No? Is that so, Johnny? Bully for you, you old wampus cat. Tell Don Juan to steer you over to the Globo de Oro. He knows the place. I've got to go and hire a mule or some other quadruped for, Don Juan if we're to avoid a late start in the morning. Good-night, old fellow.”
They were up at daybreak, and with three heavily laden pack-mules in charge of two semi-naked mozos, while the cook jogged comfortably along on his big splay feet in the rear, they set out for Billy's concession. From San Miguel de Padua they turned west on a splendid highway paved with limestone blocks and vending up into the hills on an easy gradient.