“Das am mug-nifercent!” exclaimed Quashy, as his horse put his foot into a biscacho-hole, and only escaped a fall by making a splendid bound, where by its haunch, striking the negro’s back, sent him plunging on to its neck.
“Oh! I does like to be shook like dat, massa.”
“If you get shook much worse than that,” cried Lawrence, “I’ll have to stop to pick you up.”
“No fear, massa. Howebber much I wobbles I nebber comes off.”
An islet of bushes at this point necessitated a slight détour. On the other side of it they found that the main body of the troop had halted for rest and food.
Right glad was Lawrence to find that Colonel Marchbanks’s humour was entirely changed, that the asperity of the previous night had passed away, and that the natural urbanity of his nature had returned.
“A pleasant gallop, was it not, Senhor Armstrong?” he said, as our hero joined the group of officers around him.
“Delightful, and quite new to me,” said Lawrence. “I have often read of but never seen the Pampas till now.”
He looked furtively about as he spoke. The colonel marked the look, and with a somewhat grim smile observed that they should see more than enough of the Pampas for some days to come.
“The sea of long yellow-brown grass and thistles,” he added, “gets to be rather monotonous at last; but I never weary of the feeling of immensity and freedom which it inspires. Come, dine with us, senhor.”