“Come now, Quashy,” interrupted Lawrence, with a laugh, “you exaggerate.”
“What! you call dat exaggerate, massa? Den Conrad exaggerate about ten more afore he cut his way troo an’ ’scaped to de hills. Oh, he’s an awrful man!”
“Truly he must be very awful, if all you relate of him be true,” said Lawrence; “and I sincerely trust that if we fall in with him we may find him friendly. Now, I shall ride forward, and ask Pedro if we are far from our halting-place.”
This abrupt change of subject was usually understood by the amiable negro to mean that our hero—whom he persisted in regarding as his master—had had enough of his conversation at that time, so he reined back his mule, while Lawrence pushed forward.
To his question Pedro replied that he expected to reach the next sleeping-place very soon.
“It will not be as luxurious as the last,” he said; “but, doubtless, one who has traversed the mountains of Scotland is prepared to rough it in South America.”
“You speak as if you were yourself somewhat acquainted with the Scottish mountains.”
“So I am, senhor,” replied the guide. “I had clambered up Ben Nevis while I was yet a little boy.”
“Surely you are not a Scot?” said Lawrence, with a quick glance.
“No, I am not a Scot, senhor. To have travelled in a country does not render one a native, else might I claim England, Ireland, and Switzerland as my native lands. See, yonder lies the little farm where I hope to put up for the night.”