“I’m glad I’ve met you,” said Pedro to Ignacio, as they turned aside into the bushes together, “for I’ve got news to tell, and I’ll want your help. There’s mischief brewing in the air, and I am commissioned—”
Thus much did Lawrence and Quashy overhear before the voice died away in the distance. It was a tantalising point to stop at! Lawrence looked at Quashy and at Manuela, who stood near.
“Does Manuela know anything of the mischief that is brewing?” asked Lawrence in amazing Spanish.
“Not’ing,” replied the girl in English, “but she trust Pedro.”
“So do I, with all my heart,” returned Lawrence; “my question was prompted by curiosity, not by doubt.”
“I’s not so sure,” said Quashy, with a frown, and a tone of self-assertion which was rare in him. “Nice-lookin’ men like him’s not allers as nice as dey looks.”
“Fie, Quashy! I thought you were of a more trustful spirit.”
“So I is, massa—awrful trus’ful! Kin trus’ you wid a’most anyt’ing. Trus’ dis yer Injin gal wid untol’ gol’. Trus’ Sooz’n wid de whole world, an’ eberyt’ing else besides, but I’s not quite so sure about dis yer Pedro. Di’n’t he say dar’s noos to tell, an’ he wants help, an’ der’s mischif a-brewin’? An’ ain’t I sure ’nuff dat he’s got suffin to do wid de mischif, or he wouldn’t be so secret?”
“Well, Quashy, you’d better not tell Pedro your doubts of him,” said Lawrence; “for if he knocks you down, I won’t feel bound to stand up for you—seeing that I have perfect confidence in him.”
Further conversation on this point was cut abruptly short by a tremendous hissing inside the cottage, followed by clouds of steam. It was caused by one of Quashy’s pots having boiled over. The negro sprang to the rescue. Soon afterwards, the host and the old hunter returning, they all entered the place together, and sat down to supper.