Uncle Richard said that we should be glad to rest for a few hours, and inquired whether he would guide us over the mountains.
“I cannot do so myself; but my son, who will be here shortly, will willingly do so. He has guided many travellers across the Paramo,” was the answer.
We took our seats around the fire, and the Indian cooked some plantains, which, with the cocoa, served us for supper.
In a short time the son of whom our host had spoken made his appearance. He was a fine, strong youth, and seemed well fitted for acting in the capacity of guide.
He told us that as he was coming over the mountains from a village on this side of the river, to which he had escorted some travellers, he had heard firing, and concluded that there had been a fight between some Liberals and the Godos. “I hope the last were well beaten,” he muttered, looking at Uncle Richard’s military cap.
“So do I,” I observed. “You do not take us for Godos?”
“I judge of people by their conduct, and as yet I have had no opportunity of learning how you behave,” answered the young Indian, with a laugh.
“He is the right sort of fellow,” observed Uncle Richard; “we may trust him.”
I asked him if he had any food for my dog; and going out, he at once returned with some pieces of flesh, off which, although somewhat odorous, Lion made a substantial supper.
“It is the remains of a bear we killed some days ago,” observed the young Indian.