When the luncheon was over, the señorita left Ned to himself, appearing to feel somewhat more friendly than at first, but still considering him as a gringo and a foreigner. She said she had some things to pack up, and he went to look after his own. These did not require much packing, and before long he had again found his way out to the courtyard and the stables. These were indeed the most interesting spots about the place, for they contained all the men, the horses, and the mules. Ned shortly concluded that here were also gathered most of the firearms and at least a dozen of the wildest kind of Mexican Indians, all ragged and all barefooted. Preparations for a journey were going forward under Señora Tassara’s direction, and Ned pretty quickly understood that the men were a great deal more afraid of her than they were of her husband. He felt so himself, and he instantly got out of her way, as she told him to do, when he unwisely undertook to help her with her packing.
The horses were of several sorts and sizes, and more like them were shortly brought in. One large spring wagon and a covered carryall carriage were in good order. Both were of American manufacture, and so was the harness of the teams which were to draw them. Ned was feeling a certain degree of curiosity as to what kind of carriage was to carry him, when Señor Zuroaga beckoned him to one side and said:
“We shall be with Colonel Tassara’s party only the first day. But I have been thinking. When we were on the Goshawk, you told me that you had never ridden a horse in your life——”
“Why, I’m a city boy,” interrupted Ned. “There isn’t any horseback riding done there. I’d rather go on wheels.”
“Of course you would,” laughed Zuroaga. “But there won’t be any use for wheels on some of the roads I am to follow. I’ve picked you out a pony that you can manage, though, and you will soon learn. You will have to be a horseman if you are to travel in Mexico.”
“So father used to tell me,” said Ned. “He can ride anything. Which of these is my horse? They all look skittish——”
“Neither of these would do for you,” replied the señor. “But listen to me sharply. Twice you have called me general. Don’t do it again until we are beyond the mountains. I’m only a plain señor in all this region of the country. I only hope that some men in Vera Cruz do not already know that I am here. If they did, I am afraid I should not get out so easily. This is your horse. He is a good one.”
Hitched to a post near the wall was a fat, undersized animal, black as jet, and with more mane and tail than was at all reasonable. He carried a Mexican saddle with wooden stirrups and a tremendous curb-bit bridle. In front of the saddle were pistol holsters, and behind it hung an ammunition case, as if Ned were about to become a trooper. He went to examine the holsters, and found that each of them contained a large horse-pistol with a flintlock. He also found powder and bullets in the case, and he wondered whether or not he would ever be able to shoot anybody with one of those heavy, long-barrelled things without having something to rest it on.
“I practised for an hour once in a pistol-gallery,” he remarked, “but it wasn’t with anything like that.”
“You didn’t hit centre even then, eh?” laughed the señor. “Well, not many men can do much with them, but they are better than nothing. They are too heavy for a hand like yours. Here is your machete. Put it on.”