Ned felt a queer tingle all over him, as he took the weapon and hitched it at his belt. Then he drew it from the sheath and looked at it, swinging it up and down to feel its weight. It was a straight, one-edged blade, with a sharp point, and a brass basket hilt, and he remarked:
“Señor Zuroaga, I could hit with that, I guess.”
His face had flushed fiery red, and it could be seen, from his handling of the machete, that his muscles were unusually strong for his size and age. The señor nodded his approbation, as he remarked:
“I think you will do. There is fight in you, but I hope we shall have no fighting to do just now. I shall try to find a safe road home.”
“A fellow could cut down bushes with this thing,” said Ned.
“That’s exactly what our rancheros use them for,” replied the señor. “They will do almost anything with a machete. They will cut their way through thick chaparral, kill and cut up beef cattle, split wood, fight men or animals, and on the whole it’s about the most useful tool there is in a Mexican camp or hacienda.”
“What’s that?” asked Ned.
“Any kind of farm with a house on it,” said the señor. “You may have to learn all about haciendas before you get home.”
“Just what I’d like to do,” said Ned. “I’ll learn how to ride, too. How soon are we to set out?”
“Not till after dark,” said the señor. “But you need not be in any hurry to get into the saddle. You will have quite enough of it before you get out of it again. There is a long ride before us to-night.”