“All very fine. But how can we make haste when we are hampered by this rascal? I should like to blow his brains out.”
“This rascal” was the prisoner, a big powerful fellow who seemed to be either a zambo or a negro. His arms were bound to his side, and he walked between the troopers, to whose saddles he was fastened by two stout cords.
“Why don’t you blow his brains out?”
“Because we should get into trouble. He is the colonel’s slave, and therefore valuable property. We have tried dragging him along; but the villain throws himself down, and might get a limb broken, so all we can do is prod him occasionally with the points of our sabres; but he does not seem to mind us in the least. We have tried swearing; we might as well whistle. Make haste, indeed!”
“A very hard case, I am sure. I sympathize with you, señores. Is the man a runaway that you have to take such care of him?”
“That is just it. He ran away and rambled for months in the forest; and if he had not stolen back to La Victoria and been betrayed by a woman, he would never have been caught. After that, the colonel would not trust him at large; but he thinks that at Caracas he will have him safe. And now, señores, with your leave we must go on.”
“Ah! You are the last, I suppose?”
“We are; curse it! The main body must be a league ahead by this time, and we shall not reach Caracas for hours. Adios!”
“Let us rescue the poor devil!” I whispered to Carmen.
“By all means. One moment, señores; I beg your pardon—now, Fortescue!”