before it had been long dark, we had crossed the range and into the department of minas. nothing happened till towards midnight, when our horses began to be greatly distressed. my companions hoped to reach before morning an estancia, still many leagues distant, where they were known and would be allowed to lie in concealment for a few days till the storm blew over; for usually shortly after an outbreak has been put down an indulto, or proclamation of pardon, is issued, after which it is safe for all those who have taken arms against the constituted government to return to their homes. for the time we were, of course, outlaws, and liable to have our throats cut at any moment. our poor horses at last became incapable even of a trot, and, dismounting, we walked on, leading them by the bridles.
about midnight we approached a watercourse, the upper part of the rio barriga negra—black belly river—and on coming near it the tinkling of a bell attracted our attention. it is the usual thing for every man in the banda orientál to have one mare, called madrina, in his tropilla, or herd of geldings; the madrina always carries a bell attached to her neck, and at night her forefeet are usually hobbled to prevent her wandering far from home; for the horses are always very much attached to her and will not leave her.
after listening for a few moments, we concluded that the sound came from the bell of a madrina, and that her forefeet were bound, for the tinkle came in violent jerks, as from an animal laboriously hopping along. proceeding to the spot, we found a tropilla of eleven or twelve dun-coloured horses feeding near the river. driving them very gently towards the bank, where a sharp bend in the stream enabled us to corner them, we set to work catching fresh horses. fortunately they were not very shy of strangers, and after we had caught and secured the madrina, they gathered whinnying round her, and we were not very long in selecting the five best-looking duns in the herd.
“my friends, i call this stealing,” i said, though at that very moment i was engaged in hastily transferring my saddle to the animal i had secured.
“that is very interesting information,” said one of my comrades.
“a stolen horse will always carry you well,” said another.
“if you cannot steal a horse without compunction, you have not been properly brought up,” cried the third.
“in the banda orientál,” said the fourth, “you are not looked upon as an honest man unless you steal.”
we then crossed the river and broke into a swift gallop, which we kept up till morning, reaching our destination a little while before sunrise. there was here a fine plantation of trees not far from the house, surrounded by a deep ditch and a cactus hedge, and after we had taken maté and then breakfast at the house, where the people received us very kindly, we proceeded to conceal our horses and ourselves in the plantation. we found a comfortable little grassy hollow, partly shaded with the surrounding trees, and here we spread our rugs, and, fatigued with our exertions, soon dropped into a deep sleep which lasted pretty well all day. it was a pleasant day for me, for i had waking intervals during which i experienced that sensation of absolute rest of mind and body which is so exceedingly sweet after a long period of toil and anxiety. during my waking intervals i smoked cigarettes and listened to the querulous pipings of a flock of young black-headed siskins flying about from tree to tree after their parents and asking to be fed.
occasionally the long, clear cry of the venteveo, a lemon-coloured bird with black head and long beak like a kingfisher, rang through the foliage; or a flock of pecho amarillos, olive-brown birds with bright yellow vests, would visit the trees and utter their confused chorus of gay notes.
i did not think very much about santa coloma. probably he had escaped, and was once more a wanderer disguised in the humble garments of a peasant; but that would be no new experience to him. the bitter bread of expatriation had apparently been his usual food, and his periodical descents upon the country had so far always ended in disaster: he had still an object to live for. but when i remembered dolores lamenting her lost cause and vanished peace of mind, then, in spite of the bright sunshine flecking the grass, the soft, warm wind fanning my face andwhispering in the foliage overhead, and the merry-throated birds that came to visit me, a pang was in my heart, and tears came to my eyes.
when evening came we were all wide awake, and sat till a very late hour round the fire we had made in the hollow, sipping maté and conversing. we were all in a talkative mood that evening, and after the ordinary subjects of banda orientál conversation had been exhausted, we drifted into matters extraordinary—wild creatures of strange appearance and habits, apparitions, and marvellous adventures.
“the manner in which the lampalagua captures its prey is very curious,” said one of the company, named rivarola, a stout man with an immense, fierce-looking black beard and moustache, but who was very mild-eyed and had a gentle, cooing voice.
we had all heard of the lampalagua, a species of boa found in these countries, with a very thick body and extremely sluggish in its motions. it preys on the larger rodents, and captures them, i believe, by following them into their burrows, where they cannot escape from its jaws by running.
“i will tell you what i once witnessed, for i have never seen a stranger thing,” continued rivarola. “riding one day through a forest i saw some distance before me a fox sitting on the grass watching my approach. suddenly i saw it spring high up into the air, uttering a great scream of terror, then fall back upon the earth, where it lay for some time growling, struggling, and biting as if engaged in deadly conflict withsome visible enemy. presently it began to move away through the wood, but very slowly and still frantically struggling. it seemed to be getting exhausted, its tail dragged, the mouth foamed, and the tongue hung out, while it still moved on as if drawn by an unseen cord. i followed, going very close to it, but it took no notice of me. sometimes it dug its claws into the ground or seized a twig or stalk with its teeth, and it would then remain resting for a few moments till the twig gave away, when it would roll over many times on the ground, loudly yelping, but still dragged onwards. presently i saw in the direction we were going a huge serpent, thick as a man's thigh, its head lifted high above the grass, and motionless as a serpent of stone. its cavernous, blood-red mouth was gaping wide, and its eyes were fixed on the struggling fox. when about twenty yards from the serpent the fox began moving very rapidly over the ground, its struggles growing feebler every moment, until it seemed to fly through the air, and in an instant was in the serpent's mouth. then the reptile dropped its head and began slowly swallowing its prey.”
“and you actually witnessed this yourself?” said i.
“with these eyes,” he returned, indicating the orbs in question by pointing at them with the tube of the maté-cup he held in his hand. “this was the only occasion on which i have actually seen the lampalagua take its prey, but its manner of doing it is well known to everyone from hearsay. you see, it draws an animal towards it by means of its power of suction. sometimes, when the animal attacked is very strong or very far off—say two thousand yards—the serpent becomes so inflated with the quantity of air inhaled while drawing the victim towards it——”
“that it bursts?” i suggested.
“that it is obliged to stop drawing to blow the wind out. when this happens, the animal, finding itself released from the drawing force, instantly sets off at full speed. vain effort! the serpent has no sooner discharged the accumulated wind with a report like a cannon——”
“no, no, like a musket! i have heard it myself,” interrupted blas aria, one of the listeners.
“like a musket, than it once more brings its power of suction to bear; and in this manner the contest continues until the victim is finally drawn into the monster's jaws. it is well known that the lampalagua is the strongest of all god's creatures, and that if a man, stripped to the skin, engages one, and conquers it by sheer muscular strength, the serpent's power goes into him, after which he is invincible.”
i laughed at this fable, and was severely rebuked for my levity.
“i will tell you the strangest thing that ever befell me,” said blas aria. “i happened to be travelling alone—for reasons—on the northern frontier. i crossed the river yaguaron into brazilian territory, and for a whole day rode through a great marshy plain, where the reeds were dead and yellow, and the water shrunk into muddy pools. it was a place to make a man grow weary of life. when the sun was going down, and i began to despair of getting to the end of this desolation, i discovered a low hovel made of mud and thatched with rushes. it was about fifteen yards long, with only one small door, and seemed to be uninhabited, for no person answered me when i rode round it shouting aloud. i heard a grunting and squealing within, and by and by a sow, followed by a litter of young pigs, came out, looked at me, then went in again. i would have ridden on, but my horses were tired; besides, a great storm with thunder and lightning was coming up, and no other shelter appeared in sight. i therefore unsaddled, loosed my horses to feed, and took my gear into the hovel. the room i entered was so small that the sow and her young occupied all the floor; there was, however, another room, and, opening the door, which was closed, i went into it, and found that it was very much larger than the first; also, that it contained a dirty bed made of skins in one corner, while on the floor was a heap of ashes and a black pot. there was nothing else except old bones, sticks, and other rubbish littering the floor. afraid of being caught unawares by the owner of this foul den, and finding nothing to eat in it, i returned to the first room, turned the pigs out of doors, and sat down on my saddle to wait. it was beginning to get dark when a woman, bringing in a bundle of sticks, suddenly appeared at the door. never, sirs, have i beheld a fouler, more hideous object than this person. her face was hard, dark, and rough like the bark of the ñandubuy tree, while her hair, which covered her head and shoulders in a tangled mass, was of a dry, earthy colour. her body was thick and long, yet she looked like a dwarf, for she scarcely had any legs, only enormous knees and feet; and her garments were old ragged horse-rugs tied round her body with thongs of hide. she stared at me out of a pair of small black rat eyes, then, setting down her bundle, asked me what i wanted. i told her i was a tired traveller, and wanted food and shelter. 'shelter you can have: food there is none,' she said; then, taking up her sticks, she passed to the inner room and secured it with a bolt on the inside. she had not inspired me with love, and there was little danger of my attempting to intrude on her there. it was a black, stormy night, and very soon the rain began to fall in torrents. several times the sow, with her young pigs loudly squealing, came in for shelter, and i was forced to get up and beat them out with my whip. at length, through the mud partition separating the two rooms, i heard the crackling of a fire which the vile woman was lighting; and, before long, through the chinks came the savoury smell of roast meat. that surprised me greatly, for i had searched the room and failed to find anything to eat in it. i concluded that she had brought in the meat under her garments, but where she had got it was a mystery. at length i began to doze. there were many sounds in my ear as of thunder and wind, the pigs grunting at the door, and the crackling of the fire in the hag's room. but by and by other sounds seemed to mingle with these—voices of several persons talking, laughing, and singing. at length i became wide awake, and found that these voices proceeded from the next room. some person was playing a guitar and singing, then others were loudly talking and laughing. i tried to peep through the cracks in the door and partition, but could not see through them. high up in the middle of the wall there was one large crack through which i was sure the interior could be seen, so much red firelight streamed through it. i placed my saddle against the partition, and all my rugs folded small, one above the other, until i had heaped them as high as my knees. standing on my toes on this pile, and carefully clinging to the wall with my finger-nails, i managed to bring my eyes to a level with the crack, and peeped through it. the room inside was brightly lighted by a big wood fire burning at one end, while on the floor a large crimson cloak was spread, on which the people i had heard were sitting with some fruit and bottles of wine before them. there was the foul hag, looking almost as tall sitting as she had appeared when standing; she was playing on a guitar and singing a ballad in portuguese. before her on the cloak lay a tall, well-formed negro woman, wearing only a narrow white cloth round her loins, and broad silver armlets on her round black arms. she was eating a banana, and against her knees, which were drawn up, sat a beautiful girl about fifteen years old, with a dark pale face. she was dressed in white, her arms were bare, and round her head she wore a gold band keeping back her black hair, which fell unbound on her back. before her, on his knees on the cloak, was an old man with a face brown and wrinkled as a walnut, and beard white as thistle-down. with one of his hands he was holding the girl's arm, and with the other offering her a glass of wine. all this i saw at one glance, and then all of them together turned their eyes up at the crack as if they knew that someone was watching them. i started back in alarm, and fell with a crash to the ground. then i heard loud screams of laughter, but i dared not attempt to look in on them again, i took my rugs to the farther side of the room, and sat down to wait for morning. the talking and laughter continued for about two hours, then it gradually died away, the light faded from the chinks, and all was dark and silent. no person came out; and at last, overcome with drowsiness, i fell asleep. it was day when i woke. i rose and walked round the hovel, and, finding a crack in the wall, i peered into the hag's room. it looked just as i had seen it the day before; there was the pot and pile of ashes, and in the corner the brutish woman lying asleep in her skins. after that i got on to my horse and rode away. may i never again have such an experience as i had that night.”
something was then said about witchcraft by the others, all looking very solemn.
“you were very hungry and tired that night,” i ventured to remark, “and perhaps after the woman locked her door you went to sleep and dreamed all that about people eating fruit and playing on the guitar.”
“our horses were tired and we were flying for our lives yesterday,” returned blas contemptuously. “perhaps it made us dream that we caught five dun horses to carry us.”
“when a person is incredulous, it is useless arguing with him,” said mariano, a small dark grey-haired man. “i will now tell you a strange adventure i had when i was a young man; but remember i do not put a blunderbuss to any man's breast to compel him to believe me. for what is, is; and let him that disbelieves shake his head till he shakes it off, and it falls to the ground like a cocoanut from the tree.
“after i got married i sold my horses, and, taking all my money, purchased two ox-carts, intending to make my living by carrying freight. one cart i drove myself, and to drive the other i hired a boy whom i called mula, though that was not the name his godfathers gave him, but because he was stubborn and sullen as a mule. his mother was a poor widow, living near me, and when she heard about the ox-carts she came to me with her son and said, 'neighbour mariano, for your mother's sake, take my son and teach him to earn his bread, for he is a boy that loves not to do anything.' so i took mula and paid the widow for his services after each journey. when there was no freight to be had i sometimes went to the lagoons to cut rushes, and, loading the carts with them, we would go about the country to sell the rushes to those who required them to thatch their houses. mula loved not this work. often when we were all day wading up to our thighs in the water, cutting the rushes down close to their roots, then carrying them in large bundles on our shoulders to land, he would cry, complaining bitterly of his hard lot. sometimes i thrashed him, for it angered me to see a poor boy so fastidious: then he would curse me and say that some day he would have his revenge. 'when i am dead,' he often told me, 'my ghost will come to haunt and terrify you for all the blows you have given me.' this always made me laugh.
“at last, one day, while crossing a deep stream, swollen with rains, my poor mula fell down from his perch on the shaft and was swept away by the current into deep water and drowned. well, sirs, about a year after that event i was out in search of a couple of strayed oxen when night overtook me a long distance from home. between me and my house there was a range of hills running down to a deep river, so close that there was only a narrow passage to get through, and for a long distance there was no other opening. when i reached the pass i fell into a narrow path with bushes and trees growing on either side; here, suddenly, the figure of a young man stepped out from the trees and stood before me. it was all in white—poncho, chiripà, drawers, even its boots, and wore a broad-brimmed straw hat on its head. my horse stood still trembling; nor was i less frightened, for my hair rose up on my head like bristles on a pig's back; and the sweat broke out on my face like raindrops. not a word said the figure; only itremained standing still with arms folded on its breast, preventing me from passing. then i cried out, 'in heaven's name, who are you, and what do you want with mariano montes de oca, that you bar his path?' at this speech it laughed; then it said, 'what, does my old master not know me? i am mula; did i not often tell you that some day i should return to pay you out for all the thrashings you gave me? ah, master mariano, you see i have kept my word!' then it began to laugh again. 'may ten thousand curses light on your head!' i shouted. 'if you wish for my life, mula, take it and be for ever damned; or else let me pass, and go back to satan, your master, and tell him from me to keep a stricter watch on your movements; for why should the stench of purgatory be brought to my nostrils before my time! and now, hateful ghost, what more have you got to say to me?' at this speech the ghost shouted with laughter, slapping its thighs, and doubling itself up with mirth. at last, when it was able to speak, it said, 'enough of this fooling, mariano. i did not intend frightening you so much; and it is no great matter if i have laughed a little at you now, for you have often made me cry. i stopped you because i had something important to say. go to my mother and tell her you have seen and spoken with me; tell her to pay for another mass for my soul's repose, for after that i shall be out of purgatory. if she has no money lend her a few dollars for the mass, and i will repay you, old man, in another world.'
“this it said and vanished. i lifted my whip, but needed not to strike my horse, for not a bird that has wings could fly faster than he now flew with me on his back. no path was before me, nor did i know where we were going. through rushes and through thickets, over burrows of wild animals, stones, rivers, marshes, we flew as if all the devils that are on the earth and under it were at our heels; and when the horse stopped it was at my own door. i stayed not to unsaddle him, but, cutting the surcingle with my knife, left him to shake the saddle off; then with the bridle i hammered on the door, shouting to my wife to open. i heard her fumbling for the tinder-box. 'for the love of heaven, woman, strike no light,' i cried. 'santa barbara bendita! have you seen a ghost?' she exclaimed, opening to me. 'yes,' i replied, rushing in and bolting the door, 'and had you struck a light you would now have been a widow.'
“for thus it is, sirs, the man who after seeing a ghost is confronted with a light immediately drops down dead.”
i made no sceptical remarks, and did not even shake my head. the circumstances of the encounter were described by mariano with such graphic power and minuteness that it was impossible not to believe his story. yet some things in it afterwards struck me as somewhat absurd; that straw hat, for instance, and it also seemed strange that a person of mula's disposition should have been so much improved in temper by his sojourn in a warmer place.
“talking of ghosts——” said laralde, the other man—but proceeded no further, for i interrupted him. laralde was a short, broad-shouldered man, with bow legs and bushy grey whiskers; he was called by his familiars lechuza (owl) on account of his immense, round, tawny-coloured eyes, which had a tremendous staring power in them.
i thought we had had enough of the supernatural by this time.
“my friend,” i said, “pardon me for interrupting you; but there will be no sleep for us to-night if we have any more stories about spirits from the other world.”
“talking of ghosts——” resumed lechuza, without noticing my remark, and this nettled me; so i cut in once more:
“i protest that we have heard quite enough about them,” i said. “this conversation was only to be about rare and curious things. now, visitors from the other world are very common. i put it to you, my friends—have you not all seen more ghosts than lampalaguas drawing foxes with their breath?”
“i have seen that once only,” said rivarola gravely. “i have often seen ghosts.”
the others also confessed to having seen more than one ghost apiece.
lechuza sat inattentive, smoking his cigarette, and when we had all done speaking began again.
“talking of ghosts——”
nobody interrupted him this time, though he seemed to expect it, for he made a long, deliberate pause.
“talking of ghosts,” he repeated, staring around him triumphantly, “i once had an encounter with a strange being that was not a ghost. i was a young man then—young and full of the fire, strength, and courage of youth—for what i am now going to relate happened over twenty years ago. i had been playing cards at a friend's house, and left it at midnight to ride to my father's house, a distance of five leagues. i had quarrelled that evening and left a loser, burning with anger against the man who had cheated and insulted me, and with whom i was not allowed to fight. vowing vengeance on him, i rode away at a fast gallop; the night being serene, and almost as light as day, for the moon was at its full. suddenly i saw before me a huge man sitting on a white horse, which stood perfectly motionless directly in my path. i dashed on till i came near him, then shouted aloud. 'out of my path, friend, lest i ride over you'; for i was still raging in my heart.
“seeing that he took no notice of my words, i dug my spurs into my horse and hurled myself against him; then at the very moment my horse struck his with a tremendous shock, i brought down my iron whip-handle with all the force that was in me upon his head. the blow rang as if i had struck upon an anvil, while at the same moment he, without swerving, clutched my cloak with both hands. i could feel that they were bony, hard hands, armed with long, crooked, sharp talons like an eagle's, which pierced through my cloak into my flesh. dropping my whip, i seized him by the throat, which seemed scaly and hard, between my hands, and thus, locked together in a desperate struggle, we swayed this way and that, each trying to drag the other from his seat till we came down together with a crash upon the earth. in a moment we were disengaged and on our feet. quick as lightning flashed out his long, sharp weapon, and, finding i was too late to draw mine, i hurled myselfagainst him, seizing his armed hand in both mine before he could strike.
“for a few moments he stood still, glaring at me out of a pair of eyes that shone like burning coals; then, mad with rage, he flung me off my feet and whirled me round and round like a ball in a sling, and finally cast me from him to a distance of a hundred yards, so great was his strength. i was launched with tremendous force into the middle of some thorny bushes, but had no sooner recovered from the shock than out i burst with a yell of rage and charged him again. for, you will hardly believe it, sirs, by some strange chance i had carried away his weapon, firmly grasped in my hands. it was a heavy two-edged dagger, sharp as a needle, and while i grasped the hilt i felt the strength and fury of a thousand fighting-men in me. as i advanced he retreated before me, until, seizing the topmost boughs of a great thorny bush, he swung his body to one side and wrenched it out of the earth by the roots. swinging the bush with the rapidity of a whirlwind round his head, he advanced against me and dealt a blow that would have crushed me had it descended on me; but it fell too far, for i had dodged under it to close with him, and delivered a stab with such power that the long weapon was buried to its hilt in his bosom. he uttered a deafening yell, and at the same moment a torrent of blood spouted forth, scalding my face like boiling water, and drenching my clothes through to the skin. for a moment i was blinded; but when i had dashed the blood from my eyes and looked round he had vanished, horse and all.
“then, mounting my horse, i rode home and told everyone what had happened, showing the knife, which i still carried in my hand. next day all the neighbours gathered at my house, and we rode in company to the spot where the fight had taken place. there we found the bush torn up by the roots, and all the earth about it ploughed up where we had fought. the ground was also dyed with blood for several yards round, and where it had fallen the grass was withered up to the roots, as if scorched with fire. we also picked up a cluster of hairs—long, wiry, crooked hairs, barbed at the ends like fish-hooks; also three or four scales like fish-scales, only rougher, and as large as doubloons. the spot where the fight took place is now called la cañada del diablo, and i have heard that since that day the devil has never appeared corporeally to fight any man in the banda orientál.”
lechuza's narrative gave great satisfaction. i said nothing, feeling half stupid with amazement, for the man apparently told it in the full conviction that it was true, while the other listeners appeared to accept every word of it with the most implicit faith. i began to feel very melancholy, for evidently they expected something from me now, and what to tell them i knew not. it went against my conscience to be the only liar amongst these exceedingly veracious orientals, and so i could not think of inventing anything.
“my friends,” i began at length, “i am only a young man; also a native of a country where marvellous things do not often happen, so that i can tell you nothing to equal in interest the stories i have heard. i can only relate a little incident which happened to me in my own country before i left it. it is trivial, perhaps, but will lead me to tell you something about london—that great city you have all heard of.”
“yes, we have heard of london; it is in england, i believe. tell us your story about london,” said blas encouragingly.
“i was very young—only fourteen years old,” i continued, flattering myself that my modest introduction had not been ineffective, “when one evening i came to london from my home. it was in january, in the middle of winter, and the whole country was white with snow.”
“pardon me, captain,” said blas, “but you have got the cucumber by the wrong end. we say that january is in summer.”
“not in my country, where the seasons are reversed,” i said.
“when i rose next morning it was dark as night, for a black fog had fallen upon the city.”
“a black fog!” exclaimed lechuza.
“yes, a black fog that would last all days and make it darker than night, for though the lamps were lighted in the streets they gave no light.”
“demons!” exclaimed rivarola; “there is no water in the bucket. i must go to the well for some or we shall have none to drink in the night.”
“you might wait till i finish,” i said.
“no, no, captain,” he returned. “go on with your story; we must not be without water.” and, taking up the bucket, he trudged off.
“finding it was going to be dark all day,” i continued, “i determined to go a little distance away, not out of london, you will understand, but about three leagues from my hotel to a great hill, where i thought the fog would not be so dark, and where there is a palace of glass.”
“a palace of glass!” repeated lechuza, with his immense round eyes fixed sternly on me.
“yes, a palace of glass—is there anything so wonderful in that?”
“have you any tobacco in your pouch, mariano?” said blas.
“pardon, captain, for speaking, but the things you are telling require a cigarette, and my pouch is empty.”
“very well, sirs, perhaps you will now allow me to proceed,” i said, beginning to feel rather vexed at these constant interruptions. “a palace of glass large enough to hold all the people in this country.”
“the saints assist us! your tobacco is dry as ashes, mariano,” exclaimed blas.
“that is not strange,” said the other, “for i have had it three days in my pocket. proceed, captain. a palace of glass large enough to hold all the people in the world. and then?”
“no, i shall not proceed,” i returned, losing my temper. “it is plain to see that you do not wish to hear my story. still, sirs, from motives of courtesy you might have disguised your want of interest in what i was about to relate; for i have heard it said that the orientals are a polite people.”
“there you are saying too much, my friend,” broke in lechuza. “remember that we were speaking of actual experiences, not inventing tales of black fogs and glass palaces and men walking on their heads, and i know not what other marvels.”
“do you know that what i am telling you is untrue?” i indignantly asked.
“surely, friend, you do not consider us such simple persons in the banda orientál as not to know truth from fable?”
and this from the fellow who had just told us of his tragical encounter with apollyon, a yarn which quite put bunyan's narrative in the shade! it was useless talking; my irritation gave place to mirth, and, stretching myself out on the grass, i roared with laughter. the more i thought of lechuza's stern rebuke the louder i laughed, until i yelled with laughter, slapping my thighs and doubling myself up after the manner of mariano's hilarious visitor from purgatory. my companions never smiled. rivarola came back with the bucket of water, and, after staring at me for some time, said, “if the tears, which they say always follow laughter, come in the same measure, then we shall have to sleep in the wet.”
this increased my mirth.
“if the whole country is to be informed of our hiding-place,” said blas the timid, “we were putting ourselves to an unnecessary trouble by running away from san paulo.”
fresh screams of laughter greeted this protest.
“i once knew a man,” said mariano, “who had a most extraordinary laugh; you could hear it a league away, it was so loud. his name was aniceto, but we called him el burro on account of his laugh, which sounded like the braying of an ass. well, sirs, he one day burst out laughing, like the captain here, at nothing at all, and fell down dead. you see, the poor man had aneurism of the heart.”
at this i fairly yelled, then, feeling quite exhausted, i looked apprehensively at lechuza, for this important member of the quartet had not yet spoken.
with his immense, unspeakably serious eyes fixed on me, he remarked quietly, “and this, my friends, is the man who says it is wrong to steal horses!”
but i was past shrieking now. even this rich specimen of topsy-turvy banda orientál morality only evoked a faint gurgling as i rolled about on the grass, my sides aching, as if i had received a good bruising.
