The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America by R. M. Ballantyne (best books to read for students .TXT) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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âWhen dey was partinâ, he says, says he, âMisâr Amstrung, you musâ promise me not to âtempt to meet my darter before leaving.â I knowâd, by de long silence and den by de way he speak dat Massa Lawrence no like dat, but at last he says, says he, âWell, kurnel, I do promise dat Iâll make no âtempt to meet wid her,â anâ den he hoed away. Now, Quashy, what you tâink ob all dat?â
âI tâink it am a puzzler,â replied the negro, his face twisted up into wrinkles of perplexity. âIâs puzzled to hear dat massa tell a big lie by sayinâ heâs a beggar, anâ den show dat itâs a lie by offerinâ to pay for de kurnelâs darterâs dresses. Itâs koorious, but white folk has sitch koorious ways dat itâs not easy to understanâ dem. Letâs be tâankful, Soozân, you anâ me, that weâre bof black.â
âSo I is, Quash, bery tâankful, but whatâs to be dooed? Is massa to go away widout sayinâ good-bye to Miss Manuela?â
âCerânly not,â cried the negro, with sudden energy, seizing his wifeâs face between his hands, and giving her lips a smack that resounded over the placeâto the immense delight of several little Gaucho boys, who, clothed in nothing but ponchos and pugnacity, stood gazing at the couple.
Quashy jumped up with such violence that the boys in ponchos fled as he hurried along the street with his bride, earnestly explaining to her as he went, his new-born plans.
At the same moment that this conversation was taking place, Lawrence Armstrong and Pedroâalias Conrad of the Mountainsâwere holding equally interesting and perhaps more earnest converse over two pots of coffee in a restaurant.
âI have already told you, senhor,â said Pedro, âthat old Ignacio followed us thus hotly, and overtook us as it happened so opportunely, for the purpose of telling me of a piece of good fortune that has just been sent to me.â
âTrue,â returned Lawrence, âand in the bustle of the moment when you told me I forgot to congratulate you, whatever the good fortune may be. What was it?â
âGood old Ignacio little knew,â continued Pedro, sipping his coffee with an air of supreme contentment, âwhat glad news I had in store for himself about my little Mariquitaâthe light of my eyes, the very echo of her mother! The good fortune he had to tell me of was but as a candle to the sun compared with what I had to reveal to him, for what is wealth compared with love? However, the other piece of good news is not to be sneezed at.â
âBut what is this good news, Pedro?â asked Lawrence, with a touch of impatience, for his curiosity was aroused, and Pedroâs mode of communicating glad tidings was not rapid.
Before he could reply their attention was attracted by the noisy and self-assertive entrance of two jovial British sailors, who, although not quite drunk, were in that condition which is styled by some people âelevatedââby others, debased. Whatever view may be taken of their condition, there could be only one opinion as to their effusive good-humour and universal good-willâa good-will which would probably have expanded at once into pugnacity, if any one had ventured to suggest that the couple had had more than enough of strong drink.
âNow then, Bill,â cried one, smiting the other with facetious violence on the back, âwhatâll you have?â Then, without waiting for a reply, he added, to the waiter, âLetâs have some brary-anâ-warer!â
The brandy and water having been supplied, Bill nodded his head, cried, âHereâs luck, Jim,â and drained his first glass. Jim responded with the briefer toast, âLuck!â and followed the otherâs draining example.
âNow, Iâll tell you wot it is, Jim,â said Bill, setting down his glass and gazing at the brandy bottle with a solemnly virtuous look, âI wouldnât go for to see another bull-fight like that one we saw just before we left Monte Video, no, not if you was to give me a thousanâ pound down.â
âNo more would I,â responded Jim, regarding the water-jug with a virtuously indignant air.
âSuch dis-gusting cruelty,â continued Bill. âTo see two strong men stand up oâ their own accord anâ hammer their two noses into somethinâ like plum duff, anâ their two daylights into one, ainât more nor a orânary seaman can stand; but to see a plucky little bull set to gore anâ rip up a lot oâ poor blinded horses, with a lot oâ cowardly beggars egginâ it on, anâ stickinâ darts all over it, anâ the place reekinâ wiâ blood, anâ the people cheerinâ like madâwhyâitâit made me aâmost sea-sick, which I never was in my life yet. Bah! Pass the bottle, Jim.â
âYouâre right, Bill,â assented Jim, passing the bottle, âanâ it made poor young Ansty sick altogether. Leastwise, I saw his good-lookinâ face turn aâmost green as he got up in a hurry like anâ left the place, for you know, big anâ well made as he is, anâ able to hold his own wiâ the best, Dick Ansty has the heart of a woman for tenderness. His only fault is that heâs a tee-totaller.â
âAy, a gâgreat fault that,â said Bill, pouring out and spilling most of another glass. âI wouldnât give much for him.â
âYou couldnât help likinâ him, though, if youâd sailed with him as Iâve done,â returned Jim. âHeâs a regâlar brick, though he donât smoke neither.â
âDonât smoke?â exclaimed Bill, aghast. âThen he ainât fit for this world! Why, what does he think âbaccy was made for?â
âI dun know as to that, Bill, but I do know that heâs goinâ to leave us. You see, heâs only a sort of half-handâworked his passage out, you know, anâ well he did it too, though he is only a land-lubber, beinâ a Cornishman, whoâs bin lookinâ arter mines oâ some sort ever since he was a boy. He says heâs in great luck, havinâ fallen in wiâ a party as is just agoinâ to start for the west under a feller they call Conrad oâ the Mountains.â
Lawrence and Pedro, who had been trying to ignore the presence of the sailors, and to converse in spite of their noise, became suddenly interested at this point, and the former glanced inquiringly at the latter.
âListen,â said Pedro, in a low voice, and with a nod of intelligence.
âItâs a queer story,â continued Jim. âI heard all about it this very morninâ from himself. Heâd bin givinâ some on us a lot oâ good advice. You see, heâs a sort of edicated chap, anâ got a tremendjous gift oâ the gab, but none of us could take offence at âim, for heâs such a quiet, modest fellerâalthough he is big! Well, you must know thatâthatâwhat was I sayinâ?â
âPâpash thâ bottle,â said Bill.
âNo, thatâs not what I wasâ Oh yes, I was goinâ to say heâd bin givinâ us good advice, âbecause you must know, shipmates,â says he, âthat Iâve bin in good luck on shore, havinâ fallen in with a most interestinâ man, whose right name I donât know yet, because everybody speaks of him as Conrad of the Mountains, though some calls him Pedro, and others the Rover of the Andes, and a good lot say heâs a robber. But I donât care twopence what they say, for Iâve seen him, and believe him to be a first-rate feller. Anyhow, heâs a rich one, and has bin hirinâ a few men to help him to work his silver-mine, and as I know somethinâ about mining, he has engaged me to superintend the underground work.â
âYou may be sure we was surprised as well as pleased to hear all this, anâ we pumped him, in course, a good deal, anâ he told us that the mine was in the Andes somewheres, at a place called Murrykeety Valley, or some such name. This Conrad had discovered the mine a good while ago, and had got an old trapper anâ a boy to work it, but never made much of it till a few months back, when the old man anâ the boy came suddenly on some rich ground, where the silver was shovelled up in buckets. In course I donât rightly know what like silver is when first got hold on. It ainât in ready-made dollars, I dare say, but anyhow, they say this Conradâll be as rich as a nabob; anâ heâs got a pretty darter too, as has bin lost the most of her life, and just turned up at the same time wiâ the silver. I donât rightly know if they dug her up in the mine, but there she is, anâ sheâs goinâ up to the mountains too, so young Ansty will be in good company.â
âJim,â said Bill at this point, looking with unsteady solemnity at his comrade, and speaking slowly, âI dâdonâ bâbâlieve a single word onât. Here, give us a light, anââanââpash thâ borle.â
Rising at this point, Lawrence and Pedro left those jovial British tars to their elevating occupations.
âWell, senhor,â said the latter as they walked away, âyou have heard it all, though not just in the way I had intended!â
âBut tell me, Pedro, is this all true?â
âSubstantially it is as you have heard it described, only I have had more people than old Ignacio and his boy to work my silver-mine. I have had several men at it for a long time, and hitherto it has paid sufficiently well to induce me to continue the works; but when Ignacio visited it a few weeks ago, in passing on his way here to meet me, he found that a very rich lode had been foundâso rich, indeed, and extensive, that there is every reason to expect what men call âa fortuneâ out of it. There is a grave, as you know, which dims for me the lustre of any fortune, but now that it has pleased the Almighty to give me back my child, I will gladly, for her sake, try to extract a little more than the mere necessaries of life out of my silver-mine. Now, my friend,â added Pedro, suddenly stopping and confronting our hero with a decided air, and an earnest look, âwill you join me in this venture? I would not give up my lifeâs work here for all the mines in Peru. In order to raise the people and improve the condition of this land, I must continue to be a Rover of the Andes to the end of my days. So, as I cannot superintend extensive mining operations at the same time, I must have a manager, and I know of no one whom I should like to have associated with me half so well as Senhor Lawrence Armstrong. Will you go with me to the Mariquita Valley?â
Lawrence paused a minute, with his eyes on the ground, before answering.
âI am flattered by your good opinion, Pedro,â he said at length, âand will give you an answer to-morrow, if that will do. I never take any important step in haste. This afternoon I have an appointment with Quashy, and as the hour is near, and I promised to be very punctual, you will excuse my leaving you now.â
âCertainlyâto-morrow will do,â said Pedro, âI hope to take Quashy also with me. He is a queer fellow.â
âHe is particularly queer just now,â returned Lawrence. âI think his marriage with Susan has turned his brain. So, good-bye, Pedroâtill to-morrow.â
They shook hands heartily, and parted.
That same afternoon Quashy paid a formal visit to Manuela at her fatherâs residence in the suburbs of Buenos Ayres, and told her, with a visage elongated to the uttermost, and eyes
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