pened his huge mouth, shut his eyes, and went off in a high
falsetto--his usual mode of laughing. He always laughed at Lawrence's
little jokes, whether good or bad, insomuch that the youth finally
abstained from jesting as much as possible.

"I did not know," continued Lawrence, "that there were so many robbers
about. Pedro tells me that the mountains are swarming with them just
now."

"Ho yis, massa, plenty ob rubbers eberywhar," said Quashy, with a nod,
"more nor 'nuff ob dem. You see, massa, Chili an' Proo's a-fightin' wid
each oder jus' now. What dey's fightin' about no mortial knows; an',
what's more, nobody cares. I s'pose one say de oder's wrong an' de oder
say de one's say not right. Bof say das a big lie so at it dey goes
hammer an' tongs to prove--ha! ha! to prove dey's bof right. Oh my!"

Here the negro opened his cavernous jaws and gave vent to another
explosion of shrill laughter.

"What fools dey is!"

"Then you think it is only fools who fight, Quashy?"

"Ob coorse, massa. Don' you see, if dey wasn't fools dey wouldn't
fight; 'cause fightin' can't prove nuffin', an' it can't do nuffin',
'cep' waste life an' money. No doubt," added the negro, with a
meditative gaze at the ground, "when rubbers come at a feller he's boun'
to fight, for why? he can't help it; or when Red Injin savages--"

"Have a care, Quashy, what you say about Indians. I've warned you once
already."

"O massa!" said the poor black, with a look of almost superhuman
penitence, "I beg your pard'n. I's quite forgit to remimber. I was
just agwine to say that there _is_ times when you _mus'_ fight. But
isn't Chili Christ'n, an' isn't P'roo Christ'n? I don' bleeve in
Christ'ns what cut each oder's t'roats to prove dey's right. Howsever,
das noting. What I's agwine to say is--dars a lot o' white livers on
bof sides, an' dese dey runs away, takes to de mountains and becomes
rubbers. But dey's not all bad alike, dough none of em's good. You's
heer'd ob Conrad ob de Mountains, massa?"

"Yes, Pedro mentioned his name. He seems to be a celebrated bandit."

"Well, I's not sure. Some peepil say he's not a rubber at all, but a
good sort o' feller as goes mad sometimes. He's bery kind to women an'
child'n, but he's bery awrful."

"That's a strange character. How do you know he's so very awful,
Quashy?"

"Because I seed 'im, massa."

"Indeed, where?"

"On de plains ob Proo, massa," replied the negro, with that
self-s