Page 129 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

shoulder with a smile that, making longitudinal folds on
his face, caused it to resemble a leathern mask with a benig-
nantly diabolic expression.
‘Would not the muchachos of Hernandez like to get hold
of this insignificant object, that looks, por Dios, very much
like a piece of tin?’ he remarked, jocularly.
Hernandez, the robber, had been an inoffensive, small
ranchero, kidnapped with circumstances of peculiar atroc-
ity from his home during one of the civil wars, and forced to
serve in the army. There his conduct as soldier was exemplary,
till, watching his chance, he killed his colonel, and man-
aged to get clear away. With a band of deserters, who chose
him for their chief, he had taken refuge beyond the wild and
waterless Bolson de Tonoro. The haciendas paid him black-
mail in cattle and horses; extraordinary stories were told of
his powers and of his wonderful escapes from capture. He
used to ride, single-handed, into the villages and the little
towns on the Campo, driving a pack mule before him, with
two revolvers in his belt, go straight to the shop or store, se-
lect what he wanted, and ride away unopposed because of
the terror his exploits and his audacity inspired. Poor coun-
try people he usually left alone; the upper class were often
stopped on the roads and robbed; but any unlucky official
that fell into his hands was sure to get a severe flogging. The
army officers did not like his name to be mentioned in their
presence. His followers, mounted on stolen horses, laughed
at the pursuit of the regular cavalry sent to hunt them down,
and whom they took pleasure to ambush most scientifical-
ly in the broken ground of their own fastness. Expeditions

1 Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard