A strong arm
would help, as it was sixteen miles down La Viga to the Lake of
Xochimilco, on the shores of which they lived. The boys were tired and
sleepy, and he would serve very well in their stead.
Ned took his place in the boat, truly thankful that in this crisis of
his life he knew how to row. He saw that his hosts, or rather those for
whom he worked, were an ordinary peon family, at least half Indian,
sluggish of mind and kind of heart. They had brought vegetables and
flowers to the city, and now they were thriftily returning in the night
to their home on the lake that Benito Igarritos and his sons might not
miss the next day from their work.
Igarritos and Ned took the oars. The two boys stretched themselves on
the bottom of the boat and were asleep in an instant. Juana, the wife,
spread a serape over them, and then sat down in Turkish fashion in the
center of the bergantin, a great red and yellow reboso about her head
and shoulders. Sometimes she looked at her husband, and sometimes at the
strange boy. He had spoken to them in good Mexican, he dressed like a
Mexican and he walked like a Mexican, but she had not been deceived. She
knew that the Mexican part of him ended with the serape and sombrero.
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