Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard
People were passing in twos and threes, in whole parties of men and women attended by trotting children. A horseman mounted on a silver-gray mare drew rein quietly in the shade of the house after taking off his hat to the party in the carriage, who returned smiles and familiar nods. Old Viola, evidently very pleased with the news he had just heard, interrupted himself for a moment to tell him rapidly that the house was secured, by the kindness of the English signora, for as long as he liked to keep it. The other listened attentively, but made no response.
When the carriage moved on he took off his hat again, a gray sombrero with a silver cord and tassels. The bright colors of a Mexican serape twisted on the cantle, the enormous silver buttons on the embroidered leather jacket, the row of tiny silver buttons down the seam of the trousers, the snowy linen, a silk sash with embroidered ends, the silver plates on headstall and saddle, proclaimed the unapproachable style of the famous capataz de cargadores a Mediterranean sailor got up with more finished splendor than any well-to-do young ranchero of the Campo had ever displayed on a high holiday.
"It is a great thing for me," murmured old Giorgio, still thinking of the house, for now he had grown weary of change. "The signora just said a word to the Englishman."
"The old Englishman who has enough money to pay for a railway? He is going off in an hour," remarked Nostromo, carelessly. "Buon viaggio, then. I've guarded his bones all the way from the Entrada pass
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