Several months after our army had made its fighting _entree_ into the
capital of Mexico, the regiment known as the "Texan Rangers" arrived in
that city. [Note. By _our_ army is understood the American forces.] I
am not very certain but that their approach, peaceful as it was, created
almost as much terror in the minds of the inhabitants, as our
sword-in-hand entrance had occasioned three months before. The name
"Tejano" in the ears of a Mexican, sounded with a fearful emphasis, as
Goth might have done to a Roman, or Cossack to a plain Christian. Many
of them thought they would now be called upon to answer for the sins of
Santa Anna, for the treason of Santa Fe, the slaughter of the Alamo, and
the _battue_ at Goliad. In the midst of this ludicrous consternation,
the Texans rode quietly into the piazza, and breaking up into squadrons,
filed off to their respective quarters. In a few hours the minds of the
Mexicans became once more tranquil. They were not to be plundered,
after all!
I shall never forget the appearance of the Texan Rangers as they pulled
up in the Plazza--I could not call the movement a halt. If I live, I
shall make an attempt to describe it. I say an attempt, for, to do
justice to that ragged _coup d'oeil_ is beyond the privilege of the pen.
The brush might do it, handled by a Hogarth; and had that excellent
artist been in my place, there and then, we might have had a picture
that would have drawn laughter so long as paint and canvas stuck
together. Here we have no room for details. One point, however, must
be noted, as it relates to our subject--the horses--for be it known, the
Rangers were mounted men. Instead of the large cavalry horses which the
government had put under them some six months before, each ranger now
straddled a scraggy mustang, his boot-heel, with its rusty spur raking
the ground as he rode along. What had become of the original "mount"?
That was the question, which was answered thus:--The regiment had just
made its march of several hundred leagues through the enemy's country,
halting at various places. During the halts, the rich _haciendados_
coveting the fine steeds of Kentucky--colossal when compared with their
own gingery jennets--offered freely for them. A series of "swops" had
been the consequence. The Texan, at a horse trade keen as the edge of
his bowie, took anything that could carry a saddle, at the same time
receiving a "mighty heap" of dollars to square the exchange. In this
way they had brought themselves down to the ill-conditioned nags upon
which they made their first appearance in the capital. Strange to say,
these grew fat in a trice, although they were constantly on the scout;
seldom idle long enough to let their backs get dry. There was no rest
for the Rangers. One week riding fifty leagues to capture Santa Anna;
the next, after Paredes, or the robbers of the Cerro; the next, on the
trail of the Padre Jarauta; and yet, despite this journeying and
fatigue, it was observed by every one that the Rangers' horses, though
still only mustangs, became as fat and plump as if they had been
standing all the time with their heads in a corn-crib. It was wonderful
to see horses thus fattening upon hard work!
Some endeavoured to account for it, by insinuating that they were not
the same cattle upon which the regiment was mounted on its arrival--that
the "swopping system" was still practised along the road, and frequently
with only one party present at the "trade." There were such
insinuations I remember well. Perhaps they were slanders, perhaps not.
I leave it a question of inference.
About this time I was told of a splendid mare that was in the possession
of one of the Rangers. Of course she was for sale. I wished just then
to obtain such an animal; so, drawing three months' pay (being in all
about 300 dollars), I rode over to the Texan quarters--intending, if the
mare pleased me, to make a bid.
She was led out, and proved to be worthy of her reputation--a large
brown Arabian, with jet black legs and sweeping tail, while her head and
neck were graceful as an antelope's.
While examining her, I noticed a small brand upon her left hind flank.
I observed at the same time that some diligence had been used to render
the mark "unswearable." After a little puzzling and adjusting of hair,
I made out the letter C.
"What is this?" I asked.
"It er the mark of a hot iron. Yer can see that, kint ye?"
"I can; but this mare is no mustang?"
"Aint a mustang neyther," responded the Ranger, whittling away at a
strop of leather which he held in his hand, and seeming utterly
indifferent to everything else.
"Why, then, has she been marked?" I inquired. "It is not usual for
Americans to brand their horses, excepting those that belong to the
government. Then they're branded U.S.; this mark is a C."
"Well, then, stranger, if you must know all about it, the mar' wur tuk
from our people on the grand, by that ar chapparil fox Canales. He
burned in that `C.' C stands for Canales, I reckin."
"That's true, and for many other names as well. But how did you get her
back again?"
"Wagh! we kumd upon Canales an' his yellerbellies, an' tuk her from them
ag'in, afore the singed bar had done smokin'. Now er yer satisfied?"
I was not. It is true, the story was probable enough. The mare was not
Mexican, that was plain. The horse of that country is of a peculiar
race, and is as easily distinguished from the English or American Arab,
as a sheep is from a goat. Still she bore a Mexican mark, and had been
in the possession of some of these people. She might have been, as the
Ranger stated, one of our own horses captured and recaptured on the
upper line; but I had not observed any such animal with the Texans on
their arrival; and as I had heard that the _ricos_ of Mexico had, from
time to time, imported blood stock from England and the United States, I
feared that she might prove to be one of these. The voice of the Texan
interrupted my reflection.
"The critter's Kaintuck," continued he--"true Kaintuck. She wur brought
down on the Grand, by a lootenant at the breakin' out o' this hyar muss.
She were at Paler Alter, an' at Monterey, an' Bony Yeesty; and at that
Hashendy, the time as Dan Drake rid the hundred-mile gallop on Cash
Clay's mar'. Old Kaintuck she er, an' nothin' else. They don't raise
such cattle in these hyar diggins, I reckin'. Yee-up, old gal; hold up
yer corn-trap; thar's money bid for ye!"
At the end of this curious monologue, the mare threw up her head and
neighed long and loudly.
"Come, my man," said I, "what's the meaning of that?"
The neigh was peculiar, and struck me as that of a mare who had been
recently separated from her colt.
"She's a whigherin' for a hoss, that's hyar," answered the Ranger
coolly. "They haint been separate a half-an-hour for more 'n a yar, I
reckin'. Hev they, Bill?"
"That they haint," replied the man appealed to, one of a crowd of Texans
who had gathered around us.
"They're in the same kumpny, an' rid in the same file," continued the
owner of the mare. "She won't bear that ar leetle hoss out o' her sight
a minit. One o' the boys hes tuk _him_ out to water. That's why she
whighers, aint it, Bill?"
"'Taint nothin' else," replied the _confrere_.
"But," said I, "it is strange I did not see this mare when you first
came up. I was in the Piazza, and took particular notice of your
horses. I think I should have remarked such a fine-looking animal as
this."
"Look hyar, stranger," answered the Texan, somewhat irritated by this
cross-questioning. "I brought this mar' up the road along with the
raygyment. If yer want to buy her, yer kin do it, by givin' a fair
vally for her. If yer don't, there's no bones broke, an' I don't care a
nigger's dam. If I only take her out to the Palaza, I kin git my axin'
from one o' these Mexikins in the twinklin' o' a goat's eye. Can't I,
Bill?"
"Yes, siree," responded Bill.
"Yer say ye didn't see her when we kum up. That aint nothin' strange.
She war kivered with sweat an' dust, inch deep; besides, she wur thin
then as old bull in enow time. She aint to say fat yit, but she's
improved some, I reckin'. Aint she, Bill?"
"A dog-goned heap," was the ready response of Bill. I was so taken with
the appearance of the beautiful creature, that I determined to run the
risk, and purchase her. I might have to give her up again to some
gentleman claiming his property; but, thought I, I can easily recover my
money, as the Ranger will be glad to pay it back to me, rather than
spend his time in the guardhouse.
"How much?" I asked, having made up my mind to buy.
"The zact figger yer want?"
"Yes, the exact figure."
"Two-fifty: cheap enough, I reckin'. Aint it, Bill?"
"Dog cheap," was the laconic answer. I offered two hundred. It
wouldn't do. The cunning Ranger saw that I was "bound" to have her, and
stood up to his first asking. I raised my bid to two hundred and
twenty-five.
"Won't take a picayune less nor two-fifty. She's a'mighty cheap at it.
She er the finest mar' in all Mexiko. That's sartin."
After a while, I saw that the man was inexorable; and, drawing out my
purse, I counted down the required amount. A bill of sale, which was
signed by the Ranger, and witnessed by his comrade, Bill, completed the
"trade," and the mare was forthwith transferred to my quarters. Under
the nimble brush and comb of my Mexican groom, Vicente, she soon became
the most admired piece of horseflesh that made its appearance on the
Pasao.
About ten days after, a party of us (we had nothing to do at the time)
came to the resolve to visit Real del Monte, a rich silver-mine in the
mountains that skirt the north-east of the valley. A division of our
army was stationed there, and some of our old _comarados_ had sent us an
"invite" to come up and explore the mines--adding that two or three very
hospitable English _haciendados_ lived in that neighbourhood.
We could not resist, and consequently made ready to start. There were
eight or ten of us in all, who had asked and obtained leave; and as we
intended to include in our excursion the old town of Tezcoco and the
pyramids of Teotihuacan--a guerilla neighbourhood--we borrowed a score
of dragoons to escort us. I had resolved to try my new purchase upon
the road on this occasion.
The morning of our departure arrived, and I was about to throw my leg
over the saddle, when I was accosted by a small, spare man, with the
salutation--
"_Buenas dias, capitan_!"
There was nothing in the words strange or unusual, nor, indeed, in the
individual who pronounced them; but there was something in the manner of
this gentleman that told me at once he had some business with me.
"Well, senor," I asked, "what is it?"
The stranger hesitated for a moment, and then looking at the mare,
replied, "La yegua, capitan."
"The mare--well, what of her?" I asked, with a beating heart.
"I regret to inform you, captain, that you have purchased a stolen
horse;" and the little man bowed politely as he said it.
Had it been an order from the commander-in-chief, placing me under
arrest, I should not have been so much vexed at it. I had grown so fond
of this animal that I would cheerfully have paid down another two
hundred and fifty rather than part with her, and this I saw plainly I
would now have to do.
"Stolen!" I echoed involuntarily.
"Yes, captain, it is true."
"And from whom? From you, sir?"
"No, captain; from Don Miguel Castro."
"And you?"
"I am his agent--his _mayorazgo_--nothing more."
"Don Miguel Castro," thought I. "Yes--C for Castro--yes, all as he
says, no doubt of it. I must give up the mare."
"Well, my dear sir," I asked, after a pause, "how am I to know that your
statement is true?"
"Here, captain--here is the certificate of Senor Smeeth." Saying this,
the little man handed me a folded document, on opening which I found it
to be a bill of sale delivered by the celebrated Joe Smith, of Mexican
horse-dealing notoriety, and describing the property to a hair.
"This seems quite correct," I observed, returning the bill; "but it will
be necessary for you to prove this claim before the commander-in-chief;
and when that is done I shall deliver you your mare. _Adios,
caballero_!"
So saying, I rode off to overtake my companions, determined, since I
must part with the animal, first to have one good ride out of her.
We spent about a week in the mountains, enjoying every amusement that
our friends could provide for us. We found the English _haciendados_
worthy of their reputation. What a contrast between the cheer of their
Saxon hospitality and the cold welcome of the selfish Iberian! But we
approached the limits of our "leave," and must get back to duty and the
city. After a parting and a promise to return, we leaped once more to
the saddle, and headed our horses homeward.
It was our intention to have made the journey back in one day, but the
stirrup-cup had delayed us at starting; and night--a very dark one at
that season--overtook us as we crossed the isthmus between lakes Tezcoco
and San Cristobal. The road was deep, miry, and bordered by bottomless
zancas of mud and water. The little village of San Cristobal lay by the
border of the lake, at some distance; and wheeling out of the road, we
approached it, intending to remain there till morning. The _pueblito_
was reached at length, and with the alcalde's permission, our horses
were picketed in the piazza, and ourselves put in possession of an empty
_cuarto_, which, with several millions of fleas, was placed at our
disposal. Money was offered freely, but no supper could be had; and
when it was not to be procured for money, we had experience enough among
these people to know that it was not to be had at all. A dish of
_frijoles_ stewed in lard, a _tortilla_, and a bowl of sour _pulque_,
were all that we could raise; and, after swallowing this, we lit our
cigars, spread our blankets both over and under the fleas, and commenced
arranging ourselves for the night.
It so happened that I could talk Spanish "like a book," and,
furthermore, that I was the only one in our party who possessed this
accomplishment. The alcalde, in consequence, directed all his
conversation to me, and, being a sociable old fellow, he had become very
fond of me. He had remained with us until a late hour, and during this
time I had offered him a havanna, which he had accepted and smoked with
much seeming enjoyment. As I was about seizing my blanket to make my
"spread" along with the rest, old Jose Maria--for this was the alcalde's
name--plucked me gently by the sleeve, and whispered in my ear that "_su
casa_" was "_a mi disposition_" I was about to translate this hospitable
proffer according to its usual French and Spanish signification, when it
was repeated in a more pressing manner; and as I was not very difficult
to coax away from the _cuarto_, I took Jose Maria at his word, and
followed him across the piazza. On the other side was _su casa_. We
entered it at once, and were welcomed by a felt, buxom-looking old lady,
who proved to be Don Jose's left rib. Another lady made her appearance
shortly after, who was neither so old, nor so fat, nor so buxom as the
dona, but whose complexion was very dusky, with a dangerous black eye
peeping from under a dark, crescent-shaped eyebrow. This, I was given
to understand, was the only fruit of Don Jose's wedded life; and not
bad-looking fruit either.
The ladies spent but little time in idle phrases of welcome. Jose
snapped his fingers, and in a twinkling, a turkey hash with a large dish
of _mole_, were smoking upon the table. There were other dishes, too--
pleasant little _entrees_, spiced and flavoured with all sorts of
_chile_.
As I ate my supper with the alcalde and his compact little family, I
could not help chuckling at the advantage I had gained over my
supperless, and, no doubt, sleepless companions. Neither was my
exultation diminished when, near the end of the repast, old Jose Maria
stepped up to an alcove and drew out a quaint, queer old bottle, whose
waxen seal conjured up exciting visions of the port of Funchal and the
peak of Teneriffe.
I was fortunately enabled, through my cigar-case, to contribute to the
evening's entertainment; and my host and I sat for an hour after the
ladies had retired, discussing our wine and tobacco, and talking of the
Texan Rangers, of which corps the worthy magistrate had rather a low
opinion. It appeared that they had paid the neighbourhood a visit not
long before, behaving upon the occasion in no very creditable manner.
It was late, or early if you will, when Jose inverted the bottle for the
last time, and pressing my hand with a "_posa V. buena noche_!" the
Mexican showed me to my chamber. Here I found one of the great and rare
luxuries of this land--a couch with clean sheets; and in the "twinkling
of a bedpost" I was between the latter, and forgetful of everything.
When I awoke in the morning, I found my comrades in the piazza, making
ready to start. It was still only grey dawn, but as they were all sadly
flea-bitten, and knew that nothing could be had to eat in San Cristobal,
they had made up their minds to ride on, and breakfast at Guadalupe. I
was preparing to accompany them, when Jose whispered in my ear that
breakfast would be on the table in five minutes, and I must wait for it.
This was a tempting offer. My health was excellent, and half-a-dozen
mouthfuls of the fresh morning air had given me a keen appetite.
"If the breakfast," thought I, "bear any sort of proportion to last
night's supper, it's worth waiting for; better than we are likely to get
at Guadalupe; besides, `a bird in the hand,'" etc. I could soon
overtake my companions on my fine mare, which had by this time proved
herself a first-class roadster.
I placed my lips under the broad brim of Josh's, and repeated the words,
"_Con gusto_."
"_Esta bueno_," replied Jose, slipping back into his house.
The next moment my companions had ridden off into the obscure twilight,
and I was left alone in the village. None of my friends, I believe, had
noticed that I stayed behind; and if they had, it would not have called
forth a remark, as I was considered old enough to take care of myself.
My host proved as good as his word; for in five minutes, or less, the
breakfast was steaming on the table; nor did it do any discredit to the
supper. There were ham and eggs; a ham omelette; a chicken _fricase_; a
dish of _chile rilleno_; another of _chile Colorado_; plenty of good
claret, to wash down the peppers; and after that, a cup of the coffee
which only Spaniards can make. Then there was a glass of good old
Maraschino, and a cigar to "top off with," and as the morning was now
tiptoe, I rose to take my leave. I shook hands with the senora, then
with the senorita; and, amidst a shower of benedictions, I walked forth,
followed by Jose Maria himself. My mare stood near the door, ready
saddled. I threw the bridle over her neck, and was about to plant my
foot in the stirrup, when my host touched me lightly on the left arm,
and holding out a small slip of paper, with a sort of apologetic smile,
uttered the words, "_Sa cuenta chiquita, capitan_." (The small bill,
captain.)
"A bill!" I exclaimed, as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment.
"_Chiquitita_," (Very, very small) coolly responded Jose.
I took the "_cuenta chiquitita_" in my fingers, and opening it,
read--"_Un peso por cena--un peso por cama--un peso por almuerzo--tres
pesos por vino:--Suma seis pesos_." (Anglice: Slipper, one dollar--bed,
one dollar--breakfast, one dollar--wine, three dollars. Total, six
dollars.)
"It's a joke the old fellow's playing me," thought I.
I looked at Jose, then at the bill; then back at Jose again, putting on
a knowing smile, to show him that I was up to his fun; but after
carrying on this dumb show for some moments, I perceived that not a
muscle of the Mexican's face betrayed the slightest motion. His
features remained as rigid as the bronze statue of Carlos Quinto that
stood in the capital; and, after scanning them fairly, I became
satisfied there was no joke either "meant or intended."
Arriving at this conclusion, my first impulse was to make his "worship"
eat the bill, and then leap to my saddle, and show him "clean heels;"
but this, I saw on reflection, would be but a shabby reckoning on my
part. True I had fared well; but it was vexatious to be thus
"chizzled," and in such a scandalous manner. It could not be mended,
however; and mentally promising never again to trust Mexican
hospitality, I drew forth my purse, and reluctantly counted out the
"_seis pesos_." Then both mentally and verbally sending Jose to a
climate hotter than the tropics, I touched my mare's flank, and left the
village in a gallop.
I was so "bitter mad" at the trick played upon me, that I did not draw
bridle for a mile or more. After that, checking my fiery animal, I fell
into an easy canter, and laughed till I was nearly hoarse. I kept
straight on for Guadalupe, expecting to overhaul my friends in the
middle of their breakfast.
I had not the slightest intention of showing them the "_cuenta
chiquitita_," or saying a word about it. No, no; I should have
preferred paying it twice over.
With these reflections, occasionally making the woods ring with my
laughter, I had reached to within five miles of San Cristobal, when, all
at once, my mare uttered a loud neigh, and sprang into a by road. The
reins had been thrown loosely upon her neck; and before I could collect
them, she was fairly into the new track, and going at top speed! I
dragged with all my might upon the bitt--which happened to be a "fool's
fancy," lightly constructed--when, to my mortification, one of the rings
gave way, and the rein came back with a jerk. I had now only one rein.
With this I could have brought her up on open ground, but we were
running up a narrow lane, and on each side was a treble row of magueys,
forming a most fearful-looking _chevaux-de-frise_!
Had I pulled the mare to either side, she would have certainly tripped
up in the magueys, and impaled me on their bayonet-shaped spikes. I
could do nothing better than keep my seat, and let her run it out. She
would not be long about it, at the rate she was going, for she ran as if
on a course, and staked ten to one against the field. At intervals she
would throw up her head, and utter that strange wild neigh which I had
noticed on first seeing her.
On we went through the tall aloes, the rows of plants looking like a
green fringe as we shot past them. We came up to several _ranchos_.
The _leperos_ that lounged about the doors threw up their hats, and
shouted "_Viva_!" The _ranchos_ fell behind. A large house--a
_hacienda_--lay before. I could see beautiful women clustering into the
windows as I approached Gilpin and Don Quixote came into my head.
"Good heavens!" thought I. "What will they think of my riding past in
this ludicrous style?"
Riding past! I had scarcely given words to the thought, when my mare
wheeled sharply to the left--almost flinging me out of my seat--and
dashed right into the main gateway of the mansion! Three more springs,
and she was in the _patio_, where, stopping like a shot, she threw up
her head, uttered another neigh, and stood looking wildly round, with
heaving, smoking flanks. The neigh had scarcely echoed when it was
answered from within; and the next moment a half-grown colt came loping
through a doorway, and ran up with all the demonstrations of a filial
recognition.
I had not time to recover from my surprise when a lovely apparition
flashed out of the _portale_, and came running across the _patio_. It
was a girl--something between a girl, a woman, and, I might add, a
goddess.
Without heeding or seeming to notice my presence, she rushed up and
flung her arms around the neck of my Arab, which bent its head to
receive the embrace. The girl then pressed her lips against the
velvet-like muzzle of the animal, all the while muttering exclamations,
as--
"_Ah! mia yegua buenita! Mora, Morita, digame de donde viene, Morita_?"
(Ah, my pretty little mare! pretty Mora, little Mora, tell me whence
come you, little Mora!)
And the mare replied to all this by a low neighing, turning from one to
the other of the two objects that caressed her, and seemingly at a loss
to know to which she should give most of her attention.
I sat speechless, looking down at the strange scene--at the beautiful
girl--at her shining black hair (a cloth-yard long), as it hung loosely
over her white, nude shoulders--at her rounded snowy arms--at her dark
flashing eyes--at her cheeks, mounted with the hue of health and
beauty--at her small red lips, as, like crushed rosebuds, they were
pressed against the smooth skin of the Arab.
"Oh, I am dreaming!" thought I. "I am still between old Jose's
comfortable sheets. It's the Teneriffe has done it all, and the _cuenta
chiquitita_ is only a joke after all. Ha, ha, ha! I have paid no bill
to the worthy alcalde--hospitable old fellow! It's all a dream--all."
But at this point of my reflections, several other ladies made their
appearance in the _portale_, and several gentlemen, too, and the great
gateway was fast filling up with the _pelados_ who had hooted me as I
passed the _rancheria_. It was no dream, then; I had settled one
account, and I was fast becoming sensible that I should shortly be
called upon to settle another.
Fortunately the fog caused by old Jose's Maraschino had now cleared
away, and I began to comprehend how the "camp was pitched." It was
certain that my mare _had got home_. That was plain enough. It was
equally certain that the old gentleman with the white moustache, and
dark stern eyebrows, was Don Miguel Castro. These two points were as
clear as daylight. It was very evident that I had got myself, or rather
the mare had got me, into a most awkward predicament. How was I to get
out of it? This was by no means clear.
Should I confess all, and throw myself on their mercy? It was a
queer-looking gang by the gateway. They wouldn't wish better sport than
to chuck me into a horse-pond, or string me up to the limb of a tree.
No, it would never do to confess. I must account for the broken bridle
to save a broken head. I need hardly mention that these were only
silent thoughts. But at that moment a plan of escape from my dilemma
came into my mind.
By that time the gentlemen, headed by the old don, had descended into
the _patio_ and approached the mare, upon whose back I still kept my
seat. Hitherto they had exhibited indications of alarm. They supposed
at first that a troop of Texan Rangers was at my heels. Becoming
satisfied, in consequence of the reports of the _rancheros_, that I was
alone, they now surrounded me with stern, inquiring looks. There was no
time to be lost. I must not allow them to speculate on how the bridle
came to be broken, or that they were indebted to the mare alone, for my
visit. No, that would never do; so, throwing my legs over the croup, I
landed upon the pavement with as much deliberation as if I had been
dismounting at my own stable-door. Assuming all the _sang-froid_ I
could muster, I walked up to the old gentleman in grey, and making him a
polite bow, said interrogatively--
"Don Miguel Castro?"
"_Si senor_," replied he, in a hurried manner, and, as I fancied,
somewhat angrily.
"This is your mare?"
"_Si senor_," in the same tone and manner.
"She was lately stolen from you?"
"_Si senor_," with the like emphasis.
"By a Texan Ranger?"
"_Por un ladron_," (by a robber), replied the Mexican, with an angry
look, which I observed was copied by very dark countenances appearing
all around me.
"He certainly was not an honest man," I answered, with a smile. "You
have an agent in Mexico," continued I, "who has claimed this animal in
your name?"
"_Si senor_."
"I had purchased her from the Texan, who deceived me as to her previous
history."
"I know all that," was the prompt response.
"I told your agent--not knowing him--that I could not give her up until
his claim was made good before the commander-in-chief, or until I could
have the honour of an interview with yourself."
"_Bueno_!"
"I was passing with a party of friends, and, leaving them, I entered the
road leading to your residence, and, as you see, I am here. I should
apologise for the _manner_ of my approach. The animal, overjoyed at
heading towards her home, made a complete run away with me, and, as you
may observe, has broken the bitt-ring."
There was the least little bit of a white lie in this, but I felt that
my life was in extreme danger. The Texans had harried this
neighbourhood not a month before--in fact, at the time the mare was
stolen. Several men had been killed upon the occasion. The inhabitants
were much exasperated in consequence, and would have thought little of
making me the victim of retaliatory vengeance, by jerking me up to a
tree. I think, therefore, I was rather justified in the slight
colouring I gave to my narrative.
Don Miguel stood for some time as if puzzled at what I had said.
"You say, then, the mare is yours?" I resumed, breaking the silence.
"_Si senor, esta mia_," was the reply.
"Will you have the goodness to order one of your servants to remove the
saddle and bridle?"
This was done as desired.
"May I request you to keep them in safety until I can have an
opportunity to send for them?"
"Certainly, sir," replied the don, brightening up.
"And now, sir, may I ask you to certify that you have recovered your
mare, since that will be necessary to enable me to recover my money?"
By this time the don and his party were quite overcome by my _rare
generosity_! The stern looks disappeared; the _pelados_ were driven out
of the _patio_; and in five minutes more I found myself stretching my
limbs under the family table, and on the best of terms with the whole
household, including the little goddess before mentioned, who proved to
be the real owner of the Arab. It was lucky for me that I was not
quartered in that vicinity, or she might have become the owner of
something that I could less conveniently have parted with. As it was, I
came out of the fire of her brilliant eyes almost unhurt, which I may
attribute to the insensibility produced by a very choice article of old
"Bordeos" that was exhumed from the vaults under Don Miguel's mansion.
I came off--I can hardly tell how. I remember clambering into a yellow
carriage, and rolling along a level road. I remember meeting a party of
mounted men, who said they had been sent out to look for me, and then I
remember--
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two days afterwards I went to seek the Ranger, and learned, to my
chagrin, that he was gone. His company had been ordered down the road,
as the escort of a train to Vera Cruz, where they were to be disbanded
and sent home. Had I lost my two hundred and fifty dollars? Not so.
On my return from Mexico, in June, 1848, I accidentally overhauled my
man in the Ranger camp at Encerro. He was without a dollar. The
_fandangueras_ of Jalapa had completely cleared him out; but, to do him
justice, he did all in his power to make suitable reparation. Going
behind the tents, he returned in a minute or two, leading a large and
handsome sorrel, which he delivered over to me with due formality, and
with the following wind-up:--
"Thar aint no such hoss doins in this hyar camp. I tell yer, cap, thet
thet ar mar' wa'n't a suckumstance to this hyar anymal."
Story 5.