I replied, in Spanish, that if any one wanted me, they must wait till I had taken my “siesta.”
“Take your siesta another time, and open your door at once; or mayhap I 'll do it myself!”
“Well, sir,” said I, as I threw it open, and feigning a look of angry indignation, the better to conceal my fear, “what is so very urgently the matter that a traveller cannot take his rest, without being disturbed in this fashion?”
“Hoity-toity! what a pucker you're in, boy!” said he, shutting the door behind him; “and we old friends too!”
“When or where have we ever met before?” asked I, boldly.
“For the 'where,'—it was up at Austin, in Texas; for the 'when,'—something like three years bygone.”
I shook my head, with a saucy smile of incredulity.
“Nay, nay, don't push me farther than I want to go, lad. Let bygones be bygones, and tell me what's the price of your beast, yonder.”
“I 'll not sell the mustang,” said I, stoutly.
“Ay, but you will, boy! and to me, too! And it's Seth Chiseller says it!”