Now, probably a more ludicrous caricature of that character could not have been drawn than either in the persons, the manners, or the subject of the transaction in hand; but the word was talismanic, and no sooner had he uttered it than I became amenable to his very slightest suggestion.
“Let me have the beast,—I want him; and I see your holsters and saddle-bags have a jingle in them that tells me dollars are plenty with you; and as to this,”—he threw the piece of paper offering the reward at his feet,—“the man who says anything about it will have to account with Seth Chiselier, that's all.”
“How far is it from this to Guajuaqualla?”
“About a hundred and twenty miles by the regular road; but there 's a trail the miners follow makes it forty less. Not that I would advise you to try that line; the runaway niggers and the half-breeds are always loitering about there, and they 're over ready with the bowie-knife, if tempted by a dollar or two.”
Our conversation now took an easy, almost a friendly tone. Seth knew the country and its inhabitants perfectly, and became freely communicative in discussing them and all his dealings with them.
“Let us have a flask of 'Aguadente,'” said he, at last, “and then we 'll join the fandango in the court beneath.”
Both propositions were sufficiently to my taste; and by way of showing that no trace of any ill-feeling lingered in my mind, I ordered an excellent supper and two flasks of the best Amontillado.
Seth expanded, under the influence of the grape, into a most agreeable companion. His personal adventures had been most numerous, and many of them highly exciting; and although a certain Yankee suspiciousness of every man and his motives tinged all he said, there was a hearty tone of good-nature about him vastly different from what I had given him credit for.
The Amontillado being discussed, Seth ordered some Mexican “Paquaretta,” of delicious flavor, of which every glass seemed to inspire one with brighter views of life; nor is it any wonder if my fancy converted the rural belles of the courtyard into beauties of the first order.
The scene was a very picturesque one. A trellised passage, roofed with spreading vines in full bearing, ran around the four sides of the building, in the open space of which the dancers were assembled. Gay lamps of painted paper and rude pine-torches lit up the whole, and gave to the party-colored and showy costumes an elegance and brilliancy which the severer test of daylight might have been ungenerous enough to deny. The olive-brown complexion—the flashing dark eyes—the graceful gestures—the inspiriting music—the merry voices—the laughter—were all too many ingredients of pleasure to put into that little crucible, the human heart, and not amalgamate into something very like enchantment,—a result to which the Paquaretta perhaps contributed.