"The words of the pilot," he replied, "agree but too well with a voice that has been incessantly calling to me, 'Sacramenta never loved you.'"
"But," I answered, "if you intend to bid an eternal farewell to your mother and the village in which Sacramenta lives, why did you refuse the offer of the pilot? Your life would then have some definite aim."
"That's of no consequence. The Jarocho is born to live free and independent. A bamboo hut, the woods and the river, a gun and nets, are all that is necessary for him, and these I shall find every where. Farewell, señor; don't tell any body that you saw me weep like a woman."
Pulling his hat over his eyes, Calros gave the spur to his horse. It was not without a lively sympathy that I followed with my eye the retiring figure of one whose exalted passion and adventurous humor had shown the character of the Jarocho in the most pleasing light. I had to gain Vera Cruz on foot this time, as my horse had lost both saddle and bridle. I dragged him along, however, with a halter behind me. Oppressed by heat and thirst, I stopped at a hut by the way-side, and the host accepted of the poor brute in compensation for the refreshment with which he had supplied me.
Two days afterward I embarked on board the good ship Congress for the United States. I could not leave Mexico without regret, for the society to be found in that country had for me all the attraction of a romance, with every particular of which I had a strong desire to become acquainted.
THE END.