It was, however, only with marked repugnance, and on the repeated assurances the travellers made him that he had nought to fear from them, that he at length decided to open his door, and admit them to his house.
Once that he had resolved to receive them, the host was as he should be to his guests, that is to say, polite and attentive, as far as that can enter into the character of a Mexican landlord, a race, be it noted in a parenthesis, the least hospitable in existence.
He was a short, stout man, with cat-like manners, and crafty looks, already of a certain age, but still quick and active.
When the travellers had placed their horses in the corral, before a good stock of alfalfa, and had themselves supped with the appetite of men who have made a long journey, the ice was broken between them and the host, thanks to a few tragos of Catalonian refino, liberally offered by the Canadian, and the conversation went on upon a footing of the truest cordiality, while the little girl, carefully wrapped up in the hunter's warm zarapé, was sleeping with that calm and simple carelessness peculiar to that happy age when the present is all in all, and the future does not exist.
"Well, gossip," Tranquil said gaily, as he poured out a glass of refino for the host; "I fancy you must lead a jolly life of it here."
"I?"
"Hang it, yes; you go to bed with the bees, and I feel certain you are in no hurry to get up in the morning."
"What else can I do in this accursed desert, where I have buried myself for my sins?"
"Are travellers so rare, then?"
"Yes and no; it depends on the meaning you give the word."