"¿Quíen vive?"
"Gente de paz," the stranger replied.
"Hum!" the voice went on, "That is not a name. What sort of weather is it?"
"One for all—all for one. The cormuel is strong enough to blow the horns off the oxen on the top of the Cerro del Huérfano."
The door was immediately opened, and the strangers entered. At first they could distinguish nothing through the thick and smoky atmosphere of the room, and walked hap-hazard. The companion of the first horseman was well known in this den; for the master of the house and several other persons eagerly collected round him.
"Caballeros," he said, pointing to the person who followed him, "this señor is my friend, and I must request your kindness for him."
"He shall be treated like yourself, Belhumeur," the host replied. "Your horses have been led to the corral, where a truss of alfalfa has been put before them. As for yourselves, the house belongs to you, and you can dispose of it as you please."
During this exchange of compliments the strangers had contrived to find their way through the crowd. They crossed the room, and sat down in a corner before a table on which the host himself placed pulque, mezcal, chinguirito, Catalonian refino, and sherry.
"Caramba, Señor Huesped!" the man whom we had heard called frequently Belhumeur, said with a laugh, "You are generous today."
"Do you not see that I have an angelito?" the other answered gravely.