"But you must condescend to drink with us, senor," said a muleteer. "My horn is filled with the best aquardiente."
"Viva el Rey!" said Ronald, in a complimentary tone, as he emptied the cup.
"Viva el Rey!" cried the others, draining their liquor to the dregs.
"Evan," observed Ronald, "you will relish this beverage; 'tis somewhat like our own mountain dew at home."
"It smells o' the peat reek, sir," said Evan, snuffing with his nose over the horn which Lazaro had given him. "Sour water, I declare! perfect fushionless water," said the young Highlandman, after he had drunk it all off, however. "Meeserable trash! O'd, sir, I wadna gie a gill stoup fu' o' what Alpin Gig used to brew wi' the sma' still in the hole at Coir-nan Taischatrin, for a loch fu' o' this agyerdent, as ye ca' it."
"How is this, Lazaro?" asked Pedro, observing that Evan disliked the liquor. "Have you nothing else but muddy aquardiente to offer to honest soldiers? Come, my jovial brother, broach us one of those bloated pig-skins, which are piled on the backs of your mules there?"
"Our Lady del Pilar! a modest request," replied Lazaro. "Why, brother Pedro, bethink you. I cannot touch the burdens of my cattle,—they are the property of others. Could I broach a skin, our best would be at the service of the noble cavalier. And as for our aquardiente, I avouch, by the head of his Holiness! that better never came out of Catalonia."
"I may pretend to be a judge," said the soldier, "as I have drunk some thousand flasks of it; and avouch, in return, 'tis muddy as the Tajo in a shower, and only fit for a Portuguese or a dog to drink!"
"Never mind, Lazaro; your aquardiente is most excellent," observed Ronald, seating himself by the gushing fountain, and partaking of the bread and bacallao, or dried cod-fish, which composed their simple fare. "Your mules seem heavily laden: how far do you mean to travel to-night?"
"As far as the first posada on the road to Majorga."