“Yes; everything is all right,” said Phil, breathlessly, delivering himself of his information in spasmodic bursts of words. “Such a lot of work it was! here’s the list. Pancho will dump them on the ground and let us settle them when we get there. Such a load! You should have seen it! Hardly room for him to sit up in front with the Chinaman. Just hear this,” and he drew a large document from what Polly called “a back-stairs pocket.”
“Forty cans corned beef, four guns, three Dutch cheeses, pickles, fishing-tackle, flour, bacon, three bushels onions, crate of dishes, Jack’s banjo, potatoes, Short History of the English People, cooking utensils, three hair pillows, box of ginger-snaps, four hammocks, coffee, cartridges, sugar, Macaulay’s Essays, Pond’s extract, sixteen hams, Bell’s guitar, pop-corn, molasses, salt, St. Jacob’s Oil, Conquest of Mexico, sack of almonds, flea-powder, and smoked herring. Whew! I packed them all myself.”
“In precisely that order?” questioned Polly.
“In precisely that order, Miss Oliver,” returned Phil, urbanely. “Any one who feels that said packing might be improved upon has only to mount the fleet Arabian yonder” (the animal alluded to seized this moment to stand on three legs, hang his head, and look dejected), “and, giving him the rein, speed o’er the trackless plain which leads to San Miguel, o’ertake the team, and re-pack the contents according to her own satisfaction.”
“No butter, nor eggs, nor fresh vegetables?” asked Margery. “We shall starve!”
“Not at all,” quoth Jack. “Polly will gracefully dispose a horse-blanket about her shoulders, to shield her from the chill dews of the early morn, mount the pack mule exactly at cock-crow everyday, and ride to a neighbouring ranch where there are tons of the aforesaid articles awaiting our consumption.”
“Can you see me doing it, girls? Does it seem entirely natural?” asked Polly, with great gravity.
“Now hear my report as chairman of the committee of arrangements,” said Geoffrey Strong, seating himself with dignity on a barrel of nails. “The tents, ropes, tool-boxes, bed-sacks, blankets, furniture, etc., all went down on Monday’s steamer, and I have a telegram from Larry’s Landing saying that they arrived in good order, and that a Mexican gentleman who owns a mammoth wood-cart will take them up to-morrow when we go ourselves. The procession will move at one P.M., wind and weather permitting, in the following order:—
“1. Chief Noble on his gallant broncho.
“2. Commander Strong on his ditto, ditto.