“Otherwise we might have to leave Gilly and the Vernons behind,” laughed Julie.
“He say he got plenty fine mule. You no want hoss in Mex’co mountains. Onny sure-foot mule an’ burro,” explained Tally.
“Tally, when does this ‘righda-way’ mean,” asked Mrs. Vernon, smiling at the guide.
“Oh, he hully back to fahm what sit down Gray Mine road; ’en he tie rope along mule an’ hep ’em to Trin’dad,” explained Tally, earnestly.
“When—to-night, or to-morrow, Tally?” repeated Mr. Vernon.
“Mebbe, t’nighd; mebbe, t’mollow,” was Tally’s reply.
At one extreme end of the town the scouts found several Indian families living in small adobe houses. Each family had a patch of ground highly cultivated, and each made a living by basket-weaving, bead-embroidery, and moccasins. One family, the one Tally had found, made elk-skin boots. These were all sewed by hand and were the softest, most comfortable things possible to imagine. The sizes were not as true as they might have been had the pattern been cut in a shoe-factory, but they made up in style and ease that which they lacked in accurate measurement.
“Ah! I only hope the fellow has enough to fit each one of us with a pair of these,” whispered Mr. Gilroy in the Captain’s ear.
“I believe I’d buy two pair for myself, if there are any to spare,” said Mr. Vernon, after examining the quality.
“He mek moocha boot for shop in Santa Fé, an’ way back Denver,” was Tally’s interpretation of the old Indian’s speech.