“Yes, the exact figure.”
“Two-fifty: cheap enough, I reckin’. Aint it, Bill?”
“Dog cheap,” was the laconic answer. I offered two hundred. It wouldn’t do. The cunning Ranger saw that I was “bound” to have her, and stood up to his first asking. I raised my bid to two hundred and twenty-five.
“Won’t take a picayune less nor two-fifty. She’s a’mighty cheap at it. She er the finest mar’ in all Mexiko. That’s sartin.”
After a while, I saw that the man was inexorable; and, drawing out my purse, I counted down the required amount. A bill of sale, which was signed by the Ranger, and witnessed by his comrade, Bill, completed the “trade,” and the mare was forthwith transferred to my quarters. Under the nimble brush and comb of my Mexican groom, Vicente, she soon became the most admired piece of horseflesh that made its appearance on the Pasáo.
About ten days after, a party of us (we had nothing to do at the time) came to the resolve to visit Real del Monte, a rich silver-mine in the mountains that skirt the north-east of the valley. A division of our army was stationed there, and some of our old comarados had sent us an “invite” to come up and explore the mines—adding that two or three very hospitable English haciendados lived in that neighbourhood.
We could not resist, and consequently made ready to start. There were eight or ten of us in all, who had asked and obtained leave; and as we intended to include in our excursion the old town of Tezcoco and the pyramids of Teotihuacan—a guerilla neighbourhood—we borrowed a score of dragoons to escort us. I had resolved to try my new purchase upon the road on this occasion.
The morning of our departure arrived, and I was about to throw my leg over the saddle, when I was accosted by a small, spare man, with the salutation—
“Buenas dias, capitan!”
There was nothing in the words strange or unusual, nor, indeed, in the individual who pronounced them; but there was something in the manner of this gentleman that told me at once he had some business with me.