The Rifle Rangers - Mayne Reid

I could not permit my old ranging comrades to depart without a souvenir. My companion drew off a pair of rings, and presented one to each on the spot. The Frenchman, with the gallantry of a Frenchman, drew his upon his finger; but Lincoln, after trying to do the same, declared, with a comical grin, that he couldn’t “git the eend of his wipin’ stick inter it.” He wrapped it up carefully, however, and deposited it in his bullet-pouch.

My friends accompanied us to our hotel, where I found them more appropriate presents than the rings. To Raoul I gave my revolving pistols, not expecting to have any further use for them myself; and to the hunter, that which he valued more than any other earthly object, the major’s “Dutch gun”. Doubtless, ere this, the zündnadel has slain many a “grisly b’ar” among the wild ravines of the Rocky Mountains.

Courteous reader! I was about to write the word “adieu”, when “Little Jack” handed me a letter, bearing the Vera Cruz post-mark. It was dated, “La Virgen, November 1, 1849.” It concluded as follows:

“You were a fool for leaving Mexico, and you’ll never be half as happy anywhere else as I am here. You would hardly know the ‘ranche’—I mean the fields. I have cleared off the weeds, and expect next year to take a couple of hundred bales off the ground. I believe I can raise as good cotton here as in Louisiana; besides, I have a little corner for vanilla. It would do your heart good to see the improvements; and little Luz, too, takes such an interest in all I do. Haller, I’m the happiest man in creation.

“I dined yesterday with our old friend Cenobio; and you should have seen him when I told him the man he had in his company. I thought he would have split his sides. He’s a perfect old trump this Cenobio, notwithstanding his smuggling propensities.

“By the way, you have heard, I suppose, that our ‘other old friend’, the padre, has been shot. He took part with Paredes against the Government. They caught him at Queretaro, and shot him with a dozen or so of his ‘beauties’ in less than a squirrel’s jump.

“And now, my dear Haller, a last word. We all want you to come back. The house at Jalapa is ready for you, and Dona Joaquina says it is yours, and she wants you to come back.

“Don Cosmé, too—with whom it appears Lupé was the favourite—he wants you to come back. Old Cenobio, who is still puzzled about how you got the knife to cut through the adobes, he wants you to come back. Luz is fretting after Lupé, and she wants you to come back. And, last of all, I want you to come back. So ‘stand not on the order’ of your coming, but come at once.

“Yours for ever,—

“Edward Clayley.”

Reader, do you want me to come back?

The End.