“Señor Rosales,” said I, returning the paper, “this was not necessary. The interesting circumstances under which we have met should have secured you good treatment, even were you a Mexican and we the barbarians we have been represented. We have come to make war, not with peaceful citizens, but with a rabble soldiery.”
“Es verdad (Indeed). You are wet, Señor? you are hungry?”
I could not deny that I was both the one and the other.
“You need refreshment, gentlemen; will you come to my house?”
“Permit me, Señor, to introduce you to Major Blossom—Lieutenant Clayley—Lieutenant Oakes: Don Cosmé Rosales, gentlemen.”
My friends and the Don bowed to each other. The major had now recovered his complacency.
“Vamonos, caballeros!” (Come on, gentlemen), said the Don, starting towards the house.
“But your soldiers, Capitan?” added he, stopping suddenly.
“They will remain here,” I rejoined.
“Permit me to send them some dinner.”