“Ha! indeed!” I exclaimed, taking the sword; “I shall value it much. Thanks, Señor! thanks! Now, Major, we are ready to proceed.”
“A glass of maraschino, gentlemen?” said Don Cosmé, as a servant appeared with a flask and glasses. “Thank you—yes,” grunted the major; “and while we are drinking it, Señor Don, let me give you a hint. You appear to have plenty of pewter.” Here the major significantly touched a gold sugar-dish, which the servant was carrying upon a tray of chased silver. “Take my word for it, you can’t bury it too soon.”
“It is true, Don Cosmé,” said I, translating to him the major’s advice. “We are not French, but there are robbers who hang on the skirts of every army.”
Don Cosmé promised to follow the hint with alacrity, and we prepared to take our departure from the rancho.
“I will give you a guide, Señor Capitan; you will find my people with the mulada. Please compel them to lasso the cattle for you. You will obtain what you want in the corral. Adios, Señores!”
“Farewell, Don Cosmé!”
“A dios, Capitan! adios! adios!”
I held out my hand to the younger of the girls, who instantly caught it and pressed it to her lips. It was the action of a child. Guadalupe followed the example of her sister, but evidently with a degree of reserve. What, then, should have caused this difference in their manner?
In the next moment we were ascending the stairway.
“Lucky dog!” growled the major. “Take a ducking myself for that.”