“Pourquoi, Barney? pecause, mon ami, I help pack les possibles of Monsieur le docteur. Pardieu! he would me suspect.”
“I don’t see the raison clear. He may suspect ye at all evints. How thin?”
“Ah! then, n’importe. I sall make von grand swear. No! I sall have ver clear conscience then.”
“Be the powers! we must get the licker anyhow; av you won’t, Misther Gowdey, I will; that’s said, isn’t it?”
“Oui! Très bien!”
“Well, thin, now or niver’s the time. The ould fellow’s just walked out, for I saw him meself. This is a nate place to drink it in. Come an’ show me where he keeps it; and, by Saint Patrick! I’m yer man to hook it.”
“Très bien! allons! Monsieur Barney, allons!”
Unintelligible as this conversation may appear, I understood every word of it. The naturalist had brought among his packs a small keg of aguardiente, mezcal spirits, for the purpose of preserving any new species of the lizard or snake tribe he should chance to fall in with. What I heard, then, was neither more or less than a plot to steal the keg and its contents!
My first impulse was to leap up and stop them in their design, as well as administer a salutary rebuke to my voyageur and his red-haired companion; but a moment’s reflection convinced me that they could be better punished in another way. I would leave them to punish themselves.
I remembered that some days previous to our reaching the Ojo de Vaca, the doctor had captured a snake of the adder kind, two or three species of lizards, and a hideous-looking animal, called, in hunter phraseology, the horned frog: the agama cornuta of Texas and Mexico. These he had immersed in the spirit for preservation. I had observed him do so, and it was evident that neither my Frenchman nor the Irishman had any idea of this. I adopted the resolution, therefore, to let them drink a full bumper of the “pickle” before I should interfere.