“No entiende.”
“Yer don’t understan’ it! Hyar it is; thisa-way;” and the clumsy hunter began to show off before his partner, in an imitation of the grizzly bear.
“Hollo, Bill!” cries a comrade, “yer’ll be trapped if yer don’t look sharp.”
“I’m dog-gone, Jim, if I don’t feel queery about hyar,” replies the hunter, spreading his great paw over the region of the heart.
“Don’t be skeert, man; it’s a nice gal, anyways.”
“Hooray for old Missouri!” shouts a teamster.
“Come, boys! Let’s show these yer greasers a Virginny break-down. ‘Cl’ar the kitchen, old folks, young folks.’”
“Go it hoe and toe! ‘Old Virginny nebir tire!’”
“Viva el Gobernador! Viva Armijo! Viva! viva!”
An arrival at this moment caused a sensation in the room. A stout, fat, priest-like man entered, accompanied by several others, it was the Governor and his suite, with a number of well-dressed citizens, who were no doubt the elite of New Mexican society. Some of the new-comers were militaires, dressed in gaudy and foolish-looking uniforms that were soon seen spinning round the room in the mazes of the waltz.