“Perhaps then you might be willing to part with your horse? You will find many as good in the great valley of the Mississippi.”
“Neither is likely.”
“But, señor, should you be inclined to do so, will you promise me the refusal of him?”
“Oh! that I will promise you, with all my heart.”
Our conversation was here interrupted by a huge, gaunt, half-drunken Missourian, who, tramping rudely upon the stranger’s toes, vociferated—
“Ye—up, old greaser! gi’ mi a char.”
“Y porque?” (And why?) demanded the Mexican, drawing in his feet, and looking up with astonished indignation.
“I’m tired jumpin’. I want a seat, that’s it, old hoss.”
There was something so bullying and brutal in the conduct of this man, that I felt called upon to interfere.
“Come!” said I, addressing him, “you have no right to deprive this gentleman of his seat, much less in such a fashion.”