“Ha! you greedy ladrones! I see what you would be after. You would have me send you some of them. You sha’n’t have a slice though—that is, unless you can give me something that will wash this dust out of my throat. I’m woeful thirsty this morning.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the officers. “What shall it be, father?”
“Well—let me see.—Ah!—a cup of ‘Bordeos’—that you received by last arrival.”
The claret was ordered and brought up; and the padré, tossing off a glassful, smacked his lips after it with the air of one who well knew and appreciated the good quality of the wine.
“Linda! lindisima!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes up to heaven, as if everything good should come and go in that direction.
“And so, padré,” said the impatient Roblado, “you have got your buffalo-tongues? Your hunters, then, have returned?”
“They have; that is the business that brought me over.”
“Good! that was the business that was about to take me to the mission.”
“An onza we were both on the same errand!” challenged the padré.
“I won’t bet, father; you always win.”