“Come! you’d be glad to give an onza for my news.”

“What news?—what news?” asked the officers at once, and with hurried impatience of manner.

“Another cup of Bordeos, or I choke! The dust of that road is worse than purgatory. Ah! this is a relief.”

And again the padré swallowed a large glassful of claret, and smacked his lips as before.

“Now your news, dear padré?”

“Pues, cavalleros—our hunters have returned!”

“Y pues?”

“Pues que! they have brought news.”

“Of what?”

“Of our friend the cibolero.”