At the same instant he upon the ground said to himself—
“Por Dios! if that infernal Seven of Spades had left any dollars in my purse, I should have considered them in danger of being taken out of it just now.”
Despite the nature of his reflection, the horseman did not hesitate any longer, but spurring his horse forward to the edge of the fire, lifted his hat courteously from his head, and saluted him on the ground, at the same time saying interrogatively:—
“No doubt it is the Señor Don Pedro Cuchillo I have the honour to address?”
“The same, cavallero!” replied the other, rising to his feet, and returning the salute with no less politeness than it had been given.
“Cavallero! I have been sent forward to meet you, and announce to you the approach of the Señor Arechiza, who at this time cannot be many leagues distant. My name is Manuel Baraja, your very humble servant.”
“Your honour will dismount?”
The horseman did not wait for the invitation to be repeated, but at once flung himself from the saddle. After unbuckling his enormous spurs, he speedily unsaddled his horse, fastened a long lazo around his neck, and then giving him a smart cut with the short whip which he carried, despatched the animal without further ceremony to share the meagre provender of his companion.
At this movement the tasajo, beginning to sputter over the coals, gave out an odour that resembled the smell of a dying lamp. Notwithstanding this, Baraja cast towards it a look of longing.
“It appears to me Señor Cuchillo,” said he, “that you are well provided here. Carramba!—tortillas, of wheaten meal! tasajo!—it is a repast for a prince!”