“Can any of you tell us,” continued he, without thinking further about his wound, “if there is a hacienda in this neighbourhood where one might sell these two beautiful jaguar skins, as well as the hide of a panther we’ve got?”
“Certainly,” replied Benito, “there is the Hacienda del Venado, where we are going. There you may get not only five dollars apiece for the skins, but also the bounty of ten dollars more.”
“What say you, Canadian?” inquired the trapper, addressing his great comrade. “Will that do?”
“Certainly,” replied the Canadian, “forty-five dollars is not to be sneezed at; and when we have had a short nap we shall make tracks for the hacienda. We shall be likely to get there before these gentlemen, whose horses have taken a fancy to have a bit of a gallop, and I guess it will be some time before they lay hands on them again.”
“Don’t be uneasy about us!” rejoined the ex-herdsman. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen a horse drove stampedoed, nor the first time I’ve collected them again. I’ve not quite forgotten my old business, and as soon as it is daylight, with the permission of the Señor Don Estevan, I shall go in search of them.”
No one made any opposition to the rekindling of the fire, for the night had grown cooler, and it was not yet midnight. The domestics, no longer afraid of going out into the woods, collected fresh fagots—enough to last till morning—and the preparations for supper, which had been interrupted by the approach of the jaguars, were now continued with renewed zeal.
The blaze soon flared up bright and joyous as ever—the broiling mutton sent forth its delicious odour, sharpening to a keen edge the appetites of the travellers as they stood around the fire.
Don Estevan and the Senator now called before them the two intrepid hunters, who had rendered them a service that fully deserved their thanks.
“Come hither, brave hunters!” said the Senator, “you, whose daring behaviour has been of such service to us. A slice of roast mutton and a cup of Catalonian wine will not be out of place, after the rude struggle you have sustained.”
“Ugh!” said the eldest of the trappers, in presenting his athletic form in front of the fire, “throwing a couple of poor tigers is no great feat. If it had been an affair of a dozen Comanches, or Pawnees, that would have been different. Howsomever, a chunk of roast mutton is welcome after a fight, as well as before one, and we’re ready for it with your permission. Come along, comrade! Here’s some chawing for you!”