On that day the Californian was on hand, very grave, very much dressed up, very flattered at being called as an expert in anything. The drawing was laid before him.
“Don Luis,” said the court formally, “what do you, as expert, make of that?”
Don Luis bent his grave Spanish head over the document for some minutes. Then he turned it upside down and examined it again; sideways; the other end. When he looked up a little twinkle of humour lurked deep in his black eyes, but his face was solemn and ceremonious.
“Well, Don Luis,” repeated the court, “what do you make of it?”
304“Señor,” replied Don Luis courteously, “it looks to me like a most excellent map of Sonora.”
When the crowd had quieted down after this, the court ordered the animal brought forth.
“May it please y’r honour, the critter got a chill and done died,” announced the cadaverous Missourian, to whose care the animal had been confided.
“H’m,” said the court. “Well, here’s the court’s decision in this case. Pio Chino fined one drink for taking up our valuable time; Abe Sellers fined one drink for claiming such an old crow-bait on any grounds; Sam is fined one drink for not putting a blanket on that mare.” (“I only got one blanket myself!” cried the grieved Missourian.) “The fines must be paid in to the court at the close of this session.”
Hugely tickled, the meeting arose. Pio Chino, to whom the tidings of his bell mare’s demise was evidently news, stood the picture of dejected woe. His downcast figure attracted the careless attention of one of the men.
“Here boys!” he yelled, snatching off his hat. “This ain’t so damn funny for Chino here!” He passed the hat among the crowd. They tossed in gold, good-naturedly, abundantly, with a laugh. Nobody knows what amount was dumped into the astounded Chino’s old sombrero; but the mare was certainly not worth over fifteen dollars. If some one had dragged Chino before that same gathering under unsupported accusation of any sort, it would as cheerfully and thoughtlessly have hung him.