“We’ll,” said Jerry, “I was lost at sea that time; I was out of sight of land. It puzzled me like 44° north, and 63° 40′ west.”
“Hogs, dogs, and Jesuit-priests!” said the doctor, and off he set again, with his hands on his sides, rushing round the room in convulsions of laughter.
“The priest,” said I to the old woman, “has given him a pain in his stomach,” when she ran to the dresser again, and got the cup of soot for him which had not yet been emptied.
“Oh dear!” said he, “I can’t stand that; oh, Slick, you will be the death of me yet,” and he bolted out of the house.
Having purchased a bushel of clams from the old lady, and bid her and her daughter good-bye, we vamosed the ranche.1 At the door I saw a noble gobbler.
1 One of the numerous corruptions of Spanish words introduced into the States since the Mexican war, and signifies to quit the house or shanty. Rancho designates a hut, covered with branches, where herdsmen temporarily reside.
“What will you take for that Jesuit-priest,” said I, “Jerry?”
“Seven and sixpence,” said he.
“Done,” said I, and his head was perforated with a ball in an instant.
The dog unused to such a sound from his master’s house, and recollecting the damage he received from the fall of the doctor, set off with the most piteous howls that ever were heard, and fled for safety—the pigs squealed as if they had each been wounded—and the geese joined in the general uproar—while old Madam Boudrot and her daughter rushed screaming to the door to ascertain what these dreadful men were about, who talked of shooting priests, and eating hogs and dogs entire with their heads on. It was some time before order was restored, and when Jerry went into the house to light his pipe and deposit his money, I called Cutler’s attention to the action and style of a horse in the pasture whom my gun had alarmed.