arrested my attention. He
was not an American; that was evident from his dress; and yet the face
was not Mexican. Its outlines were too bold for a Spanish face, though
the complexion, from tan and exposure, was brown and swarth. His face
was clean-shaven except his chin, which carried a pointed, darkish
beard. The eye, if I saw it aright under the shadow of a slouched brim,
was blue and mild; the hair brown and wavy, with here and there a strand
of silver. These were not Spanish characteristics, much less
Hispano-American; and I should have at once placed my neighbour
elsewhere, but that his dress puzzled me. It was purely a Mexican
costume, and consisted of a purple manga, with dark velvet embroidery
around the vent and along the borders. As this garment covered the
greater part of his person, I could only see that underneath was a pair
of green velveteen calzoneros, with yellow buttons, and snow-white
calzoncillos puffing out along the seams. The bottoms of the calzoneros
were trimmed with stamped black leather; and under these were yellow
boots, with a heavy steel spur upon the heel of each. The broad peaked
strap that confined the spur, passing over the foot, gave to it that
peculiar contour that we observe in the pictures of armed knights of the
olden time. He wore a black, broad-brimmed sombrero, girdled by a thick
band of gold bullion. A pair of tags of the same material stuck out
from the sides: the fashion of the country.

The man kept his sombrero slouched towards the light, as I thought or
suspected, for the concealment of his face. And vet it was not an
ill-favoured one. On the contrary, it was open and pleasing; no doubt
had been handsome beforetime, and whatever caused its melancholy
expression had lined and clouded it. It was this expression that had
struck me on first seeing the man.

Whilst I was making these observations, eyeing him cross-wise all the
while, I discovered that he was eyeing me in a similar manner, and with
an interest apparently equal to my own. This caused us to face round to
each other, when the stranger drew from under his manga a small beaded
cigarero, and, gracefully holding it out to me, said--

"Quiere a fumar, caballero?" (Would you smoke, sir?)

"Thank you, yes," I replied in Spanish, at the same time taking a cigar
from the case.

We had hardly lit our cigarettes when the man again turned to me with
the unexpected question--

"Will you sell your horse?"