buccaneer. Once more beneath the wooded shades of the tall banana, he
thought how free and peaceful his days would glide by, free from the
rude conflicts he now witnessed, and the miserable jealousies of these
ill-assorted companionships. For some hours he wandered, revolving
thoughts like these; and at length turned his steps towards the villa,
determined, so long as his captain remained, that he would take up his
quarters at Barcelonetta, nor in future accept of the hospitality of Don
Rica's house. With this intention he was returning to arrange for the
removal of his luggage, when his attention was excited by the loud
cracking of whips, and the shrill cries that accompanied the sounds of
"The post! the post!"

In a moment every window of the villa was thrown open, and beads, in
every species of night-gear, and every stage of sleepy astonishment,
thrust out; for the post, be it observed, was but a monthly phenomenon,
and the arrival of letters was very often the signal for a total
break-up of the whole household.

The long wagon, drawn by four black mules, and driven by a fellow whose
wide-tasselled sombrero and long moustaches seemed to savor more of
the character of a melodrama than real life, stopped before the chief
entrance of the villa, and was immediately surrounded by the guests,
whose hurried wardrobe could only be excused in so mild a climate.

"Anything for me, Truxillo?" cried one, holding up a dollar temptingly
between finger and thumb.

"Where are my cigarettes?"

"And my mantle?"

"And my gun?"

"And the senhora's embroidered slippers?" cried a maid, as she ransacked
every corner where the packages lay.

The driver, however, paid little attention to these various demands,
but, loosening the bridles of his beasts, he proceeded to wash their
mouths with some water fetched from the fountain, coolly telling the
applicants that they might help themselves, only to spare something for
the people of Barcelonetta, for he knew there was a letter or two for
that place.

"What have we here?" cried one of the guests, as a mass of something
enveloped in a horse-sheet lay rolled up in the foot of the caleche,
where the driver sat.

"Ah, par Dios!" cried the man, laughing, "I had nearly forgotten that
fellow. He is asleep, poor devil! He nearly died of cold in the night!"

"Who is he--what is he?"

"A traveller from beyond San Luis in search of Don Pedro."

"Of me?" said Don Pedro, whose agitation bec