he coachman spoken of
as so trustworthy; he did not think of suspecting Pepita. The Texan,
too, believed some hitch had occurred, a "bit o' crooked luck," as he
worded it. Not so Rivas. Though, as the others, chafing at the delay,
he still had confidence in the carriage coming, as he had in the
directing head of one he expected to see inside it. It was being
purposely kept back, he fancied; likely as not, lest it might attract
attention by being too early on the street.

Whatever the cause, his conjectures were soon brought to an end--and
abruptly--by seeing the thing itself.

"_Bueno_!" he mentally exclaimed, then muttering to the others--"Yonder
it comes! _Frisones pardes_ coachman in sky-blue and silver--be ready
_camarados_."

And ready they were, as panthers preparing to spring. Rock and Rivas,
as Kearney himself, were now out of the sewer and up on the street; all
three still making believe to work; while the dwarf seemed to suspect
there was something in the wind, but could not guess what.

He knew the instant after, when a strong hand, grasping him by the
collar, lifted him off his feet, raising and tossing him further aloft,
as though he had been but a rat.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A CLUMSY COCHERO.

Perhaps no people in the world have been more accustomed to spectacular
surprises than they who perambulate the streets of the Mexican
metropolis. For the half-century preceding the time of which I write,
they had witnessed almost as many revolutions as years, seen blood
spilled till the stones ran red with it, and dead bodies lying before
their doors often for hours, even days, unremoved. As a consequence,
they are less prone to curiosity than the dwellers in European cities,
and the spectacle or incident that will stir their interest in any great
degree must needs be of an uncommon kind.

Rare enough was that they were called on to witness now--such of them as
chanced to be sauntering along the Calle de Plateros, where the
chain-gang was at work. They first saw a carriage--a handsome equipage
of the landau speciality--drawn by a pair of showy horses, and driven by
a coachman in smart livery, his hat cockaded, proclaiming the owner of
the turnout as belonging to the military or diplomatic service. Only
ladies, however, were in it--two of them--and the horses proceeding at a
rather leisurely pace. As several other carriages with ladies in them,
and liveried coachmen on the boxes, had passed b