sed rigidly as
before.

All my conjectures as to this singular proceeding being in vain, I
resolved to join the party, towards whom I perceived the road led by a
slightly circuitous descent.

Cautiously wending my way down this slope, which grew steeper as I
advanced, I had scarcely reached the river side when I was perceived by
the party. Both the Friar and his follower ceased their performance on
the instant, and cast their eyes upwards to the road with a glance that
showed they were on "the look-out" for others. They even changed their
position, to have a better view of the path, and seemed as if unable
to persuade themselves that I could be alone. To my salutation, which
I made by courteously removing my hat and bowing low, they offered
no return, and looked--as I really believe they were--far too much
surprised at my sudden appearance to afford me any signs of welcome. As
I came nearer, I could see that the Friar made the circuit of the wagon,
and, as if casually, examined the curtains; and then, satisfied "that
all was right," took his station by the head of his beasts, and waited
for my approach.

"Good day, Senhor Caballero," said the Friar, in Spanish, while the
Mexican looked at the lock of his long-barrelled rifle, and retired a
couple of paces, with a gesture of guarded caution.

"Good evening, rather, Father," said I, in English. "I have ridden hard
to come up with you, for the last twenty miles."

"From the States?" said the Friar, approaching me, but with no peculiar
evidences of pleasure at hearing his native language.

"From your own country, Fra Miguel," said I, boldly--"an Irishman."

"And how are you travelling here?" said he, still preserving his
previous air of caution and reserve.

"A mistake of the road!" said I, confidently; for already I had invented
my last biographical sketch. "I was on the way to Austin, whither I had
despatched my servants and baggage, when accidentally taking the turn to
Upper Brazos instead of the lower one, I found myself some twenty miles
off my track before I knew of it. I should have turned back when I
discovered my error, but that I heard that a Friar, a countryman, too,
had just set out towards Bexar. This intelligence at once determined me
to continue my way, which I rejoice to find has been so far successful."

To judge from the "Padre's" face, the pleasure did not appear
reciprocal. He looked at me and the wagon alternately, and then he cast
his eyes t