os and
hearkening to the harangue of a stout fellow, shrouded in a seedy
serapa: he was striving to awaken their patriotism by violently
declaiming against the policy, of the Mexican government, for tolerating
an idea of peace, and lavishing a fair share of abuse upon the Yankees.
_Christo! Senores!_ said he, "why didn't General _Skote_ attack Pinon,
where all was prepared for him, instead of creeping around the valley to
Churubusco? Answer me that! _Porque Senores los Yankis son cobardes!
todos! toditos!_"--Because every mother's son of the Americans were
cowards. Upon the conclusion of this speech, he honored me with a
close inspection, and apparently not being satisfied, touched his
castor by way of formal introduction. "Capitan," he suggested,
"you belong to the cavalry." I nodded. "Ay, he knew that by my
_divisas_--shoulder-straps--but he mistook me at first for one of the
San Patricios. Where was I bound?" I shrugged my shoulders. "Did I know
Mazatlan?" I had been there. This last admission quite won his
confidence; so, grasping me by the elbow, he drew me aside, and informed
me that he was on a mission to that port for the purchase of arms to put
in the hands of flaming red-hot patriots in Guadalajara; and that any
intelligence to further his designs would be highly acceptable. I, of
course, gave him all necessary information, and at the same time dropt a
line by the post, which was the means of giving him an opportunity to
inspect vacant apartments in the _carcel_, for some weeks after his
arrival. Having no more time to waste, I left the good people to pump my
_mozos_, whilst I took a short nap.

Before midnight, nerved by a cup of strong coffee, we mounted, and six
leagues of rapid riding carried us to the post-house of Istlan. There
was just light enough by the moon to reveal all the quiet beauty of the
little town. The square was deserted; not a dog bayed; the noble trees
with drooping branches reposed motionless in the air; not a sound was
heard but the uneasy plashing of the sparkling fountain in the centre;
and there was not a vestige of life, save a solitary twinkling taper
that shone through the open door of the post-house. Our shouts echoed
back from the tall walls of the church on the opposite side of the
plaza, and soon brought a gruff personage to the street. It was the
_administrador_ himself. He inquired, what _demonios_ dared to raise
such a din, when his venerable sire, Don Pancho, was stretched