ty of
the viands. The dish was placed in our midst, and our arms were untied
for the first time since our capture. There were neither knives, forks,
nor spoons; but Raoul showed us the Mexican fashion of "eating our
spoons", and, twisting up the tortillas, we scooped and swallowed "right
ahead."

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

CHANE'S COURTSHIP.

The dish was emptied, as Clayley observed, in a "squirrel's jump."

"Be my sowl! it ates purty well, black as it is," said Chane, looking
ruefully into the empty vessel. "It's got a worse complaint than the
colour, didn't yez fetch us a thrifle more of it, my darlint boy?" he
added, squinting up at Jose.

"_No entiende_," (Don't understand), said the Mexican, shaking his head.

"No in tin days!" cried Chane, mistaking the "_no entiende_" for a
phrase of broken English, to which, indeed, its pronunciation somewhat
assimilates it. "Och! git out wid you! Bad luck to yer picther! In
tin days it's Murtagh Chane that'll ayther be takin' his tay in
purgathory or atin' betther than black banes in some other part of the
world."

"_No entiende_," repeated the Mexican as before.

"Tin days, indade! Sure we'd be did wid hunger in half the time. We
want the banes _now_."

"_Que quiere_?" (What do you want?) asked the Mexican, speaking to
Raoul, who was by this time convulsed with laughter.

"Phwhat's that he sez, Raowl?" inquired Chane sharply.

"He says he don't understand you."

"Thin spake to him yerself, Raowl. Till him we want more banes, and a
few more ov thim pancakes, if he plazes."

Raoul translated the Irishman's request.

"_No hay_" (There are none), answered the Mexican, shaking his
forefinger in front of his nose.

"No I--is that phwhat ye say, my darlint? Well, iv yez won't go
yerself, sind somebody else; it's all the same thing, so yez bring us
the ateables."

"_No entiende_" said the man, with the same shake of the head.

"Oh! there agin with your tin days--but it's no use; yez understand me
well enough, but yez don't want to bring the banes."

"He tells you there is no more," said Raoul.

"Oh! the desavin' Judas! and five hundred ov thim grazers atin' over
beyant there. No more banes! oh, the lie!"

"_Frijoles--no hay_," said the Mexican, guessing at the purport of
Chane's remarks.

"Fray holeys!" repeated Chane, imitating the Mexican's pronunciation of
the word "frijoles". "Och! git out wid your fray holeys! There isn't
the size of a