flay of holiness about the place. Git out!"

Raoul, and indeed all of us except the Irishman himself, were bursting
with laughter.

"I'm chokin'," said the latter, after a pause; "ask him for wather,
Raowl--sure he can't deny that, with that purty little sthrame boilin'
up undher our noses, as clear as the potteen of Ennishowen."

Raoul asked for water, which we all needed. Our throats were as dry as
charcoal. The Mexican made a sign to one of the women, who shortly came
up with an earthen jar filled with water.

"Give it first to the captin, misthress," said Chane, pointing to me;
"sarve all ayqually, but respict rank."

The woman understood the sign, and handed me the jar. I drank
copiously, passing it to my comrades, Clayley and Raoul. Chane at
length took the jar; but instead of drinking immediately, as might have
been expected, he set it between his knees and looked quizzically up at
the woman.

"I say, my little darlint," said he, winking, and touching her lightly
under the ribs with his outstretched palm, "my little _moochacha_--
that's what they call thim--isn't it, Raowl?"

"_Muchacha_? oh yes!"

"Well, thin, my purty little _moochacha_, cudn't yez?--ye know what I
mane--cudn't yez? Och! ye know well enough--only a little--jist a
mouthful to take the cowld taste aff the wather."

"_No entiende_," said the woman, smiling good-naturedly at Chane's
comical gestures.

"Och, the plague! there's that tin days agin. Talk to her, Raowl. Tell
her what I mane."

Raoul translated his comrade's wishes.

"Tell her, Raowl, I've got no money, becase I have been rabbed, de ye
see? but I'll give her ayther of these saints for the smallest thrifle
of agwardent;" and he pulled the images out of his jacket as he spoke.

The woman, seeing these, bent forward with an exclamation; and,
recognising the crucifix, with the images of the saint and Virgin,
dropped upon her knees and kissed them devoutly, uttering some words in
a language half Spanish, half Aztec.

Rising up, she looked kindly at Chane, exclaiming, "_Bueno Catolico_!"
She then tossed the rebozo over her left shoulder, and hurried off
across the yard.

"De yez think, Raowl, she's gone after the licker?"

"I am sure of it," answered the Frenchman.

In a few minutes the woman returned, and, drawing a small flask out of
the folds of her rebozo, handed it to Chane.

The Irishman commenced undoing the string that carried his "relics."

"Which ov