subtle.

Rube was now greatly "out of sorts." When he saw the guerrilleros
"fixing" themselves in the manner described, he seemed to regret that we
had taken our stand there.

"We're hyur!" he exclaimed peevishly, "an how are we to git clur agin?
Scalp me, Bill! ef we hedn't better a fit 'em on the paraira, afore we
gits weak wi' hunger. Wagh! I kud eat a griskin now, an a good chunk
o' a one. Ay, smoke away!" (some of the Mexicans had lighted their
cigars, and were coolly puffing at them)--"smoke away, durn yur! yur
yeller-skinned skunks! I'll make some o' ye smoke afore mornin, or my
name ain't Rube Rawlins. Gi's a bit o' bacca, Bill; maybe it'll take
the edge off o' my stummuk. Wagh! I feel as holler about the kidneys
as my ole mar--Geehosophat! See the mar!"

The emphatic utterance of the last words caused Garey and myself to look
towards the speaker, and then in the direction in which he pointed. A
spectacle came before our eyes, that, spite the depression of our
spirits, caused both of us to break into loud laughter.

The "ole mar," that for many long years had carried Rube over the
mountains and prairies, was a creature that scarce yielded to himself in
peculiarity.

She was a lank, bare-ribbed, high-boned animal, long-eared like all of
her race--for she belonged to the race of Rosinante. The long ears
caused her to look mulish, and at a distance she might have been
mistaken for a mixed breed; but it was not so--she was a true mustang,
and, spite of her degenerate look, a pure Andalusian. She seemed to
have been, at an earlier period of her life, of that dun yellowish
colour known as "clay-bank"--a common hue among Mexican horses--but time
and scars had metamorphosed her, and grey hairs predominated,
particularly about the head and neck. These parts were covered with a
dirty grizzle of mixed colour. She was badly wind-broken, and at stated
intervals, of several minutes each, her back, from the spasmodic action
of the lungs, heaved up with a jerk, as though she was trying to kick,
and couldn't. Her body was as thin as a rail, and her head habitually
carried below the level of her shoulders; but there was something in the
twinkle of her solitary eye--for she had but one--that told you she had
no intention of giving up for a long time to come. As Rube often
alleged, "she was game to the backbone."

Such was the "ole mar," and it was to her that our attention was now so
suddenly called.

Ha