and, by invoking the aid of stout canes, he succeeded in
shifting around. But the trail to town was as yet too rough for him.
Therefore a number of us were in the habit of spending our early
evenings with him. We sat around the door, and smoked innumerable pipes,
and talked sixty to the minute. Morena had a guitar to the accompaniment
of which he sang a number of plaintive and sweet-toned songs. Three or
four of his countrymen occasionally came up from below. Then they, too,
sang more plaintive songs; or played a strange game with especial cards
which none of us "gringos" could ever fathom; or perhaps stepped a
grave, formal sort of dance. Senora Morena, the only woman, would
sometimes join in this. She was a large woman, but extraordinarily light
on her feet. In fact, as she swayed and balanced opposite her partner
she reminded me of nothing so much as a balloon tugging gently at its
string.

"But it ees good, the dance, eh, senores?" she always ended, her broad,
kind face shining with pleasure.

We Americans reciprocated with a hoe-down or so, to jigging strains
blasphemously evoked by one of our number from that gentle guitar; and
perhaps a song or two. _Oh, Susannah!_ was revived; and other old
favourites; and we had also the innumerable verses of a brand-new
favourite, local to the country. It had to do with the exploits and
death of one Lame Jesse. I can recall only two of the many verses:

"Lame Jesse was a hard old case;
He never would repent.
He ne'er was known to miss a meal--
He never paid a cent!

"Lame Jesse, too, like all the rest,
He did to Death resign;
And in his bloom went up the flume
In the days of Forty-nine."

When the evening chill descended, which now was quite early, we
scattered to our various occupations, leaving Yank to his rest.

One Sunday in the middle of October two men trudged into town leading
each a pack-horse.

I was at the time talking to Barnes at his hotel, and saw them from a
distance hitching their animals outside Morton's. They stayed there for
some time, then came out, unhitched their horses, led them as far as the
Empire, hesitated, finally again tied the beasts, and disappeared. In
this manner they gradually worked along to the Bella Union, where at
last I recognized them as McNally and Buck Barry, our comrades of the
Porcupine. Of course I at once rushed over to see them.

I found them surrounded by a crowd to whom they were offer