IN THE OLD WEST 253 



our Don walked conspicuous in shining suit of 

 black — much the worse for wear, it must be con- 

 fessed — with beaver hat sadly battered, and 

 round his body and over his shoulder an unexcep- 

 tionable capa of the amplest dimensions. Ask- 

 ing, as he stepped over him, the pardon of an In- 

 dian urchin who blocked the door, and bowing 

 with punctilious politeness to the sturdy mozas 

 who were grinding com, Don Antonio approached 

 our friend Augustin, who was discussing warlike 

 matters with his administrador. 



" Hola ! Don Antonio, how do you find your- 

 self, sir? " 



" Perfectly well, and your very humble servant, 

 reverend father; and your worship also, I trust 

 you are in good health?" 



" Sin nofoedad — without novelty " ; which, 

 since it was one hour and a half since our friends 

 had separated to take their siestas, was not im- 

 possible. 



" Myself and the worthy Jose," continued Fray 

 Augustin, " were speaking of the vile invasion of 

 a band of North American robbers, who three 

 years since fiercely assaulted this peaceful Mis- 

 sion, killing many of its inoffensive inhabitants, 

 wounding many more, and carrying off several of 

 our finest colts and most promising mules to their 

 dens and caves in the Rocky Mountains. Not 

 with impunity, however, did they effect this atroc- 



