io6 



A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 



the generous master himself. Then the great house, so tomb-like in 

 its present silence, would have been noisy as a populous khan in an 

 Orient desert. As it was, we halted outside, while Santos rode in 



THE " MOZO 



through the half-opened entrance unchallenged, unsaluted. We heard 

 the hoofs of his horse ring the echoes of the arched, but dirty, pas- 

 sage to the patio. Was there no warder — no steward? Did the 

 castle keep itself? Our mozo at length appeared with answer — a 

 sleepy-looking wretch in jacket and breeches of rusty leather, under 

 a great sombrero of the genuine old style, and withal a swagger so 

 easy-going, yet so perfect as an emphasized insolence, that only the 

 pencil can do it justice. 



The man announced himself master of the house, and gave us 

 permission to pass the night within. We would have to find our 

 own beds ; his only contribution to our supper would be a mess of 

 warm frijoles ; he had fodder for our cattle. Ay de mi, Zuloaga ! 



