RANCH LIFE. 237 



night to want to run. My life on the ranch, at best, was a 

 cheerless one; of reading matter we had none, and I often 

 wished for the few books I had lugged about me with such 

 tribulation on my tramp, and which now lay in my carpet-bag 

 at the Hotel Cordelia. I don't remember seeing a newspaper 

 while there, and I was almost as much isolated from the world 

 as a hermit. 



Besides we three there was a Mexican helper for awhile, 

 named Antonio. He was a good-natured fellow, and I often 

 used him for a lay-figure to try my "Spanish without a 

 Master "on. 



In this book was a story I knew by heart, and this I could 

 repeat to him understandingly. It related to three travelers 

 who found a treasure. Being hungry, one of them was sent 

 to buy meat. That he might enjoy the money himself, he 

 poisoned the meat; that the other two might possess it, they 

 resolved to kill him. The result was, all three lay dead by the 

 side of the treasure, much to the profit of a philosopher who 

 opportunely passed by and pocketed the same. The tale, with 

 its burden of gold and murder, was typically Spanish and 

 pleased Antonio, who called it a ''muy buena historian In re- 

 turn he taught me how to " haw," " gee," " get up " and " whoa" 

 our Spanish oxen. In general, however, there were so many 

 " misfits " in our conversational exchanges, that our verbal 

 intercourse was rather unsatisfactory, and I ceased to annoy 

 him. 



Antonio was as full of " Quien sabe'' and "No Quiero " as the 

 generality of the Spanish-Indian race. The first, which is 

 literally "who knows," means "I don't know and don't want 

 to," and is a convenient answer for a shiftless, careless person 

 to make. As for " No Quiero" it means " I don't want to," also 

 a convenient reply when one is requested to do a thing he 

 objects to doing. 



In a few days the Mexican left. Soon after the Patron and 



