FISHING AND HUNTING. 123 
other a most dejected-looking whelp, a 
cross between a mongrel and a cur. The 
whole affair was the sloppiest, wettest 
failure, and about noon we got back to 
the hacienda, looking like drowned rats. 
A good Mexican dinner of chili con 
carne, red peppers, tabasco, and a few 
other warm condiments was never better 
appreciated, and as the Yaqui Indian 
had put in an appearance we crawled 
back into our wet saddles, with our 
clothes sticking to us like postage stamps, 
and once more sallied out. While we 
were eating dinner the rain had ceased, 
and our otherwise dampened hopes had 
gone up in consequence; but when we 
were about a mile away it seemed as if 
the very floodgates of heaven had opened 
and let all the water down the back of 
our necks. Gullies we had crossed in 
