utther, it's no raison we should refuse the brid;
so I'll thank ye for another small thrifle out of the kig," and the
speaker held out his tin vessel to be replenished.

Gode lifted the keg, and emptied more of its contents into their cups.

"Mon Dieu! what is dis in my cops?" exclaimed he, after a draught.

"Fwhat is it? Let me see. That! Be me sowl! that's a quare-looking
crayter anyhow."

"Sac-r-r-re! it is von Texan! von fr-r-og! Dat is de feesh we smell
stink. Owah--ah--ah!"

"Oh! holy mother! if here isn't another in moine! By jabers! it's a
scorpion lizard! Hoach--wach--wach!"

"Ow--ah--ah--ack--ack! Mon Dieu! Oach--ach--! Sac-r! O--ach--ach--
o--oa--a--ach!"

"Tare-an-ages! He--ach! the owld doctor has--oach--ack--ack! Blessed
Vargin! Ha--he--hoh--ack! Poison! poison!"

And the brace of revellers went staggering over the azotea, delivering
their stomachs, and ejaculating in extreme terror as the thought struck
them that there might be poison in the pickle.

I had risen to my feet, and was enjoying the joke in loud laughter.
This and the exclamations of the men brought a crowd of hunters up to
the roof, who, as soon as they perceived what had happened, joined in,
and made the ruin ring with their wild peals.

The doctor, who had come up among the rest, was not so well satisfied
with the occurrence. After a short search, however, the lizards were
found and returned to the keg, which still contained enough of the
spirit for his purposes. It was not likely to be disturbed again, even
by the thirstiest hunter in the band.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

THE PHANTOM CITY.

On the morning of the fourth day our spies came in, and reported that
the Navajoes had taken the southern trail.

They had returned to the spring on the second day after our leaving it,
and thence had followed the guiding of the arrows. It was Dacoma's
band, in all about three hundred warriors.

Nothing remained for us now but to pack up as quickly as possible, and
pursue our march to the north.

In an hour we were in our saddles, and following the rocky banks of the
San Pedro.

A long day's journey brought us to the desolate valley of the Gila, upon
whose waters we encamped for the night. We slept near the celebrated
ruins, the second resting-place of the migrating Aztecs.

With the exception of the botanist, the Coco chief, myself, and perhaps
Seguin, no one in the band seemed to trouble himself about these
in