with sleeves rolled from
his hard forearms, he broiled a steak over hickory forks. The torches of
gum tree knots lighted his banquet, and the faces of the two girls, rosy
in the blaze and mysterious in the shadow, were piquant inspiration.
Even the sharp features of Don Anastasio stirred him into a phase of
whimsical benevolence. He knocked two chickens from their perch in a
tree and baked them in a mould of clay. There was an armadilla too,
which a Culebra boy and the dogs had run down during the day. Its dark
flesh was rich and luscious, and the Missourian fondly called it
'possum. Crisply toasted tortillas, or corn cakes, served for bread, and
for spoons as well. But to Driscoll's mind the real feast was
coffee--actual coffee, which he made black, so very good and black, a
riotous orgie of blackness and strength and fragrance. Here was a feast
indeed for the poor trooper. He thought of the chickory, of the parched
corn, of all those pitiful aggravations that Shelby's Brigade had tried
so hard to imagine into coffee during the late months of privation along
the Arkansas line.

And the Marquise d'Aumerle? Learning to eat roasting ears, which somehow
just would leave a grain on her cheek with every bite, the dainty
Marquise thought how much finer was this than the tedious bumping ship.
How much more tempting than the ultra-belabored viands on white china
that had to be latticed down! Here was angel's bread in the wilderness.
And the appetite that drove her to ask for more, that was the only
sauce--an appetite that was a frisson. A new sensation, in itself!

And later, sleep too became a passion, a passion new and sweet in its
incantation out of the lost cravings of childhood. When the nearer
freshness of the woods filled her nostrils, there from the live-oak moss
in her night's abode, she smiled on the grave young fellow who had left
her at the door. And both girls laughing together over the masculine
notions for their comfort, knew a certain happy tenderness in their
gaiety.

"Eh, but it's deep, madame," said one.

"It's the politeness of the heart," the other explained.

Outside Driscoll spread his blanket across the doorway where his horse
was sheltered, and wrapped in his great cape-coat, he stretched himself
for a smoke. But Murguia came with cigars, of the Huasteca, gray and
musty. Driscoll accepted one, waving aside the old man's apologies. He
puffed and waited. Conviviality in Don Anastasio meant something.