it bates Banagher intirely!"

A general laugh followed the Irishman's remarks; and we all sprang to
our feet, refreshed by our sleep, and lighter in spirits.

The storm had disappeared, and the sun, now setting, gleamed in upon us
through the broad leaves of the palms. The birds were abroad once
more--brilliant creatures--uttering their sweet songs. Parrots and
trogons, and tanagers flashed around our heads; and the great-billed and
silly-looking toucans sat silent in the branches above.

The stream had become fordable, and leaving our "lair", we crossed over,
and struck into the woods on the opposite side.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

THE JARACHOS.

We headed towards the National Bridge. Raoul had a friend half-way on
the route--an old comrade upon whom he could depend. His rancho was in
a secluded spot, near the road that leads to the rinconada [Note 1] of
San Martin. We should find refreshment there; and, if not a bed, "at
least", said Raoul, "a roof and a petate." We should not be likely to
meet anyone, as it was ten miles off, and it would be late when we
reached it.

It _was_ late--near midnight--when we dropped in upon the
contrabandista, for such was the friend of Raoul; but he and his family
were still astir, under the light of a very dull wax candle.

Jose Antonio--that was his name--was a little "sprung" at the five
bareheaded apparitions that burst so suddenly upon him; but, recognising
Raoul, we were cordially welcomed.

Our host was a spare, bony old fellow, in leathern jacket and
_calzoneros_ (breeches), with a keen, shrewd eye, that took in our
situation at a single glance, and saved the Frenchman a great deal of
explanation. Notwithstanding the cordiality with which his friend
received him, I noticed that Raoul seemed uneasy about something as he
glanced around the room; for the rancho, a small cane structure, had
only one.

There were two women stirring about--the wife of the contrabandista, and
his daughter, a plump, good-looking girl of eighteen or thereabout.

"_No han cenado, caballeros_?" (You have not supped, gentlemen),
inquired, or rather affirmed, Jose Antonio, for our looks had answered
the question before it was asked.

"_Ni comido--ni almorzado_!" (Nor dined--nor breakfasted!) replied
Raoul, with a grin.

"_Carambo! Rafaela! Jesusita_!" shouted our host, with a sign, such
as, among the Mexicans, often conveys a whole chapter of intelligence.
The effect was magical.