leisure; while his air and bearing
were unmistakably such as could only belong to a born gentleman.

Why he was in Chihuahua, or whence he had come to it, no one seemed to
know or care. Enough that he was there, and gazing at the spectacular
procession as it filed past the posada.

He was regarding it with no eye of wonderment. In all likelihood he had
seen such before. He could not have travelled far through Mexico
without witnessing some ceremony of a similar kind.

Whether interested in this one or no he was soon notified that he was
not regarding it in the manner proper or customary to the country.
Standing half behind one of the pillars of the hotel porch, he had not
thought it necessary to take off his hat. Perhaps placed in a more
conspicuous position he would have done this. Frank Hamersley--for such
was his name--was not the sort of man to seek notoriety by an exhibition
of bravado, and, being a Protestant of a most liberal creed, he would
have shrunk from offending the slightest sensibilities of those
belonging to an opposite faith--even the most bigoted Roman Catholic of
that most bigoted land. That his "Guayaquil" still remained upon his
head was due to simple forgetfulness of its being there; it had not
occurred to him to uncover.

While silently standing with eyes turned towards the procession, he
observed scowling looks, and heard low growlings from the crowd as it
swayed slowly past. He knew enough to be conscious of what this meant;
but he felt at the same time disinclined to humiliate himself by a too
facile compliance. A proud American, in the midst of a people he had
learned to despise--their idolatrous observances along with them--no
wonder he should feel a little defiant and a good deal exasperated.
Enough yielding, he thought, to withdraw farther back from behind the
pillar, which he did.

It was too late. The keen eye of a fanatic had been upon him--one who
appeared to have authority for meting out chastisement. An officer,
bearded and grandly bedizened, riding at the head of a troop of lancers,
quickly wheeled his horse from out of the line of march, and spurred him
towards the porch of the posada. In another instant his bared blade was
waving over the hatted head of the Kentuckian.

"_Gringo! alto su sombrero! Abajo! a sus rodillas_!" ("Off with your
hat, greenhorn! Down upon your knees!") were the words that came
hissing from the moustached lips of the lancer.

As they fa