ith a stock of Irish melodies in his
head that would have made the fortune of an old-time minstrel. He and
Pablo took to each other at once--though, since neither of them spoke a
word of the other's language, music was their only channel of
communication--and Pablo presently presented us with a rendering on his
mouth-organ, from a strictly Mexican stand-point, of "Rory O'More" that
quite took our breaths away. While Pablo played, Dennis would stand by
with his head cocked on one side, and with an air of attention as
closely critical as that which El Sabio himself exhibited; and when
Pablo went wrong, as he invariably did in his attempted _bravura_
passages, Dennis would stop him with a wave of his hand, and an "Aisy
now, me darlint! That's good enough Mexican, but it ain't good Irish at
all, at all," and then would show him what good Irish was by singing
"Rory O'More" in a fashion which made the old stone arches ring with a
volume of music that could have given odds to an entire brass band. Poor
Dennis! Only the other day I heard an organ-grinder grinding forth "Rory
O'More," and the memory of the last time I heard Dennis sing that song,
and of what heroic stuff that merry-hearted rough fellow then showed
himself to be made, came suddenly over me, and there was a choking in my
throat, and my eyes were full of tears.

Well, it was a good thing--or a bad thing, as you please to put it--that
we could not see far into the future that morning when we packed our
mules in the corral of the hotel, and set out upon the march that was
to lead us through such perilous passages before we reached its end.

[Illustration: PACKING IN THE CORRAL]

That I might fill to the brim the cup of Pablo's happiness--for my
conscience pricked me a little that I suffered him to go with us--I had
bought him the rain-coat of palm leaves for which his heart so long had
pined. What with this and his revolver, and the delight of going upon a
journey (for he had very fully developed that love of travel which is so
strong in his race), his wits seemed to be completely addled with joy.
He insisted upon putting on his absurd rain-coat at once; and he did so
many foolish things that even El Sabio looked at him reproachfully--this
was when he tried to place on that small donkey's back some of the heavy
pack-stuff destined for the back of one of the big mules--and we got
along much better with his room, as he presently enabled us to do, than
we did with hi