le to transport him to
his destination, Venus-like, under cover of a cloud. I thought of
waiting for the friendly shelter of night.

Just then, however, an incident occurred which gave me the very
opportunity I wanted--a scene so ludicrous, that the steed was no longer
the cynosure of admiring eyes.

The hero of this scene was Elijah Quackenboss.

Of all the men in my band, "Dutch Lige" was the worst clad. Not that
there was less money expended upon his outward man; but partly from his
ungainly form and loose untidy habits, and more, perhaps, from the wear
and tear caused by his botanising excursions, a suit of broadcloth did
not keep sound upon him for a week. He was habitually in tatters.

The skirmish of the night had been profitable to Lige; it was his true
aim that had brought down one of the live guerrilleros. On his
asserting this, his comrades had laughed at it, as an idle vaunt; but
Quackenboss proved his assertion to be correct by picking his bullet out
of the man's body, and holding it up before their eyes. The peculiar
"bore" of his rifle rendered the bullet easy of identification, and all
agreed that Lige had shot his man.

By the laws of ranger-war, the spoils of this particular individual
became the property of Quackenboss; and the result was, that he had
shaken off his tattered rags, and now appeared in the piazza in full
Mexican costume--comprising calzoneros, and calzoncillos, sash and
serape, jacket and glazed hat, botas with gigantic spurs--in short, a
complete set of ranchero habiliments!

Never was such a pair of legs encased in Mexican velveteens--never were
two such arms thrust into the sleeves of an embroidered _jaqueta_; and
so odd was the _tout ensemble_ of the ranger thus attired, that his
appearance in the piazza was hailed by a loud burst of laughter, both
from his comrades and the natives who stood around. Even the gloomy
Indians showed their white teeth, and joined in the general chorus.

But this was not the end. Among other spoils, Lige had made capture of
a Comanche mustang; and as his own war-horse had been for a long time on
the decline, this afforded him an excellent opportunity for a remount.
Some duty of the day had called him forth, and he now appeared in the
piazza leading the mustang, to which he had transferred his own saddle
and bridle. A fine handsome horse it appeared. More than one of his
comrades envied him this splendid prize.

The laughter had scarcely