The following day the escort returned to the Rio Grande, and found the Irishman all right and only about half of the whiskey gone. He had fully merited all my confidence. They unloaded the wagon and slid the contents across the river on the ice, and by digging and prying with the tools they had taken from the station, and hitching all ten mules to the wagon, they drew it out the quick-sand and across the river and arrived at the station with everything in good shape about dark that evening. The morning before Christmas my wife and I concluded to ride to Santa Fe about twenty miles away for breakfast. It was a stinging cold morning, and we had to go over a little mountain range on the way, but the roads were hard and smooth as a pavement, and we made the trip at a clipping gait, but were thoroughly chilled by the time we reached Santa Fe. There was no fire in our room and I went to the landlord, Alex McDowell and asked him to send us something to warm us up. In a few minutes a man came in with a tray and glasses and something he called Tom-and-Jerry and hoped we would like it. I think I never tasted anything so delicious, and I believe my wife appreciated it as much as I did, and the effect was marvelous. We were soon warm and comfortable, and by comparison with the experience of the past few days, it seemed a paradise indeed. This was my first acquaintance with Tom-and-Jerry, and while I became better acquainted with these gentlemen afterwards, we were never very cordial friends but I never met them under such favorable conditions as on the morning after that cold ride over the mountains. We did some shopping on the 24th and remained over Christmas at the hotel. The morning after Christmas we again started on our way to Fort Stanton. CHAPTER XI.