In truth, your worship, this is a fine horse, I must look at his teeth.” I looked at the corporal—his nose and eyes were in the horse’s mouth: the rest of the party, who might amount to six or seven, were not less busily engaged. One was examining his forefeet, another his hind; one fellow was pulling at his tail with all his might, while another pinched the windpipe, for the purpose of discovering whether the animal was at all touched there. At last perceiving that the corporal was about to remove the saddle that he might examine the back of the animal, I exclaimed:— “Stay, ye chabés of Egypt, ye forget that ye are hundunares, and are no longer paruguing grastes in the chardy.” The corporal at these words turned his face full upon me, and so did all the rest. Yes, sure enough, there were the countenances of Egypt, and the fixed filmy stare of eye. We continued looking at each other for a minute at least, when the corporal, a villainous-looking fellow, at last said, in the richest gypsy whine imaginable, “the erray know us, the poor Caloré! And he an Englishman! Bullati! I should not have thought that there was e’er a Busno would know us in these parts, where Gitanos are never seen. Yes, your worship is right; we are all here of the blood of the Caloré; we are from Melegrana (Granada), your worship; they took us from thence and sent us to the wars. Your worship is right, the sight of that horse made us believe we were at home again in the mercado of Granada; he is a countryman of ours, a real Andalou. Por dios, your worship, sell us that horse; we are poor Caloré, but we can buy him.” “You forget that you are soldiers,” said I. “How should you buy my horse?” “We are soldiers, your worship,” said the corporal, “but we are still Caloré; we buy and sell bestis; the captain of our troop is in league with us. We have been to the wars, but not to fight; we left that to the Busné. We have kept together, and like true Caloré, have stood back to back. We have made money in the wars, your worship. _No tenga usted cuidao_ (be under no apprehension). We can buy your horse.” Here he pulled out a purse, which contained at least ten ounces of gold. “If I were willing to sell,” I replied, “what would you give me for that horse?” “Then your worship wishes to sell your horse—that alters the matter. We will give ten dollars for your worship’s horse. He is good for nothing.” “How is this?” said I. “You this moment told me he was a fine horse—an Andalusian, and a countryman of yours.” “No, Señor! we did not say that he was an Andalou. We said he was an Estremou, and the worst of his kind. He is eighteen years old, your worship, short-winded and galled.” “I do not wish to sell my horse,” said I; “quite the contrary; I had rather buy than sell.” “Your worship does not wish to sell your horse,” said the Gypsy. “Stay, your worship, we will give sixty dollars for your worship’s horse.”