"Cela! Zis, monsieur," holding out the skirt of his hunting-shirt; "par Dieu! now I have him--petticoes; ver short petticoes. Ah! you sall see vat you sall see en un fandango Mexicaine. "`Las ninas de Durango Commigo bailandas, Al cielo saltandas, En el fandango--en el fan-dang--o.' "Ah! here comes Monsieur Saint Vrain. Ecoutez! He never go to fandango. Sacre! how monsieur dance! like un maitre de ballet. Mais he be de sangre--blood Francais. Ecoutez! "`Al cielo saltandas, En el fandango--en el fan-dang--.'" "Ha! Gode!" "Monsieur?" "Trot over to the cantina, and beg, borrow, buy, or steal, a bottle of the best Paso." "Sall I try steal 'im, Monsieur Saint Vrain?" inquired Gode, with a knowing grin. "No, you old Canadian thief! Pay for it. There's the money. Best Paso, do you hear?--cool and sparkling. Now, voya! Bon jour, my bold rider of buffalo bulls I still abed, I see." "My head aches as if it would split." "Ha, ha, ha! so does mine; but Gode's gone for medicine. Hair of the dog good for the bite. Come, jump up!" "Wait till I get a dose of your medicine." "True; you will feel better then. I say, city life don't agree with us, eh?" "You call this a city, do you?" "Ay, so it is styled in these parts: `la ciudad de Santa Fe;' the famous city of Santa Fe; the capital of Nuevo Mexico; the metropolis of all prairiedom; the paradise of traders, trappers, and thieves!" "And this is the progress of three hundred years! Why, these people have hardly passed the first stages of civilisation." "Rather say they are passing the last stages of it. Here, on this fair oasis, you will find painting, poetry, dancing, theatres, and music, fetes and fireworks, with all the little amorous arts that characterise a nation's decline. You will meet with numerous Don Quixotes, _soi-disant_ knights-errant, Romeos without the heart, and ruffians without the courage. You will meet with many things before you encounter either virtue or honesty. Hola! muchacho!" "Que es, senor?" "Hay cafe?" "Si, senor." "Bring us a couple of tazas, then--dos tazas, do you hear? and quick-- aprisa! aprisa!" "Si, senor." "Ah! here comes le voyageur Canadien. So, old Nor'-west! you've brought the wine?" "Vin delicieux, Monsieur Saint Vrain! equal to ze vintage Francais." "He is right, Haller! Tsap--tsap! delicious you may say, good Gode. Tsap--tsap! Come, drink! it'll make you feel as strong as a buffalo. See! it seethes like a soda spring! like `Fontaine-qui-bouille'; eh, Gode?" "Oui, monsieur; ver like Fontaine-qui-bouille. Oui." "Drink, man, drink! Don't fear it: it's the pure juice. Smell the flavour; taste the bouquet. What wine the Yankees will one day squeeze out of these New Mexican grapes!" "Why? Do you think the Yankees have an eye to this quarter?" "Think! I know it; and why not? What use are these manikins in creation? Only to cumber the earth. Well, mozo, you have brought the coffee?" "Ya, esta, senor."