"It is true. Look at them this minute! See how they gloat upon that chubby little fellow, who seems instinctively to fear them. Lucky for the urchin it's broad daylight, or he might get chucked under one of those striped blankets." "Are you in earnest, Saint Vrain?" "By my word, I am not jesting! If I mistake not, Gode's experience will confirm what I have said. Eh, voyageur?" "C'est vrai, monsieur. I vas prisonnier in le nation; not Navagh, but l'Apache--moch de same--pour tree mons. I have les sauvages seen manger--eat--one--deux--tree--tree enfants rotis, like hump rib of de buffles. C'est vrai, messieurs, c'est vrai." "It is quite true; both Apaches and Navajoes carry off children from the valley, here, in their grand forays; and it is said by those who should know, that most of them are used in that way. Whether as a sacrifice to the fiery god Quetzalcoatl, or whether from a fondness lor human flesh, no one has yet been able to determine. In fact, with all their propinquity to this place, there is little known about them. Few who have visited their towns have had Gode's luck to get away again. No man of these parts ever ventures across the western Sierras." "And how came you, Monsieur Gode, to save your scalp?" "Pourquoi, monsieur, je n'ai pas. I not haves scalp-lock: vat de trappare Yankee call `har,' mon scalp-lock is fabrique of von barbier de Saint Louis. Voila monsieur!" So saying, the Canadian lifted his cap, and along with it what I had, up to this time, looked upon as a beautiful curling head of hair, but which now proved to be only a wig! "Now, messieurs!" cried he, in good humour, "how les sauvages my scalp take? Indien no have cash hold. Sacr-r-r!" Saint Vrain and I were unable to restrain our laughter at the altered and comical appearance of the Canadian. "Come, Gode! the least you can do after that is to take a drink. Here, help yourself!" "Tres-oblige, Monsieur Saint Vrain. Je vous remercie." And the ever-thirsty voyageur quaffed off the nectar of El Paso, like so much fresh milk. "Come, Haller! we must to the waggons. Business first, then pleasure; such as we may find here among these brick stacks. But we'll have some fun in Chihuahua." "And you think we shall go there?" "Certainly. They do not want the fourth part of our stuff here. We must carry it on to the head market. To the camp! Allons!" CHAPTER SEVEN. THE FANDANGO. In the evening I sat in my room waiting for Saint Vrain. His voice reached me from without-- "`Las ninas de Durango Commigo bailandas, Al cielo--!' "Ha! Are you ready, my bold rider?" "Not quite. Sit down a minute and wait." "Hurry, then! the dancing's begun. I have just come that way. What! that your ball-dress? Ha! ha! ha!" screamed Saint Vrain, seeing me unpack a blue coat and a pair of dark pantaloons, in a tolerable state of preservation. "Why, yes," replied I, looking up; "what fault do you find? But is that your ball-dress?"