But in a moment Hill sat up. He wiped his eyes, and with some difficulty
controlled his voice.
"No, I ain't ill, young 'uns," he said. "But them Indians 'ud be pretty
sick if they knowed what they run from. That there object cavortin'
round that there bonfire is old Sanchez, and he's drunk. Oh, Lord!" And
once more Hill gave way to mirth.
"He did more good than harm to get drunk this time," said Roldan,
smiling sympathetically.
"You're right, Rolly. You've got a long head. If old Sanchez had set
down to supper sober to-night, there'd be a war-dance round another
bonfire this minute, and his scalp 'ud be bobbin' bravely. I don't
approve of liquor," he added cautiously, remembering the young ideas
shooting before him. "I only said that there be exceptions to all rules,
and this is one of them."
"I understand," said Roldan, drily. "I am not thinking of following the
Senor Sanchez' example. But do you suppose that was really what
frightened the Indians?"
"Just. Well, I guess! They've probably got some idee of the devil, and
they thought that was him, sure 's fate."
He sprang to his feet, ran forward, caught the bacchanalian about the
shoulders, and rushed him in the direction of the dimly-looming house,
throwing one of his own long legs into the air every now and again.
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