bage with Spanish cards, so much affected by the red sons of the burning desert. The banter was accepted, down went both parties on their bellies in the dirt, a ring of admiring spectators was formed, and the game commenced. My chief lost, and in an instant loud jeers arose on all sides; they resemble "Melican man" astonishingly, and have no sympathy for the man who gets cleaned out. Without a word, and with a face as impassive and devoid of expression of any kind as a side of sole-leather, the grim old warrior arose and walked to the spot where the buro was tied. Taking the cord in his hand, he solemnly lead the diminutive animal to his new owner and formally delivered him. Thus much for his word, but now for revenge for insulted dignity. As the winner stretched out his hand and took the rope, the loser, quick as lightning, drew a long, sharp knife, and at one blow cut through the buro's neck, and dropped him in his tracks, "as dead as Kelsey's hen," then turned away in gloomy silence and sought his first and ugliest wife, doubtless with the intention of giving her a good drubbing on general principles.
I had at that moment a fragmentary suit of clothes in which I had just crossed the desert. The shirt was of many colors—mostly of earthen hue—and the collar was as stiff with sweat and dust as a piece of sheet-iron. The drawers had once been of woollen goods, and had a seat to them, but from contact with the saddle and the great heat of the atmosphere, had done their work, and there was a frightful vacancy where the seat had been. The socks were pretty
