It was quite clear that he had completely forgotten me, but it was as clear that I had no intention of taking up my quarters for the night in the forest.
"Halloo! Señor Don Calros," I shouted after him, "you have left me behind."
"Pardon me, Señor Cavalier," cried he, pulling up; "but there are times when I am hardly master of myself."
"I am convinced of that," I said; "and it is certainly no indiscretion in you to forget a stranger whom you met by the merest chance."
"In my country the stranger is at home every where; but you shall not have my hospitality for nothing, for you must pay me either by doing me a particular piece of service, or assisting me with your advice."
"With pleasure," I answered, "if it is in my power."
The dwelling of the Jarocho, called a jacal, was situated at the other end of the village. A small inclosure, in which a few goats were penned, was attached to it. The cabin was divided into three apartments by reed partitions. In one of these, the mother of the Jarocho was preparing the evening meal over a fire whose reddish glow lighted up the whole jacal. The repast consisted of rice boiled in milk, fried bananas, and red haricots from the Tierra Caliente, which enjoy a proverbial celebrity in Mexico. When supper was ended the old woman left the room, wishing me a pleasant sleep.
The distant thrumming of guitars apprised us that the company we had left were still keeping up their merriment. The voice of the Jarocho awoke me from the reverie in which I had been indulging.
