We informed our _alguazils_ that we had mules
coming, and wanted _sacate_ for them. To which they responded,--
_"No hay."_ (There is none.)
"Then let us have some maize."
_"Tampoco."_
"What! no maize? What do you make your _tortillas_ of?"
"We have no _tortillas_."
"How, then, do you live?"
"We don't live."
"But we must have something for our animals; they can't be allowed to
starve."
To which our _alguazil_ made no reply, but looked at us vacantly.
"Do you hear? we _must_ have some _sacate_ or some maize for the
animals."
Still no reply,--only the same vacuous look,--now more stolid, if
possible, than before.
I had observed that the _Teniente's_ wrath was rising, and that an
explosion was imminent. But I must confess that I was not a little
startled, when, drawing his bowie-knife from his belt, he strode
slowly up to our impassible friend, and, firmly grasping his right
ear, applied the cold edge of the steel close to his head. The
supplementary _alguazil_ and the rabble of children took to their
heels in affright, followed by the dogs, who seemed to sympathize in
their alarm. But, beyond a slight wincing downwards, and a partial
contraction of his eyes and lips, the object of the _Teniente's_
wrath made no movement, nor uttered a word of expostulation.
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