Part 43 (2/2)
”Tell her, Raowl, I've got no money, becase I have been rabbed, de ye see? but I'll give her ayther of these saints for the smallest thrifle of agwardent;” and he pulled the images out of his jacket as he spoke.
The woman, seeing these, bent forward with an exclamation; and, recognising the crucifix, with the images of the saint and Virgin, dropped upon her knees and kissed them devoutly, uttering some words in a language half Spanish, half Aztec.
Rising up, she looked kindly at Chane, exclaiming, ”_Bueno Catolico_!”
She then tossed the rebozo over her left shoulder, and hurried off across the yard.
”De yez think, Raowl, she's gone after the licker?”
”I am sure of it,” answered the Frenchman.
In a few minutes the woman returned, and, drawing a small flask out of the folds of her rebozo, handed it to Chane.
The Irishman commenced undoing the string that carried his ”relics.”
”Which ov them de yez want, misthress?--the saint, or the Howly Mother, or both?--it's all the same to Murtagh.”
The woman, observing what he was after, rushed forward, and, placing her hands upon his, said in a kind tone:
”_No, Senor. Su proteccion necesita usted_.”
”Phwhat diz she say, Raowl?”
”She says, keep them; you will need their protection yourself.”
”Och, be me sowl! she's not far asthray there. I need it bad enough now, an' a hape ov good they're likely to do me. They've hung there for tin years--both of thim; and this nate little flask's the first raal binifit I iver resaved from ayther of them. Thry it, Captin. It'll do yez good.”
I took the bottle and drank. It was the _chingarito_--a bad species of _aguardiente_ from the wild aloe--and hot as fire. A mouthful sufficed.
I handed the flask to Clayley, who drank more freely. Raoul followed suit, and the bottle came back to the Irishman.
”Your hilth, darlint!” said he, nodding to the Mexican woman. ”May yez live till _I_ wish ye dead!”
The woman smiled, and repeated, ”_No entiende_.”
”Och! nivir mind the tin days--we won't quarrel about that. Ye're a swate crayteur,” continued he, winking at the woman; ”but sure yer petticoats is mighty short, an' yez want a pair of stockin's bad, too; but nivir mind--yez stand well upon thim illigant ankles--'dade ye do; and yez have a purty little futt into the bargain.”
”_Que dice_?” (What does he say?) asked the Mexican, speaking to Raoul.
”He is complimenting you on the smallness of your feet,” answered the Frenchman.
The woman was evidently pleased, and commenced cramping up what was in fact a very small foot into its faded satin slipper.
”Tell me, my dear,” continued Chane, ”are yez married?”
”_Que dice_?” again asked the woman.
”He wants to know if you are married.”
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