"From Boston, I suppose?"

The man guffawed. "Boston ought to hear that. She'd faint. No, young
'un, I'm not from no such high-toned place as Boston. I'm a Yank though,
and no mistake. Vermont."

"Is that in America?"

"In Meriky? Something's wrong with your geography, young man. It's one
of the U. S. and no slouch, neither."

He spoke in a curious mixture of English and of Spanish that he adapted
as freely as he did his native tongue. The boys stared at him,
fascinated. They thought him the most picturesque person they had ever
met.

"When did you come?" asked Roldan.

"I'll answer any more questions you've got when I've got this yere
rabbit inside of me. P'r'aps as you've been hungry you know that it
doesn't make the tongue ambitious that way. I'll have a pipe while it's
cookin'."

He was shortly invisible under a rolling grey cloud. The tobacco was the
rank stuff used by the Indians. The boys wanted to cough, but would have
choked rather than be impolite, and finally stole out with a muttered
remark about the scenery.

When they returned their host had eaten his breakfast and smoked his