particularly punctilious, ticklish disposition, and that we might come
badly out of this business if we happened to displease them.

"I cannot see reason in that, Señor," says Dawson; "for the less we
please 'em, the sooner they are likely to send us hence, and so the
better for us."

"As you please," replies the Don, "but my warning is to your advantage."

Down we go, and there stands Don Lopez with a dozen choice friends, all
the raggedest, dirty villains in the world; and they saluting us, we
return their civility with a very fair pretence and take the seats
offered us--they standing until we are set. Then they sit down, and each
man lugs out a knife from his waist-cloth. The cauldron, filled with a
mess of kid stewed in a multitude of onions, is fetched from the fire,
and, being set upon a smooth board, is slid down the table to our host,
who, after picking out some titbits for us, serves himself, and so
slides it back, each man in turn picking out a morsel on the end of his
knife. Bearing in mind Don Sanchez's warning, we do our best to eat of
this dish; but, Heaven knows! with little relish, and mighty glad when
the cauldron is empty and that part of the performance ended. Then the
bones being swept from the table, a huge skin of wine is set before Don
Lopez, and he serves us each with about a quart in an odd-shaped vessel
with a spout, which Don Sanchez and his countrymen use by holding it
above their heads and letting the wine spurt into their mouths; but we,
being unused to this fashion, preferred rather to suck it out of the
spout, which seemed to them as odd a mode as theirs was to us. However,
better wine, drink it how you may, there is none than the wine of these
parts, and this reconciling us considerably to our condition, we
listened with content to their singing of ditties, which they did very