the bird; but in this he fails, for the fowl at the moment turns off abruptly, and so baulks the attempt. Another and another are equally unsuccessful, till the poor cock becoming exhausted is ultimately captured. Then comes the cruel part of the performance, for the effort of the successful rider is to take his prize back to the starting place that of the other competitors is to prevent him from accomplishing this task. If the possessor of the bird is mounted on the fastest horse, then the difficulty of his task is not great; but if, which is more frequently the case, his horse is outpaced by several of the others, a struggle takes place to deprive him of his reward, in which the unfortunate fowl is certain to be torn to pieces.

That the Mexicans are splendid horsemen cannot be denied. But their seat is entirely different from what we are accustomed to, for they ride with a very long stirrup, consequently with a straight leg, and with the body thrown forward. The cantle and tree of their saddle is very high, and the space separating them only sufficiently wide for the rider to get between them. The bit, again, is a terrible weapon, and is said to be sufficiently powerful to break a horse's jaw. Whether this is so or not, I have seen a horse, while galloping at his utmost speed, pulled up upon his haunches in an instant.

While Serge and I were watching with considerable interest all these performances, we perceived a stranger whose attire was neither American nor Mexican. His dress was English, with the exception of a few Mexican additions, such as a long scarlet scarf wrapped tightly

round his waist, while his head was protected from the sun by a wide sombrero. His complexion was very fair, and his manner was decidedly that of a gentleman. Several times he approached us as if with the intention of entering into conversation; then he withdrew as if doubtful how we would receive his advances. Whenever anything occurred that had struck him as worthy of admiration, he exclaimed, sotto voce, "By Jove," and stroked his downy moustache. At length, through the bustling of the crowd, we were forced together, when, taking off his hat, he said, "Pardon me, gentlemen. Countrymen, I believe-Englishmen."

"I am; but my friend is Russian," I answered.

"The same thing-the same thing exactly. My name is Philip Upton-I am delighted to make your acquaintance, I am so beastly lonely in this detestable country. I should go back to the city of Mexico, only I wish to see the country, and get to San Francisco, after which, if ever I set foot in this confounded land of cut-throats and robbers, I'll consent to be scalped."

The stranger's manner was so genuine, and his air so well bred, that we were both immediately prepossessed in his favour. As we walked back to the encampment, he enquired how we had got to Santa Fé. On being informed, he said "The very thing I wanted to do, -shoot buffaloes, fight Indians, &c.; but I was told that to cross the plains I must join some waggon train or other, drive one of the teams, clean my mules and harness, grease wheels, and all that kind of thing. Now, I did not mind the driving, but—by Jove—I could not bring myself to do the other things."

Serge here spoke: "Well, I have; but there was very little cleaning either of mules or harness, and as to greasing wheels, a piece of tobacco, or a glass of grog would always induce one of the other teamsters to do it."

"Ah! I see," said Upton. "Of course it would, by Jove. I never thought of that, but," turning to me "did you drive?"

"No; I was hunter."

"Hunter! the very thing I should have liked to be above all. Did you shoot many buffaloes, and had you any fights with the Red-skins?"

"Every day we killed some game, and the Indians were often so troublesome that we should have been very glad to have dispensed with their presence."

"By Jove, only to think that I might have done the same. What a fool I have been dawdling away my time; but you had some interest to get you such a berth?"

"No; simply hired myself for the trip at twenty-five dollars a-month."

Astonishment was visible on the face of our new acquaintance; but as we had reached the waggons, he did not express it.

"Where do you dine to-night?" he inquired, when we were bidding each other good-bye, adding, “I cannot offer you a wonderful feed, but it will not be bad of the kind. Will you do me the favour of having dinner with me? Seven o'clock punctually, and that is my Fonda opposite."

We accepted with pleasure, enjoyed a good dinner for

Santa Fé, and what was more wonderful, an abundance of excellent European wine; and the more we saw of our host, the more Serge and I liked him.

From that day commenced a friendship, which was destined to last through life.

L

CHAPTER XV.

PHILIP UPTON'S STORY.

SERGE had no difficulty in getting his discharge and settling with Bonté. It was not so with me, for Bonté had calculated on my assisting him in his accounts, as soon as trading commenced; however, I pointed out to him the wording of the agreement, which he acknowledged there was no misunderstanding. However, he said he would give me a hundred and twenty-five dollars a month if I would remain. I explained to him how impossible this would be, so he paid me my hire, gave me a shake of his hand, and wished me God speed.

Before dismissing Bonté, I must say I found him upright and honest, never expecting from others what he would not do himself; but if he came across a skulker, an eye-serving scoundrel, then woe betide the wretch.

No more was heard of the intended duel, which I rejoiced at; for the principals were both men too brave and true to fall by each other's hands.

Farewell, Bonté, may you ever prosper, was the wish of Serge and myself.

After our discharge, we took up our residence with Upton at the Fonda, and as his destination was the same as our own, we determined to commence our preparations at once, so as to make an early start.

Our new friend had brought from the City of Mexico two saddle horses, both well-bred, useful animals, one of