The race now assumed another phrase:  it was for safety on the one side, and revenge on the other.

On came the boys, Ned in the lead, on his pony, and Hal bringing up the rear on foot; behind them, the ox, whose bellowing each moment grew louder and more furious.  Suddenly, Hal disappeared behind a clump of mesquite; but the ox kept on in his efforts to overtake Ned, whose pony was straining every nerve to reach the wagons in advance of his pursuer.

When the animal came within rifle-range, Jerry quietly stepped out and shot him through the head.  Ned rode up breathless, upon his panting pony, and said to one of the Mexicans,—­

“Say, Juan, how do you throw a lasso?  I thought I knew all about it; but I reckon I don’t.”

Hal soon came in, his hands full of thorns, his eyes full of dust, and his clothes much the worse for his encounter with the ground, protesting, however, that, if his pony hadn’t stumbled, he should have had the old fellow, sure.

“But your pony did stumble, and you didn’t get him; nor I, either,” remarked Ned.  “And I don’t think you and I had better brag any more about lassoing until you can catch your pony down there in the chaparral;” and Hal went for his pony.

The evening of the third day from the pass brought us to the head of Quercos canon, where we came upon a party of Mexicans and Papago Indians, engaged in manufacturing mescal, the native whiskey of the country.

This beverage is made from the roots of the maguey, a plant common to this region.  The roots are bulbous, and are gathered in large quantities, and thrown into pits containing red-hot stones.

These being filled, they are covered with grass or brush, over which blankets are spread.  The roots are allowed to remain until thoroughly steamed, when they are taken out, placed in sacks of rawhide and crushed, the juice escaping into earthen vessels.  It is afterwards fermented in the sun, when it becomes an intoxicating liquor, very closely resembling Irish whiskey in taste, smell, and effect upon the brain.

Patsey enjoyed its pungent, smoky aroma, with the keenest pleasure, and, after several times tasting it, pronounced it quite “aquil to the bist rale ould Irish whiskey,” an opinion that we all endorsed after witnessing his condition a few hours later.

While encamped here, Ned came to me and reminded me of my promise to Patsey; saying, that one of the Mexicans had a splendid suit of buckskin, that he would dispose of very cheap.  I traded for it, and Ned arrayed Patsey in it.  Never did king, clothed in robes of royal purple, exhibit greater pride than did Patsey in his buckskin suit.  But, alas! pride must have a fall; and, within a very few hours, I saw him sitting on the ground, clothed in his new suit, and protesting with maudlin earnestness that he was the “veritable Bryan O’Linn himsilf.”

Three days later, we reached the old Mission of San Xavier del Bac, one of the most interesting relics of the ancient Spanish rule, to be found in this country.