“A mile out of camp one of the pack mules, becoming stubborn, broke away from the train and plunged from the path into the thicket.  The alert Kearny spurred quickly after it and intercepted its flight.  Rising in his stirrups, he released one foot and bestowed upon the mutinous animal a hearty kick.  The mule tottered and fell with a crash broadside upon the ground.  As we gathered around it, it walled its great eyes almost humanly towards Kearny and expired.  That was bad; but worse, to our minds, was the concomitant disaster.  Part of the mule’s burden had been one hundred pounds of the finest coffee to be had in the tropics.  The bag burst and spilled the priceless brown mass of the ground berries among the dense vines and weeds of the swampy land. Mala suerte! When you take away from an Esperandan his coffee, you abstract his patriotism and 50 per cent. of his value as a soldier.  The men began to rake up the precious stuff; but I beckoned Kearny back along the trail where they would not hear.  The limit had been reached.

“I took from my pocket a wallet of money and drew out some bills.

“‘Mr. Kearny,’ said I, ’here are some funds belonging to Don Rafael Valdevia, which I am expending in his cause.  I know of no better service it can buy for him than this.  Here is one hundred dollars.  Luck or no luck, we part company here.  Star or no star, calamity seems to travel by your side.  You will return to the steamer.  She touches at Amotapa to discharge her lumber and iron, and then puts back to New Orleans.  Hand this note to the sailing-master, who will give you passage.’  I wrote on a leaf torn from my book, and placed it and the money in Kearny’s hand.

“‘Good-bye,’ I said, extending my own.  ’It is not that I am displeased with you; but there is no place in this expedition for—­let us say, the Senorita Phoebe.’  I said this with a smile, trying to smooth the thing for him.  ’May you have better luck, companero.’

“Kearny took the money and the paper.

“‘It was just a little touch,’ said he, ’just a little lift with the toe of my boot—­but what’s the odds?—­that blamed mule would have died if I had only dusted his ribs with a powder puff.  It was my luck.  Well, Captain, I would have liked to be in that little fight with you over in Aguas Frias.  Success to the cause. Adios!’

“He turned around and set off down the trail without looking back.  The unfortunate mule’s pack-saddle was transferred to Kearny’s pony, and we again took up the march.

“Four days we journeyed over the foot-hills and mountains, fording icy torrents, winding around the crumbling brows of ragged peaks, creeping along the rocky flanges that overlooked awful precipices, crawling breathlessly over tottering bridges that crossed bottomless chasms.

“On the evening of the seventeenth we camped by a little stream on the bare hills five miles from Aguas Frias.  At daybreak we were to take up the march again.