Free The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid Page A

Women in rebozos and coloured skirts walked to and fro among the men.
    The women carried jars filled with water. They knelt before smooth stones, and kneaded tortillas. They stirred chile and chocolate in earthen ollas. They cooked frijoles in flat pans; and amidst all these occupations they joked and laughed and chatted with the men.
    Several men-officers, from their style of dress-came out of the portale, and, after delivering orders to the guerilleros on guard, returned to the house.
    Packages of what appeared to be merchandise lay in one corner of the court. Around this were groups of arrieros, in their red leathern garments, securing their charge for the night, and laying out theiralparejas in long rows by the wall.
    Over the opposite roofs-for our position was elevated-we could see the bright fields and forest, and far beyond, the Cofre de Perote and the undulating outlines of the Andes. Above all, the white-robed peak of Orizava rose up against the heavens like a pyramid of spotless snow.
    The sun had gone down behind the mountains, but his rays still rested upon Orizava, bathing its cone with a yellow light, like a mantle of burnished gold. Clouds of red and white and purple hung like a glory upon his track, and, descending, rested upon the lower summits of the Cordillera. The peak of the "Burning Star" alone appeared above the clouds, towering in sublime and solitary grandeur.
    There was a picturesque loveliness about the scene-an idea of sublimity-that caused me for the moment to forget where I was or that I was a captive. My dream was dispelled by the harsh voice of Jose, who at that moment came up with a couple of peons, carrying a large earthen dish that contained our supper.
    This consisted of black beans, with half a dozen tortillas; but as we were all half-famished we did not offer any criticism on the quality of the viands. The dish was placed in our midst, and our arms were untied for the first time since our capture. There were neither knives, forks, nor spoons; but Raoul showed us the Mexican fashion of "eating our spoons", and, twisting up the tortillas, we scooped and swallowed "right ahead."
    * * *
    Night fell, and the blazing fagots threw their glare over the patio, striking upon objects picturesque at all times, but doubly so under the red light of the pine fires. The grouping of guerilleros-their broad, heavy hats, many of them plumed-their long black hair and pointed beards-their dark, flashing eyes-their teeth, fierce and white-the half-savage expression of their features-their costumes, high-coloured and wild-like-all combined in impressing us with strange feelings.
    The mules, the mustangs, the dogs, the peons, the slippered wenches, with their coarse trailing tresses, the low roofs, the iron-barred windows, the orange-trees by the fountain, the palms hanging over the wall, the glistening cocuyos, were all strange sights to us.
    The sounds that rang in our ears were not more familiar. Even the voices of the men, unlike the Saxon, sounded wild and sharp. It was the Spanish language, spoken in thepatois of the Aztec Indians. In this the guerilleros chatted, and sang, and swore. There was a medley of other sounds, not less strange to our ears, as the dogs howled and barked their bloodhound notes-as the mustangs neighed or the mules whinnied-as the heavy sabre clanked or the huge spur tinkled its tiny bells-as the poblanas (peasant-women), sitting by some group, touched the strings of their bandolons, and chanted their half-Indian songs.
    By a blazing pile, close to where we sat, a party of guerilleros, with their women, were dancing thetagarota , a species of fandango.
    Two men, seated upon raw-hide stools, strummed away upon a pair of bandolons, while a third pinched and pulled at the strings of an old guitar-all three aiding the music with their shrill, disagreeable voices.
    The dancers formed the figure of a parallelogram, each standing opposite his partner, or rather moving, for they were never