"In the mountains," said the wayfarer, "they call me Gringo.

"No," said the wayfarer; "it is not to be.

"It sounds cold and empty," said the wayfarer to himself, "like my reception, and perhaps my hopes."

"'Lowed you'd rec'lect me, Gineral," said the wayfarer tranquilly, while producing the paper from the pocket of his coat.