It was wonderful.
Arthur threw on airs accordingly.

He strutted about among the herdsmen, and entertained his servant, a Mexican boy about his own age, named Pedro, with a description of the fight, in which he had seen four fierce dogs completely demolished.
Pedro complimented him highly, and the Rancheros called him a brave lad--although Arthur himself failed to see what he had done that was deserving of praise.

He went to bed in excellent spirits, and was awakened in the morning, about daylight, by Pedro, who came into his room, carrying in his hand a double-barreled shot-gun, a tomahawk, and sheath-knife, and, under his arm, he held a hat, and a bundle wrapped up in a newspaper.

Pedro held his sombrero over his face, so that nothing could be seen but his eyes, which were brimful of laughter.
"Now, then," exclaimed Arthur, raising himself on his elbow, and looking fiercely at the boy, "what do you want in here at this barbarous hour, and what are you grinning at ?" "Why, sir--the bear, you know; it wasn't a bear after all," stammered Pedro, in reply.
"It wasn't! I say it was.

Didn't I see him with my own eyes, and hear him growl with my own ears?
Take that hat down from your face, and stop your laughing." Pedro obeyed.