With just two bullets left in the pistol and with no powder
upon his person for further reloading, he could not share Jack's
eagerness to meet the Committee again. When Surry gave over rolling
with his tongue the little wheel in his bit, and with lifted head
and eyes alert perked his ears forward towards the hill they had just
crossed, he slipped the hackamore hurriedly into place and turned to
his friend.
"You climb on to Surry, and we'll pull out," he said shortly. "I
wouldn't give two pesos for this buckskin, but we're going to add
horse-stealing to our other crimes; and while it's all right to damn
the Committee, it's just as well to do it at a distance, just now, old
man."
The caution fell flat, for Jack was wholly absorbed by the pain in
his feet and ankles, as the blood was being forced into the congested
veins. Dade led the white horse close, to save him the discomfort
of hobbling to it, and waited until Jack was in the saddle before
he vaulted upon the tricky-eyed buckskin. He led the way down into a
shallow depression which wound aimlessly towards the ocean; and later,
when trees and bushes and precipitous bluffs threatened to bar their
way, he swung abruptly to the east and south.
"Maybe you won't object so hard to Palo Alto now," he bantered at
last, when at dusk he ventured out upon "El Camino Real" (which is
pure Spanish for "The King's Highway"), that had linked Mission to
Mission all down the fertile length of California when the land was
wilderness.
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