He established a camp just within the northern boundary of his land;
and there he stationed his most efficient watch-dog, Manuel Sepulveda,
with two vaqueros whose business it was to stop the depredations.
Meat for all who asked for meat, paid they in gold or in
gratitude--that was their "patron's" order. But they must ask. And
the vaqueros rode diligently from bay to mountain slopes, and each day
their hatred of the Americanos grew deeper, as they watched over the
herds of their loved patron, that the gringos might not steal that
which they might, if they were not wolves, have for the asking.
The firelight in the tule-thatched hut of Manuel Sepulveda winked
facetiously at the black fog that peered in at the open door. A night
wind from the north crept up, parted the fog like a black curtain and
whispered something which set the flames a-dancing as they listened.
The fog swung back jealously to hear what it was, and the wind went
away to whisper its wonder-tale to the trees that rustled astonishment
and nodded afterward to one another in approval, like the arrant
gossips they were. The chill curtain fell straight and heavy again
before the door, so that the firelight shone dimly through its folds;
but not before Dade, riding at random save for the trust he put in the
sure homing instinct of his horse, caught the brief gleam of light and
sighed thankfully.
"We'll stop with old Manuel to-night," he announced cheerfully.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70