For a fat man he moved with
extraordinary briskness, and so managed to do three things at one time
and do them all thoroughly; he washed and dressed the wound with the
herbs squeezed into a poultice, rescued the tortillas from scorching,
and spake his mind concerning the gringos who, he declared, were
despoiling this his native land. Then he lifted certain pots and
platters to the center of the hut and cheerfully announced supper; and
squatted on the floor, facing his guests over the food.
"There's another thing that bothers me, Manuel," Dade announced
humorously, when they three were seated around the pot of frijoles,
the earthen pan of smoking carne-seco (which is meat flavored hotly
after the Spanish style) and a stack of the tortillas Manuel's fat
hands had created while he talked.
Manuel, bending a tortilla into a scoop wherewith to help himself
to the brown beans, raised his black eyes anxiously. "But is there
further hurt?" he asked, and glanced wistfully at the tortilla before
laying it down that he might minister further to the senor.
"No--go on with your supper. There's a buckskin horse out there
that the gringos may say I stole. I don't want the beast; he's about
fourteen years old and he's got a Roman nose to beat Caesar himself,
and a bad eye and a wicked heart."
"Dios!" murmured Manuel over the list of equine shortcomings and took
a large, relieved bite of tortilla and beans.
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