The senor was pleased
to jest with a poor vaquero, but the senor would doubtless explain. He
chewed luxuriously and waited, his black eyes darting from this face
which he knew and liked, to that strange one of the blue eyes and the
hair that was like the dullest of dull California gold.
"I don't like that caballo," went on Dade, helping himself to meat,
"and so I'd hate like the deuce to be hung for stealing him; sabe?"
Manuel licked a finger before he spread his hands to show how
completely he failed to understand. "But if the caballo does not
please the senor, why then did the senor steal--"
"You see, I wanted to bring my partner--Senor Jack Allen--down here
with me. And he was riding the caballo, and he couldn't get off--"
Manuel swore a Spanish oath politely, to please his guest who wished
to amaze him.
"Because he was tied on." Dade failed just there to keep a betraying
hardness out of his voice. "The Viligantes were--going to--hang him."
The last two words were cut short off with the click of his jaws
coming together.
Manuel thereupon swore more sincerely and spilled beans from his
tortilla scoop. He knew the ways of the Committee. Four months
ago--when the Committee was newer and more just--they had hanged the
third cousin of his half-sister's husband. It is true, the man had
killed a woman with a knife; yet Manuel's black beard bristled when he
thought of the affront to his hypothetical kinship.
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