A woman, all
personality hidden beneath flapping calico and slat sunbonnet, climbed
hastily down upon the farther side of the wagon and disappeared
into the little tent that was simply the wagon-box with its canvas
covering, placed upon the ground.
"Valencia told me truly. Senor Hunter, will you speak for me? Tell the
big hombre that the land is mine."
To do his bidding, Dade flicked the reins upon Surry's neck and rode
ahead, the others closely following. Thirty feet from the wagon
a great dog of the color called brindle disputed his advance with
bristling hair and throaty grumble.
"Lay down, Tige! Wait till you're asked to take a holt," advised
the man on the wagon, regarding the group with an air of perfect
neutrality. Tige obeying sullenly, to the extent that he crouched
where he was and still growled; his master rested his elbows on his
great, bony knees, sucked at a short-stemmed clay pipe and waited
developments.
"How d'yuh do?" Dade, holding Surry as close to the belligerent Tige
as was wise, tried to make his greeting as neutral as the attitude of
the other.
"Tol'ble, thank yuh, how's y'self? Shet your trap, Tige! Tige thought
you was all greasers, and he ain't made up his mind yet whether he
likes 'em mixed--whites and greasers. I dunno's I blame 'im, either.
We ain't either of us had much call to hanker after the dark meat.
T'other day a bunch come boilin' up outa the dim distance like they
was sent fur and didn't have much time to git here.
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