"As for you, it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to mind your own
business," Jack retorted bluntly. "The senorita doesn't need any
interpreter. The senorita is perfectly well-qualified to speak for
herself. She knows--"
"The senorita knows whom she can trust--and it is not a low dog of
a gringo, who would be rotting now with a neck stretched by the
hangman's rope, if he had but received his deserts; murderer of five
men in one day, men of his own race at that! Gambler! loafer--"
At the press of silver rowels against his sides, Surry lunged forward.
But Teresita's horse sidled suddenly between the two men.
"Senor Jack, we will go now, if this wicked caballo of mine will
consent to do his running towards home. Thank you, Jose, for stopping
him for me; truly, I think he was minded to carry me to Santa Clara,
whether I wished to go or not! But doubtless Senor Jack would have
overtaken him soon. Adios, Jose. Gracias, amigo mio!" Having put her
hair into some sort of confinement, she picked up her reins and smiled
at Jose and then at Jack in a way to tie the tongues of them both;
though their brows were black with the hatred which must, if they met
again, bear fruit of violence.
Fifty yards away, Teresita looked back and waved a hand at the gay
horseman who still stood fair across the highway and stared blankly
after them.
"Poor Jose!" she murmured mischievously. "Very puzzled and unhappy he
looks.
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