Also, no immediate harm resulted from the rage of the two caballeros,
although not even the most partial judge could give the credit to
Teresita's "olive branch." Chance herself stepped in, and sent a
heavy, dead branch crashing down from a swaying oak upon the head
and right shoulder of Jose, while he was riding into his own patio.
Whereupon Jose, who had been promising himself vengefully that he
would send Manuel immediately with a challenge to the gringo who had
dared lift eyes to the Senorita Teresa Picardo, instantly forgot both
his love and his hate in the oblivion that held him until nightfall.
After that his stiffened muscles and the gash in his scalp gave him
time for meditation; and meditation counseled patience. The gringo
would doubtless go to the rodeo, and he would meet him there without
the spectacular flavor of a formal challenge. For Jose was a decent
sort of a fellow and had no desire to cheapen his passion or cause
the senorita the pain of public gossip. It was that same quality of
dignity in his love that had restrained him from seeking a deliberate
quarrel with Jack before now; and though he fumed inwardly while his
outer hurts healed, he resolved to wait. The rodeo would give him his
chance.
Because it is not in the nature of the normal human to keep his soul
always under the lock and key of utter silence, a little of his
hate and a little of his hope seeped into the ears of Manuel, whose
poultices of herbs were doing their work upon the bruised muscles of
Jose's shoulder, and whose epithets against the two gringos who were
responsible for his exile from the Picardo hacienda had the peculiar
flavor of absolute sincerity.
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