" If his
tone were patronizing, Jose perhaps had some excuse, since Fame had not
altogether passed him by with face averted.
"Part of the way he came, and turned back. The vaqueros do not know why,
except Valencia. And Valencia--he is growing a gringo heart, like the
patron. He will speak nothing but boasts of what that blue-eyed one can
do. Me, I came near fighting with Valencia; only he would not do
anything but smile foolishly, when I told him what I think of traitors
like himself."
"Let him smile," advised Jose, "while he may." Which was not a threat,
in spite of its resemblance to one, but rather a vague reference to the
specter of trouble that stalks all men as a fox stalks a quail, and
might some day wipe that broad smile from the face of Valencia, as it
had swept all the gladness from his own.
He went back and smoked a final cigarette in Dade's company; and if he
said little, his silences held no hint of antagonism. It was not until
Dade rose to return to camp for the night that Jose put the question
that had tickled the tongue of him ever since the arrival on his ranch
of the Picardo vaqueros.
"Your friend, the Senor Allen--he is to join you later, perhaps?"
"Jack was left to look after the ranch." Dade's eyes were level in
their glance, his voice quiet with the convincing ring of truth. "He
won't be on rodeo at all."
Jose went paler than he had been two weeks before with his hurt, but a
simple word of polite surprise held all his answer.
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