"Only for the silver trimmings, you looked like a band of warlike Injuns
coming down on us with the sun at your back," laughed Dade, as Jose
swung down near him. "They're riders--the Indians back there on the
plains; and when they pop over a ridge and come down on you like a tidal
wave, your backbone squirms a little in spite of you. The way your
vaqueros parted and galloped around our camp was a pretty good imitation
of their preliminary flourishes."
"Still, I do not come in war," Jose returned, and looked full at the
other. "I hope that we shall have peace, Senor Hunter; though one day I
shall meet that friend of yours in war, if the saints permit. And may
the day come soon."
"Whatever quarrel you may have with Jack, I hope it will not hinder us
from working together without bad feeling between us." Dade threw away
his cigarette and took a step nearer, so that the vaqueros could not
hear.
"Don Jose, I know you don't like a gringo major domo to lead Don Andres'
vaqueros on rodeo. I don't blame you Californians for being prejudiced
against Americans, because you've been treated pretty shabbily by a
certain class of them. But you're not so narrow you can't see that we're
not all alike. I'd like to be friends, if you will, but I'm not going to
apologize for being a gringo, nor for being here in charge of this camp.
I didn't choose my nationality, and I didn't ask for my job.
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