"Let it go," he urged. "Don Jose holds the medal, and he's entitled to
the glory. We must keep peace, Valencia, or else I must leave the rodeo.
Personal quarrels must wait."
"Si, Senor, personal quarrels must wait," assented Jose, again coming up
unexpectedly behind them. "I but wish to say that I regret the bad
manners of those caballeros, whose best excuse is that they are my
friends. I hope the senor does not accuse me of spreading the news of
the senor's boast. There are others, as the senor well knows, who heard
it before even it came to my ears."
"It doesn't matter," Dade repeated. "They'll have their joke, and I
don't blame them for putting the joke on a stranger, especially when
he's a gringo--and absent."
"The senor is wise as he is loyal," stated Jose and bowed himself into
the shadows. "Buenos noches, Senor."
"Good-night," answered Dade, speaking English to show he was not ashamed
of it; and rolled himself in his blankets as a deliberate hint to
Valencia that he did not want to discuss the incident, much to that
one's disappointment.
It is to be feared that Valencia did not share in Dade's determination
to keep the peace; for, before he slept, he promised himself that he
would yet tell that pig-faced vaquero from Las Uvas what he thought of
him. But outwardly the incident was closed, and closed permanently.
The sun was not risen above the mountains before they were hurriedly
drinking their black coffee, and making ready to break camp; the flurry
of emotions seemed to have died with the evening fire.
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