He
went straight to the heart of his subject and as a precaution against
eavesdropping he put his meaning into the best English he knew.
"Jose, she's dam-mad on Senor Jack," he began eagerly. "She's hear talk
lak she's no good vaquero. Me, I hear San Vincente vaqueros talk, and
Manuel she's hear also and run queeck for tella Jose. Jose she's lak for
keela Senor Jack. Manuel, she's ride lak hell for say Jose, she lak for
fight Senor Jack. Me, I theenk Senor Jack keela Jose pretty dam-queeck!"
Dade had come to know Valencia very well; he turned now and eyed him
with some suspicion.
"Are you sure?" he asked, in the tone that demanded a truthful answer.
He had seen Manuel ride away in the white light of the moon, and he had
wondered a little and then had forgotten all about it in the spell of
utter loneliness which the moon brings to those who are cheated by Fate
from holding what they most desire.
"Sure, me." Valencia's tone was convincingly positive. "Manuel, she's go
lak hell for tella Senor Jack, Jose, she's lak for fight duelo. Sure.
That's right."
Dade swung back and stared moodily at the moon-painted pool where the
trout, deceived by the brightness into thinking it was day, started
widening ripple-rings here and there, where they flicked the surface
with slaty noses; and the wavering rings were gold-tipped until they
slid into the shadows and were lost. Dade watched three rings start in
the center and ripple the whole pool.
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