"Tell Jack he must go to
town right away, because--well, tell him Bill Wilson--"
Valencia's face had been lengthening comically, but hope began to live
again in his eyes. "If the senor would write what he wishes to say while
I am making ready for the start, he will then have more time to think of
what is best. The moon will ride clear to-night; and the sun will find
me at the rancho, Senor. Me, I have ridden Noches one hundred miles
without rest, before now; these sixty will be play for us both."
"Gracias, Valencia." Dade dropped a hand gratefully upon the shoulder of
the other. "I'll write a note, but you must do your part also. You know
your people, and I know Jack; if those two fight, the trouble will
spread like fire in the grass; for Don Jose has many friends to take up
the quarrel. You've had a long day in the saddle, amigo, and the sixty
miles will not be play. I would not ask it if the need were less
urgent--but you must beat Manuel. If you don't, Jack will accept the
challenge; and once he does that--" he flung out both hands in his
characteristic gesture of impatience or helplessness.
"Si, Senor. If the saints permit, Manuel shall not see him first." It
was like Valencia to shift the responsibility from his own conscience to
the shoulders of the saints, for now he could ride with a lighter heart.
Perhaps he was even sincere when he made the promise; but there were
sixty miles of moonlight in which his desire could ride with him and
tempt him; and of a truth, Valencia did greatly desire to see those two
come together in combat!
The saints were kind to Valencia, but they were also grimly just.
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