"The riata must be dressed now, Diego, and dressed until it is soft as a
silken cord, sinuous as the green snakes that live in the streams, and
not one strand must be frayed and weakened. Sabe? Too long have I
neglected to have it done, and now it must be done in haste--and done
well. Can you dress it so that it will be the most perfect riata in
California, Diego?" A twinkle was in Jack's eyes, but Diego was too
dazzled by the graciousness of his god to see it there. He made
obeisance more humble than before.
"Si, Senor," he promised breathlessly. "Never has riata been dressed as
this riata shall be. By the Holy Mother I swear it."
"Bueno. For listen! Much may hang upon the strength and the softness of
it." He fixed his eyes sternly upon the abject one. "It may mean my life
or my death, Diego. For in a contest with Don Jose Pacheco will I use
it."
"Si, Senor," gasped Diego, awed into trembling. "By my soul I swear--"
"You needn't. Save some of your energy for the rawhide. You'll want all
you've got before you're through." Jack, having made an impression deep
enough to satisfy the most exacting of masters, dropped to his natural
tone and speech. "Get some one to help, and come with me to the
orchard."
From the saddle-house he brought the six-strand, rawhide riata which
Manuel had bought for him and which his carelessness had left still
stiff and unwieldy, and walked slowly into the orchard, examining
critically each braided strand as he went.
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