If Jack were beaten, they would be scorned and
crowed over and humiliated beyond endurance. Neither was made of the
stuff to stand much of that, and they would probably wind up with both
hands and their hats full of trouble. And to himself he admitted that
there was a fair chance of that very result. He had not been blind, and
Jose had not shrunk into the background when there was riata-work and
riding to be done on the rodeo ground. Dade had watched him as jealously
as it was in his nature to do, and the eyes of jealousy are keen indeed;
and he had seen Jose make many throws, and never a miss. Which, if you
know anything of rope-work, was a remarkable record for any man. So
there was a good chance of Jose winning that fight. In his heart Dade
knew it, even if his lips never would admit it.
Well, supposing Jose was beaten; suppose Jack won! What then? Dade blew
a mouthful of smoke towards the camp-fire, deserted except for himself,
while his vaqueros disported themselves with their neighbors, and shook
his head. He had a little imagination; perhaps he had more than most men
of his type. He could see a glorious row, if Jose were beaten. It would,
on the whole, be more disastrous than if he won.
"And she's just fickle-minded enough to turn up her nose at Jack if he
got beat," Dade grumbled, thinking of a certain senorita. "And if he
don't, the whole bunch will pile onto us. Looks to me like a worse
combination than that Vigilance row, for Jack.
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