"Let him go this moment, or I shall never speak to you again!" she
threatened rashly.
For answer, Jack walked deliberately past her to where Surry stood with
his feet braced still against the pull of the riata and his neck arched
knowingly, while he rolled the little wheel in the bit with his tongue.
Jack made himself a cigarette, lay down in the shade of his horse, and
smoked just as calmly as though his heart was not thumping so that he
could hear it quite plainly. She had gone the wrong way about making him
yield; threats had always acted like a goad upon Jack's anger, just as
they do upon most of us.
Teresita looked at him in silence for a minute. And Jack, his head upon
his arm in a position that would give him a fair view of her from the
brim of his sombrero while he seemed to be taking no notice of her,
wondered how soon she would change her mood to coaxing, and so melt that
lump of obstinacy in his throat that would not let him so much as answer
her vixenish upbraidings. A very little coaxing would have freed the
bull then, and he would have kissed the red mouth that had reviled him,
and would have called her "dulce corazon," as she loved to have him do.
Such a very little coaxing would have been enough!
"Dios! How I hate a gringo!" she cried passionately, just when Jack
believed she was going to cry "Senor Jack?" in that pretty, cooing tone
she had that could make the words as tender as a kiss.
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