But this was the day of the fiesta; and with the remembrance of that
vital fact came a realization that on this day the Picardo ranch would
be the Mecca toward which all California was making pilgrimage; and, he
feared, the battle-ground of the warring interests and prejudices of the
pilgrims themselves.
Dade listened to the voices shouting orders and greetings without as the
vaqueros hurried here and there in excited preparations for the event.
He judged that not another man in the valley was in bed at that moment,
unless sickness held him there; and for that very reason he pulled a
blanket snugger about his ears and tried to make himself believe that he
was enjoying to the full his laziness. He had earned it; and last night
had been the first one of deep, unbroken sleep that he had had since
that moonlit night when Manuel and Valencia rode in haste to meet this
surly-browed fellow before him.
Jack did not wipe off the scowl with the lather, and Dade began to
observe him more critically; which he had not before had an opportunity
to do, for the reason that Jack had not returned to the ranch the night
before until Dade was in bed and asleep.
"Say, you don't want to let the fellows outside see you looking like
that," he remarked, when Jack had yanked a horn comb through his
red-brown mop of hair as if he were hoeing corn.
"Why?" Jack turned on him truculently.
"Well, you look a whole lot like a man that expects a licking.
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