"Diego was to sleep in the stall last night."
"Oh." Dade slackened his pace a bit. "Why didn't you say so?"
"I think," retorted Jack, grinning a little, "somebody else's nerves are
kinda frazzled, too. I don't want you to begin worrying over my affairs,
Dade. I'm not," he asserted with unconvincing emphasis. "But all the
same, I'd like to get my fingers on the fellow that took my riata!"
Since he formulated that wish after he reached the doorway of the roomy
box-stall where Surry was housed, he faced a badly scared peon as the
door swung open.
"Senor--I--pardon, Senor! But I feared that harm might come to the riata
in the night. There are many guests, Senor, who speak ill of gringos,
and I heard a whisper--"
Jack, gripping Diego by the shoulders, halted his nervous explanations.
"What about the riata?" he cried. "Do you know where it is?"
"Si, Senor. Me, I took it from the senor's saddle, for I feared harm
would be done if it were left there to tempt those who would laugh to
see the senor dragged to the death to-day. Senor, that is Jose's
purpose; from a San Vincente vaquero I heard--and he had it from the
lips of Manuel. Jose will lasso the senor, and the horse will run away
with Jose, and the senor will be killed. Ah, Senor!--Jose's skill is
great; and Manuel swears that now he will truly fight like a demon,
because the prayers of the senorita go with Jose. Her glove she sent him
for a token--Manuel swears that it is so, and a message that he is to
kill thee, Senor!"
"But my riata?" To Diego's amazement, his blue-eyed god seemed not in
the least disturbed, either by plot or gossip.
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