"Must be a crowd from San Francisco," said Jack needlessly. "I wrote
and told Bill about the fiesta, when I sent up after some clothes. I
told him to come down and take it in--and I guess he's coming."
Bill was; and he was coming largely, emphatically, and vaingloriously.
He had a wagon well loaded with his more intimate friends, including
Jim. He had a following of half his Committee of Vigilance and all the
men of like caliber who could find a horse or a mule to straddle. Even
the Roman-nosed buckskin of sinister history was in the van of the
procession that came charging up the slope with all the speed it could
muster after the journey from the town on the tip of the peninsula.
In the wagon were a drum, two fifes, a cornet, and much confusion of
voices. Bill, enthroned upon the front seat beside the driver of the
four-horse team, waved both arms exuberantly and started the song all
over again, so that they had to sing very fast indeed in order to finish
by the time they swung up to the patio and stopped.
Bill scrambled awkwardly down over the wheel and gripped the hands of
those two whose faces welcomed him without words. "Well, we got here,"
he announced, including the whole cavalcade with one sweeping gesture.
"Started before daylight, too, so we wouldn't miss none of the
doings." He tilted his head toward Dade's ear and jerked his thumb
towards the wagon. "Say! I brought the boys along, in case--" His left
eyelid lowered lazily and flew up again into its normal position as Don
Andres, his sombrero in his hand, came towards them across the patio,
smiling a dignified welcome.
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