Dade spoke not a word in reply, but his eyes brightened wonderfully.
There was still the element of danger, and on a larger scale than ever.
But it was heartening to have Bill Wilson's capable self to stand beside
him. Bill could handle turbulent crowds better than any man Dade had
ever seen.
They lingered, greeting acquaintances here and there among the arrivals,
until Bill was at liberty again.
"Got any greaser here that can talk white man's talk, and you can
trust?" was Bill's mild way of indicating his need of an interpreter,
when the fiesta crowd had grown to the proportions of a multitude that
buzzed like giant bees in a tree of ripe figs.
"Why? What do you want of one? Valencia will help you out, I guess."
Dade's hesitation was born of inattention rather than reluctance. He was
watching the gesticulating groups of Californians as a gambler watches
the faces of his opponents, and the little weather-signs did not
reassure him.
"Well, there's good money to be picked out of this crowd," said Bill,
pushing his hands deep into his pockets. "I can't understand their
lingo, but faces talk one language; and I don't care what's the color of
the skin. I've been reading what's wrote in their eyes and around their
mouths. I can get big odds on Jack, here, if I can find somebody to talk
for me. How about it, Jack? I've heard some say there's more than the
gold medal and a horse up on this lariat game.
Pages:
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248