I know you'll come out on top.
You always do. But--what'n hell made you say riatas?"
"What'n hell made you brag about me to Manuel?" Jack came back
instantly, and was sorry for it when he saw how Dade winced. "Honest,
I'm not a bit scared. I know what I can do, and I'm not worrying."
"You are. I never saw you so queer as you have been since I came back.
You're no more like yourself than--"
"Well--but it ain't the duel altogether." Jack hesitated. "Say, Dade!
Did--er--did Teresita take in all the sports? Bull fight and all?"
"Yes. She and that friend of hers from the Mission were in the front row
having the time of their lives. Is that talk true about--" Dade eyed him
sharply.
"You go on and get things ready. In five minutes I'll expect to make my
little bow to Fate."
Outside in the sunshine, men waited and clamored greedily for more
excitement. All day they had waited for the duel, at most merely
appeased by the other sports; and now, with Jose actually among them,
and with the wine they had drunk to heat their blood and the
mob-psychology working its will of them, they were scarce human, but
rather a tremendous battle beast personified by dark, eager faces and
tongues that wagged continually and with prejudice.
A group of spur-jingling vaqueros, chosen because of their well-broken
mounts, rode out in front of the adobe corral and the expectant
audience, halted and dispersed to their various stations as directed by
Dade, clear-voiced, steady of glance, unemotional, as if he were in
charge of a bit of work from habit gone stale.
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