"The valley, it is glorious! Am I not right? Blame not the beautiful
land, Senor, for the trouble that has come; for trouble will find a man
out, though he climb the loneliest mountain peak and hide himself among
the rocks there! And the valley--Senors, the valley will hold friends
that are true to thee."
Jack flushed at the reproach; flushed and owned himself wrong. "I'll
remember the friends," he said. "And I'll forget the things that hurt;
I'm a selfish brute--whee-ee! I should say!" He pulled up as short as
Solano would let him, and stared from Dade to Valencia with guilty eyes.
"Diego--I forgot that Injun, Dade; and next to you, I believe he's the
best friend I've got on earth! I was so wrapped up in my own bruises
that I clean overlooked something that I ought to be mighty grateful
for. Dade, do you think he'd like to go along to the mine? You know his
wife died a few months ago, and he's kind of alone; do you think he'd
go?"
"I think the chance to go would look like a ticket to glory," Dade
assured him sententiously.
Whereupon Jack dismounted, that he might write a few lines as he had
written the note to Bill Wilson, a couple of months before: with a leaf
from his memorandum book and a bullet for pencil.
"Give that to Don Andres, will you, Valencia? It's to ask how much is
Diego's debt, and to say that I'll pay it if the peon wants to come with
me. We'll wait in town until we hear; perhaps Don Andres will let you
come up with Diego--that is, if Diego wants to come.
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