t
until evening did he show any sign of interest in her presence. With
the shadows it grew cooler. Old Flores sat in the doorway smoking.
His wife sat beside him, gazing at the far rim of the evening canon.
Presently she rose and stepped round to where Pete and Boca were
talking. "You will go," said Boca's mother abruptly. "Boca shall find
a horse for you."

Pete, taken by surprise,--Boca's mother had spoken just when Pete had
asked Boca where her father kept the horses,--stammered an
acknowledgment of her presence; but the Mexican woman did not seem to
hear him. "To-night," she continued, "Boca will find a horse. It is
good that you go--but not that you go to Showdown."

"I sure want to thank you both. But, honest, I wouldn't know where
else to go but to Showdown. Besides, I got a hunch Malvey was headed
that way."

"That is as a man speaks," said the senora. "My man was like that
once--but now--"

"I'm broke--no dineros," said Pete.

"It is my horse that he shall have--" Boca began.

But her mother interrupted quietly. "The young senor will return--and
there are many ways to pay. We are poor. You will not forget us. You
will come again, alone in the night. And it is not Malvey that will
show you the way."

"Not if I see him first, senora."

"You jest--but even now you would kill Malvey if he were here."

"You sure are tellin' Malvey's fortune," laughed Pete. "Kin you tell
mine?"

"Again you jest--but I will speak. You will not kill Malvey, yet you
shall find your own horse. You will be hunted by men, but you will not
always be as you are now. Some day you will have wealth, and then it
is that you will remember this night. You will come again at night,
and alone--but Boca will not be here. You will grow weary of life from
much suffering, even as I. Then it is that you will think of these
days and many days to come--and these days shall be as wine in your old
age--" Boca's mother paused as though listening. "But like wine--"
and again she paused.

"Headache?" queried Pete. "Well, I know how that feels, without the
wine. That fortune sounds good to me--all except that about Boca.
Now, mebby you could tell me which way Malvey was headed?"

"He has ridden to Showdown."

"So that red-headed hoss-thief fanned it right back to his boss, eh?
He must 'a' thought I was fixed for good."

"It is his way. Men spake truly when they called him the bull. He is
big--but he is as a child."