Texas, so that he has the Spanish ways; but me,
I want none of him."

Jose laughed without much mirth to lighten the sound. "The blue-eyed
one--did you find from the vaqueros why he did not come? He need not
have been afraid of me--not if his fame was earned honestly." If his
tone were patronizing, Jose perhaps had some excuse, since Fame had not
altogether passed him by with face averted.

"Part of the way he came, and turned back. The vaqueros do not know why,
except Valencia. And Valencia--he is growing a gringo heart, like the
patron. He will speak nothing but boasts of what that blue-eyed one can
do. Me, I came near fighting with Valencia; only he would not do
anything but smile foolishly, when I told him what I think of traitors
like himself."

"Let him smile," advised Jose, "while he may." Which was not a threat,
in spite of its resemblance to one, but rather a vague reference to the
specter of trouble that stalks all men as a fox stalks a quail, and
might some day wipe that broad smile from the face of Valencia, as it
had swept all the gladness from his own.

He went back and smoked a final cigarette in Dade's company; and if he
said little, his silences held no hint of antagonism. It was not until
Dade rose to return to camp for the night that Jose put the question
that had tickled the tongue of him ever since the arrival on his ranch
of the Picardo vaqueros.

"Your friend, the Senor Allen--he is to join you later, perhaps?"

"Jack was left to look after the ranch." Dade's eyes were level in
their glance, his voice quiet with the convincing ring of truth. "He
won't be on rodeo at all."

Jose went paler than he had been two weeks before with his hurt, but a
simple word of polite surprise held all his answer. For Jack to stay at
home, to be near Teresita every day, to have nothing in the way of his
love-making--nothing, since those doting two, her parents, would but
smile at whatever she might choose to do--there was acid enough in that
thought to eat away all the warmth, all the generosity Jose possessed.
He let Dade go without even the perfunctory phrases of regret, which
custom had made almost compulsory; and Manuel, sitting in silent wrath
upon the porch, listened to the steady footfalls moving up and down the
room behind him until the moon, that had been shining in his smoldering
eyes, slipped over the red tiles of the roof and left all but the
tree-tops in black shade.

"Dios! There will be one gr