sappointment.

It is to be feared that Valencia did not share in Dade's determination
to keep the peace; for, before he slept, he promised himself that he
would yet tell that pig-faced vaquero from Las Uvas what he thought of
him. But outwardly the incident was closed, and closed permanently.

The sun was not risen above the mountains before they were hurriedly
drinking their black coffee, and making ready to break camp; the flurry
of emotions seemed to have died with the evening fire. If the men of the
other camps were cool in their manner towards Dade when they met him, at
least they were civil; except Manuel, who passed him by with lowered
brows, and of him Dade took no notice. If he were watched curiously, in
hope of detecting the awkwardness which would betray unfamiliarity with
his work, Dade took no notice of that, either, except to grin now and
then when he rode away. Altogether, he was well pleased with his
reception and inclined to laugh at the forebodings he had felt;
forebodings born of the knowledge that, unless these natives of
California were minded to tolerate the presence of a gringo majordomo,
it would be absolutely useless for him to attempt to work with them.

If he had only known it, his own men had done much towards lessening the
prejudice of those who joined the main outfit. Valencia was not the only
one of the Picardo vaqueros whose friendship might be counted upon. Like
Manuel before he became jealous, they forgot that Dade was not of
Spanish birth; for his eyes and his hair were dark as many of the
native-born Californians, and his speech was as their own; he was
good-humored, just in his judgments, reasonable in his demands. He could
tell a good story well if he liked, or he could keep silent and listen
with that sympathetic attention that never fails to flatter the teller
of a tale. To a man they liked him, and they were not slow to show their
liking after the manner of their kind.

By the time they reached Tres Pinos, which was the rendezvous of all the
vaqueros from the Picardo ranch on the north to San Miguel on the south,
Dade had quite lost the constraint that comes of feeling that one is
disliked and only tolerated for the moment. He whistled while he rode
along the creek bank looking for a comfortable camp site; and when
Valencia loped up to him, as he was hesitating over a broad, shaded
strip under a clump of willows, he turned and smiled upon his head
vaquero.

"See, Senor, how