One would need see the adobe corral that was to be transformed into an
amphitheater where were hammering and clatter from sunrise till dark,
without even a pause for midday siesta amongst those lazy peons who
would sleep over their cigarettes, though the padres stood over them
predicting the end of the world the next moment.

Well in the foreground of the picture would be Jack, to be sure; Jack
riding far afield upon Surry, whom he had found the best horse for his
purpose upon the whole ranch; lassoing cattle to get his hand in,
practising certain little twists of his own invention, and teaching
Surry to know without fail just what certain signals meant, and obey
instantly and implicitly when they were given.

Sometimes, when the senorita was not in a perverse mood, she would ride
with him and applaud his dexterity; at other times she would boast of
Jose's marvelous skill, and pity Jack in advance for the defeat which
she pretended was inevitable. Whether she pitied or praised, she seemed
always sincere for the moment, so that Jack gave up any lingering hope
of knowing how she really felt about it, and contented himself with the
determination to deflect all the pity towards Jose when the time came,
and keep the praise for himself.

There would be other contests; and scarce a day passed wherein no horse
loped heavily up the slope and stopped with heaving flanks in the patio,
while its rider dismounted and bowed low before Don Andres, giving news
of some vaquero who wished his name to be listed as a contestant in the
riding, or the lassoing and tying of steers, or in the bull-fight,
perchance.

But there was no third name offered in the riata contest for which
Solano was announced as a prize. All up and down the valley; at the
ranches, on the trails when men met and stopped to talk awhile, and
around the camp-fires of the rodeo they talked of it; and many bets
would have been laid upon the outcome, had not all men been of one mind.
When Jose was not present, or Dade, or the more outspoken of the Picardo
vaqueros, always they spoke of it as the duelo riata, and took it for
granted that it would be fought to the death. Thus are secrets kept from
men who can read from their own natures the truth! The men of Santa
Clara lowered lids and smiled whenever they spoke of it as a contest,
for as a duel had the word first gone forth from the exultant lips of
Manuel; as a duel would it still remain among themselves, spite of th