rugs that had come from Spain along with the paintings upon
the walls. They looked, and craned, and murmured comments until the
senora appeared, a little breathless and warm from her last conference
with Margarita in the kitchen, and turned their tongues upon the
festival.

Dade was just finishing the rite of shaving, and thinking the while that
he would give all that he possessed, including Surry, if he could whisk
Jack and himself to the cool, pine slope in the Sierras where was their
mine. Every day of waiting and gossiping over the duel had but fostered
the feeling of antagonism among the men of the valley, and whatever
might be the outcome of that encounter, Dade could see no hope of
avoiding an open clash between the partisans of the two combatants.
Valencia and Pancho and two or three others of the Picardo vaqueros, who
hated Manuel--and therefore had no love for Jose--would be more than
likely to side with him and Jack, though he honestly wished that they
would not; for the more friends they had when the test was made, the
greater would be the disturbance, especially since there would be wine
for all; and wine never yet served to cool a temper or lull excitement.

Without in the least realizing it, Dade's face while he shaved wore a
scowl quite as pronounced as the one that had called his attention to
Jack's mood. And, more significant, he had no sooner finished than he
looked into his little box of pistol caps to see how many he had left,
and inspected the pistol as well; for the law of self-preservation
strikes deeper than most emotions, and his life had mostly been lived
where men must frequently fight for the right to live; and in such
surroundings the fighting instinct wakes at the first hint of
antagonism.

"My riata's gone!" announced Jack breathlessly, bursting into the room
at that moment as if he expected to find the thief there. "I left it on
my saddle last night, and now--"

"And that was a fool thing to do, I must say!" commented Dade, startled
into harshness. He slid the pistol into its holster and buckled the belt
around his muscular body with fingers that moved briskly. "Well, my
riata's no slouch--you can use it. You've used it before."

"I don't want yours. I've got used to my own. I know to an inch just
where it will land--oh, damn the luck--It was some of those fellows
camped by the orchard, and when I find out which--"

"Keep your head on, anyway," advised Dade more equably. "Your ner