mastery--for the time being, at least. He returned to a sullen
audience, save where the Americans cheered him from their side of the
corral.

"He is a devil--that blue-eyed one!" the natives were saying grudgingly
to one another; but they were stubborn and would not cheer. "Saw you
ever a riata thrown as he threw it? Not Jose Pacheco himself ever did so
impossible a thing; truly the devil is in that gringo." So they muttered
amongst themselves when he came back to the corral and slipped,
laughing, from Solano's sweat-roughened back.

"You can have your Surry!" he cried boastfully to Dade, who was the
first to reach him. "Give me a month to school him, and this yellow
horse will be mighty near as good as your white one. I'd rather have him
than forty gold medals!"

"Senor,"--it was Jose, his neck wrapped in a white handkerchief, coming
forward from where he had sat with Don Andres--"Senor, I am sorry that I
did not kill you; but yet I admire your skill, and I wish to thank you
for your generosity; the medalla is not mine, even though you refuse it.
Since I have found one better than I, Don Andres shall keep the medalla
until I or some other caballero has won it fairly. For my life, which
you also refused to take, I--cannot thank you."

Jack looked at him intently. "You will thank me," he said grimly, "later
on."

Jose's face went white. "Senor, you do not mean--"

"I do mean--just that."

"But, Senor--" There are times when pride drops away from the proudest
man and leaves him weak to the very core of him; weak and humbled beyond
words.

Big Jerry Simpson saved that situation from becoming intolerable. With
Moll's great ears flopping solemnly to herald his approach, Jerry rode
up, perfectly aware that he brought a murmur of curiosity from those who
saw his coming.

For Jerry was leading Manuel by the ear; Manuel with his hands tied
behind him with Jerry's red bandanna; Manuel with his lips drawn away
from his teeth in the desire to kill, and his eyes sullen with the
impotence of that desire.

"Sa-ay," drawled Jerry, when he came up to the little group, "what d'ye
want done with this here greaser that fired on Jack? Some of the fellers
over there wanted to take him out and hang him, but I kinda hated to
draw attention away from Jack's p'formance--which was right interesting.
Bill Wilson, he reckoned I better fetch him over here and ask you
fellers about it; Bill says this mob of greasers might make a fuss if