are that the hide is thus of the
same thickness throughout and strong as the bull that grew it. Not one
strand is laid tighter than the other strand; the wildest bull in the
valley could not break it--if the senor should please to catch him!
Me, I could have bought three riatas for the gold I gave for this one;
but the senor told me to get the best." His shoulders went up an inch,
though Don Andres was frowning at the tone of him. "The senor can
return it to the Mission and get the three, or he can exchange it with
any vaquero in the valley for one which has four strands. I am very
sorry that the senor is not pleased with my choice."

"You needn't be sorry. It's a very pretty riata, and I have no doubt
it will do all I ask of it. The saddle's a beauty, and the bridle and
spurs--I'm a thousand times obliged."

"It is nothing and less than nothing," disclaimed Manuel once more;
and went in to ask the senora for a most palatable decoction whose
chief ingredient was blackberry wine, which the senora recommended to
all and sundry for various ailments. Though Manuel, the deceitful one,
had no ailment, he did have a keen appreciation of the flavour of the
cordial, and his medicine bottle was never long empty--or full--if he
could help it.

A moment later Jack, hearing a human, feminine twitter from the
direction of the rose garden, left off examining pridefully his
belongings, and bolted without apology, after his usual headlong
fashion.

Don Andres sat him down in an easy-chair in the sun, and sighed as he
did so. "He is hot-tempered, that vaquero," he said regretfully, his
mind upon Manuel. "Something has stirred his blood; surely your friend
has done nothing to offend him?"

"Nothing except remark that he has always liked a four-strand riata
better than six. At the hut he was friendly enough."

"He is not the only one whose anger is easily stirred against the
gringos," remarked the don, reaching mechanically for his tobacco
pouch, while he watched Dade absently examining the new riata.

"Senor Hunter," Don Andres began suddenly, "have you decided what
you will do? Your mine in the mountains--it will be foolish to return
there while the hands of the Vigilantes are reaching out to clutch
you; do you not think so? More of the tale I have heard from Valencia,
who returned with Manuel. Those men who died at the hand of your
friend--and died justly, I am convinced--had friends who would give
much for close sight of you b