like to have trouble with that
friend of yours, Senor. In San Francisco they talk yet of that day when
he fired three times from a galloping horse and killed three men. Dios!
That was pretty shooting. I would have given much to see it. There will
be few men so bold now as to make war with that blue-eyed hombre; but
Jose is a fool, when his will is crossed. Me, I fight--yes, and love the
heat of fighting in my blood; but I do not bellow threats before, as
Jose has been doing. Carramba! To hear him, one would think he believed
that men may die of curses; if they did, the Senor Jack would be lying
now with candles burning at his head and his feet! Truly, love takes the
sense out of a man quicker than wine."

Dade agreed with him, though his lips did not open to form any words
upon the subject.

Their first stopping place was Jose's ranch down near Santa Clara, and
he wondered just how far Jose's hatred of him would interfere with the
traditions of hospitality. It was not likely that Jose's vaqueros would
be ready to start that day; and although he carried his own camp
equipment on pack-horses, and, guided by Valencia, ordered the camp set
up in its accustomed place beside a little stream half a mile from the
house, he sent many a questioning glance that way.

If he feared a hostile reception, he was soon reassured. Jose and Manuel
speedily appeared, galloping side-by-side through the lush yellow and
green. Jose's manner was irreproachable, his speech carefully
considered. If his eyes lacked their usual warm glow of friendliness,
it was because he could not bring that look at will to beam upon the
guest whom his heart failed to welcome. He invited Dade to dinner with
him; and Dade, hoping to establish a better understanding between them,
accepted.

Dade had not lived half his life amongst the dark-skinned race for
nothing. He sipped the home-made wine with Jose, talked of many things
in his soft, easy-natured drawl, and by letting his inner friendliness
with the whole world look out of his eyes when they dwelt upon his host,
went Jose one better in courtesy. And Jose, sauntering afterward across
the patio to the porch, met Manuel face to face and paid tribute to Don
Andres' new majordomo in a single sentence.

"If all gringos were like this Senor Hunter, one could tolerate their
coming to live amongst us," he said frankly.

"Si," grudged Manuel. "But then, he is not all gringo. Many years he
dwelt with our people in