Senor. Me, I have ridden Noches one hundred miles
without rest, before now; these sixty will be play for us both."

"Gracias, Valencia." Dade dropped a hand gratefully upon the shoulder of
the other. "I'll write a note, but you must do your part also. You know
your people, and I know Jack; if those two fight, the trouble will
spread like fire in the grass; for Don Jose has many friends to take up
the quarrel. You've had a long day in the saddle, amigo, and the sixty
miles will not be play. I would not ask it if the need were less
urgent--but you must beat Manuel. If you don't, Jack will accept the
challenge; and once he does that--" he flung out both hands in his
characteristic gesture of impatience or helplessness.

"Si, Senor. If the saints permit, Manuel shall not see him first." It
was like Valencia to shift the responsibility from his own conscience to
the shoulders of the saints, for now he could ride with a lighter heart.
Perhaps he was even sincere when he made the promise; but there were
sixty miles of moonlight in which his desire could ride with him and
tempt him; and of a truth, Valencia did greatly desire to see those two
come together in combat!

The saints were kind to Valencia, but they were also grimly just.
Because he so greatly desired an excuse for delay, they tricked Noches
with a broken willow branch that in the deceptive moonlight appeared to
be but the shadow of the branch above it. It caught him just under an
outflung knee as he galloped and flipped him neatly, heels to the stars.
He did not struggle to his feet even when Valencia himself, a bit dazed
by the fall, pulled upon the reins and called to him to rise. The horse
lay inert, a steaming, black mass in the road. The moon was sliding down
behind the Santa Cruz Mountains, and the chill breeze whispered that
dawn was coming fast upon the trail of the moonbeams.

Valencia, when he saw that Noches would never gallop again, because he
had managed to break his sweat-lathered neck in the fall, sat down
beside the trail and rolled a corn-husk cigarette. His mood swung from
regret over the passing of as fleet and true a horse as ever he
bestrode, to gratitude to the saints for their timely hindrance of his
prompt delivery of the note. Truly it was now no fault of his that he
could never reach the hacienda before Manuel! He would have to walk and
carry his saddle, heavy with silver and wide skirts of stamped leather;
and he was a long way from the