e use' for be one Jap. One good friend of you, I theenk, Senor
Parker. He like for save you much trouble, I theenk, so he keel my Don
Mike--an' for that I have--ah, but you see! An' now, senor, eet is all
right for take the Rancho Palomar! Take eet, take eet! Ees nobody for
care now--nobody! Eef eet don' be for you daughter I don't let you
have eet. No, sir, I keel it you so queeck--but my Don Mike hes never
forget hes one great _caballero_--so Pablo Artelan mus' not forget,
too--you sleep in theese hacienda, you eat the food--ah, senor, I am so
'shame' for you--and my Don Mike--hees dead--hees dead--"

He slid suddenly off the black mare and lay unconscious in the dust
beside her.

CHAPTER XXIV

Once again a tragic scene had been enacted under the shade of the
catalpa tree before the Farrel hacienda. The shock of a terrible,
unexpected trend of events heralded by the arrival of Pablo Artelan and
his victim had, seemingly, paralyzed John Parker mentally and
physically. He felt again a curious cold, weak, empty feeling in his
breast. It was the concomitant of defeat; he had felt it twice before
when he had been overwhelmed and mangled by the wolves of Wall Street.

He was almost nauseated. Not at sight of the dusty, bloody, shapeless
bundle that lay at the end of Pablo's riata, but with the realization
that, indirectly, he had been responsible for all of this.

Pablo's shrill, agonized denunciation had fallen upon deaf ears, once
the old majordomo had conveyed to Parker the information of Don Mike's
death.

"The rope--take it off!" he protested to the unconscious Pablo. "It's
cutting him in two. He looks like a link of sausage! Ugh! A Jap!
Horrible! I'm smeared--I can't explain--nobody in this country will
believe me--Pablo will kill me--"

He sat down on the bench under the catalpa tree, covered his face with
his hands and closed his eyes. When he ventured again to look up, he
observed that Pablo, in falling from his horse, had caught one huge
Mexican spur on the cantle of his saddle and was suspended by the heel,
grotesquely, like a dead fowl. The black mare, a trained roping horse,
stood patiently, her feet braced a little, still keeping a strain on
the riata.

Parker roused himself. With his pocket knife he cut the spur strap,
eased the majordomo to the ground, carried him to the bench and
stretched him out thereon. Then, grasping the mare by the bridle, he
led her around the adobe