Would Jack stake himself to a horse and outfit, and come to Palo Alto till the snow was well out of the mountains and they could go back to their mine?
Jack blew three small smoke-rings with nice precision, watched them float and fade while he thought of a certain girl who had lately smiled upon him--and in return had got smile for smile--and said he guessed he'd stick to town life for a while.
"Old Don Andres Picardo's a prince," argued Dade, "and he's got a rancho that's a paradise on earth.

Likes us gringos--which is more than most of 'em do--and said his house and all he's got is half mine, and nothing but the honor's all his.

You know the Spaniards; seems like Texas, down there.

I told him I had a partner, and he said he'd be doubly honored if it pleased my partner to sleep under his poor roof--red tiles, by the way, and not so poor!--and sit at his table.
One of the 'fine old families,' they are, Jack.

I came back after you and my traps." "That fellow you bought the white caballo from got shot that same night," Jack observed irrelevantly.