Like a bullet they went out of that corral and across the open space where the duel had been fought, with Dade and Valencia spurring desperately after.
It took a long ten minutes to bring Solano back, chafing, but owning Jack's mastery--for the time being, at least.

He returned to a sullen audience, save where the Americans cheered him from their side of the corral.
"He is a devil--that blue-eyed one!" the natives were saying grudgingly to one another; but they were stubborn and would not cheer.

"Saw you ever a riata thrown as he threw it?
Not Jose Pacheco himself ever did so impossible a thing; truly the devil is in that gringo." So they muttered amongst themselves when he came back to the corral and slipped, laughing, from Solano's sweat-roughened back.
"You can have your Surry!" he cried boastfully to Dade, who was the first to reach him.

"Give me a month to school him, and this yellow horse will be mighty near as good as your white one.

I'd rather have him than forty gold medals!" "Senor,"-- it was Jose, his neck wrapped in a white handkerchief, coming forward from where he had sat with Don Andres--"Senor, I am sorry that I did not kill you; but yet I admire your skill, and I wish to thank you for your generosity; the medalla is not mine, even though you refuse it.
Since I have found one better than I, Don Andres shall keep the medalla until I or some other caballero has won it fairly.