"The patron is too good, too generous! They steal the cattle of the patron, though they might have all they need for the asking.

Like the green worms upon the live oaks, they would strip the patron's herds to the last, lean old bull that is too tough even for their wolf teeth! Me, I should like to lasso and drag to the death every gringo who comes sneaking in the night for the meat which tastes sweeter when it is stolen.

To-day Valencia rode down to the bayou--" While he told indignantly the tale of the latest pillage, he bared the wounded arm.

Jack got stiffly upon his swollen feet to look.

It was not a serious wound, as wounds go; a deep gash in the bicep, where a bullet meant for Dade's heart had plowed under his upraised arm four inches wide of its mark.