The patron," he added with what came close to a sneer, "had best seek gringo vaqueros--with the clay of the mines on their boots, and their red shirts to call the bulls!" "I shall do what it pleases me to do," declared the don sternly.
"Advice from my vaqueros I do not seek.

And you," he said haughtily, "have choice of two things; you may crave pardon for your insolence to my guest, who is also my friend, and who will henceforth have charge of my vaqueros and my cattle, or you may go whither you will; to Don Jose Pacheco, I doubt not." He leaned his white-crowned head against the high chair-back, and while he waited for Manuel's decision he gazed calmly at the border of red tiles which showed at the low eaves of the porch--calmly as to features only, for his eyes held the blaze of anger.
"Senors, I go." The brim of Manuel's sombrero flicked the dust of the patio.
"Come, then, and I will reckon your wage," invited the don, coldly courteous as to a stranger.

"You will excuse me, Senor?
I shall not be long." Dade's impulse was to protest, to intercede, to say that he and Jack would go immediately, rather than stir up strife.

But he had served a stern apprenticeship in life, and he knew it was too late now to put out the fires of wrath burning hotly in the hearts of those two; however completely he might efface himself, the resentment was too keen, the quarrel too fresh to be so easily forgotten.
He was standing irresolutely on the steps when Jack came hack from the rose garden, whistling softly an old love-song and smiling fatuously to himself.
"We're going to take that ride, after all," he announced gleefully.
"Want to come along?
She's going to ask her father to come, too--says it would be terribly improper for us two to ride alone.

What's the matter?
Got the toothache ?" Dade straightened himself automatically after the slap on the back that was like a cuff from a she-bear, and grunted an uncivil sentence.
"Come over to the saddle-house," he commanded afterward.