"Something has stirred his blood; surely your friend has done nothing to offend him ?" "Nothing except remark that he has always liked a four-strand riata better than six.

At the hut he was friendly enough." "He is not the only one whose anger is easily stirred against the gringos," remarked the don, reaching mechanically for his tobacco pouch, while he watched Dade absently examining the new riata.
"Senor Hunter," Don Andres began suddenly, "have you decided what you will do?
Your mine in the mountains--it will be foolish to return there while the hands of the Vigilantes are reaching out to clutch you; do you not think so?
More of the tale I have heard from Valencia, who returned with Manuel.

Those men who died at the hand of your friend--and died justly, I am convinced--had friends who would give much for close sight of you both." "I know; I told Jack we'd have to keep away from town or the mine for a while.

He wanted to go right back and finish up the fight!" Dade grinned at the absurdity.

"I sat down hard on that proposition." Not that phrase, exactly, did he use.