A woman, all personality hidden beneath flapping calico and slat sunbonnet, climbed hastily down upon the farther side of the wagon and disappeared into the little tent that was simply the wagon-box with its canvas covering, placed upon the ground.
"Valencia told me truly.

Senor Hunter, will you speak for me?
Tell the big hombre that the land is mine." To do his bidding, Dade flicked the reins upon Surry's neck and rode ahead, the others closely following.

Thirty feet from the wagon a great dog of the color called brindle disputed his advance with bristling hair and throaty grumble.
"Lay down, Tige! Wait till you're asked to take a holt," advised the man on the wagon, regarding the group with an air of perfect neutrality.

Tige obeying sullenly, to the extent that he crouched where he was and still growled; his master rested his elbows on his great, bony knees, sucked at a short-stemmed clay pipe and waited developments.
"How d'yuh do ?" Dade, holding Surry as close to the belligerent Tige as was wise, tried to make his greeting as neutral as the attitude of the other.
"Tol'ble, thank yuh, how's y'self?
Shet your trap, Tige! Tige thought you was all greasers, and he ain't made up his mind yet whether he likes 'em mixed--whites and greasers.

I dunno's I blame 'im, either.
We ain't either of us had much call to hanker after the dark meat.
T'other day a bunch come boilin' up outa the dim distance like they was sent fur and didn't have much time to git here.