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It was a big stock saddle and heavy; yet it seemed too heavy. On his knees he turned it over, examining it. He smiled grimly as he untied the little canvas sacks and drew them from the tapaderas. "Thought he showed too much boot for a hard-riding chola," muttered Waring. He rose and threw some hay to the horses. He could hear Ramon and Armigo talking in the ranch-house.
"It shall be as the señor says. It is fate." "All right, amigo. But it isn't fate. It's making fool mistakes when you or your countrymen tackle a job like Vaca tackled. Just get me a couple of blankets. I'll sleep out here to-night." Juan Armigo plodded to the adobe. The lamplight showed his face beaded with sweat. He shuffled to an inner room, and came out with blankets on his arm.
Or would he wait until they were in some hidden fastness of the Agua Fria, and there kill them and leave them to the coyotes? The youth Ramon knew that the two little canvas sacks of gold were cleverly tied in the huge tapaderas of his uncle's saddle. Who would think to look for them there? The gringo had said that they would ride to the ranchito of Juan Armigo.
Taking his empty canteen from his own saddle, he untied the sacks and slipped the gold-pieces, one by one, into the canteen. He scooped up sand and filled the canteen half full. The gold no longer jingled as he shook it. While Waring had no fear that either of the men would attempt to escape, he knew Mexicans too well to trust Armigo explicitly.
A thousand dollars was a great temptation to a poor rancher. And while Armigo had always professed to be Waring's friend, sympathy of blood and the appeal of money easily come by might change the placid face of things considerably. Waring strode to the house, washed and ate with Juan in the kitchen; then he invited the Mexican out to the corral. "José and Ramon are your countrymen, Juan."
The gold paled to a brief twilight. A faint star twinkled in the north. Dogs crowded forward in the dusk, challenging the strange riders. A figure filled the lighted doorway of the Armigo ranch-house. The dogs drew back. Ramon dismounted and helped his uncle down. Waring sat his horse until Juan Armigo stepped from the doorway and asked who came. Waring answered with his name. "Si!
Waring was not pleased as he read the other's eyes, but he said nothing. Turning abruptly, he entered the corral and saddled Ramon's horse and his own. "Get José Vaca out of here as soon as he can travel," he told Armigo. "You may have to explain if he is found here." And Waring strode to the adobe. Ramon was awake and talking with his uncle. Waring told him to get something to eat.
His day's work was done. Donovan's Hand Waring was up with the first faint streak of dawn. He threw hay to the horses and strode briskly to the adobe. Juan Armigo was bending over the kitchen stove. Waring nodded to him and stepped to the next room. The Mexicans were asleep; young Ramon lying face down beneath the crucifix on the wall, where he had knelt in prayer most of the night.
Waring drew back quietly. "Let them sleep," he told Juan in the kitchen. After frijoles and coffee, the gunman rose and gestured to Juan to follow him. Out near the corral, Waring turned suddenly. "You say that young Ramon is straight?" "Si, señor. He is a good boy." "Well, he's in dam' bad company. How about Vaca?" Juan Armigo shrugged his shoulders. "Are you afraid of him, Juan?" "No.
"Tell the gringo that I will say where the money is hidden if he will let me go." "It shall be as you wish," said Armigo, curious to learn more of the matter. At the corral he delivered Vaca's message to Waring, who feigned delight at the other's information. "If that is so, Tio Juan," he laughed, "you shall have your share a hundred pesos. Leave the blankets there by my saddle.
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