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Updated: June 3, 2025
And the course of the hoofs was set midway between the looming masses of the mountain walls of the valley. Firio listened for songs from Señor Jack; he waited for stories from Señor Jack; but none came. He, the untalkative one of the pair, the living embodiment of a silent and happy companionship back and forth from Colorado to Chihuahua, liked to hear talk. Without it he was lonesome.
Prather was crawling down the side of the arroyo on his belly, digging his hands into the dirt, his face white and contorted and his eyes shifting back and forth in ghastly incomprehension. His horse followed him and sank down in final surrender to exhaustion. By common impulse, Jack and Firio seized the rifles from Jag Ear's pack, while Nogales, a spectator, squatted beside Prather.
When he looked around Firio was at his side, still holding the reins of Wrath of God. But Wrath of God's sturdy, plodding nature had little facility in learning tricks. A tiny stream of blood was flowing down his forehead and he lay still. At last, all in loyal service, he had reached the horizon.
His face went ashen and it was working convulsively as he assisted himself to rise by gripping the veranda post. "Why do you think that?" he asked. "I know!" said Firio. His lips closed firmly. That was all he had to say. John Wingfield, Sr. turned away with the unsteady step of a man who is afraid of slipping or stumbling, though the path was hard and even.
The Indian sprang up, grinning: his welcome and doffing a Mexican steeple-hat. "I must introduce you all around," Jack told Mary. She observed in his manner something new! a positive enthusiasm for his three retainers, which included a certain well-relished vanity in their loyalty and character. "Firio has Sancho Panza beaten to a frazzle," Jack said.
"We shall have to respond in kind!" said Jack. He left his hat where his head had been and began crawling along the side of the arroyo, but paused to call to Prather, who, now that no bullets were flying, was trying the mechanism of his rifle with a somewhat steadier hand: "Prather, if you could manage to get up there beside Firio and join him in pouring out a magazine full at the right moment, it would help!
Jack answered, as he and Firio hugged the slope with their rifles resting on top and only their heads showing above it. "No! It couldn't be that they recognized me. They will let me by! They expect me!" "Yes, you belong on their side!" Jack called back. "I will send out a flag of truce!" said Prather, brightening with the thought. "You, Nogales, take my handkerchief and go and explain to Leddy!"
"Yes, Sir Chaps, I shall talk; otherwise, why was man given a tongue in his head and ideas?" Refusal was out of the question. Accordingly, Firio was sent on to make camp alone. "Now, Sir Chaps, now, Mr. " began Jasper Ewold, pausing blankly. "Why, Mary, you have not given me his city directory name!" "Mr. " and Mary blushed.
He was speaking with the authority of an expert in trail fashions, who would consider Jack in very bad form if he refused. "Why, yes, Firio, yes; it is so long since we have been on the trail!" And he went into the bedroom to make the change. "I've never seen him quite so dumb quiet!" said Worther. Jack certainly had been quiet, ominously quiet and self-contained.
As for Firio, he strode into Jack's presence with the air of conqueror, sage, and prophet in one. "Is it really you, Firio? Come here, so that I can feel of you and make sure, you son of the sun!" Jack put out his thin, white hand to Firio, and the velvet of Firio's eyes was very soft, indeed. "Did you know when they brought you in?" Jack asked.
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