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For three days they did not speak to him, except to reply to his own questions or remarks. And they spoke with absolute and unfailing politeness. They played tricks on one another; they pounded one another hurtfully and affectionately; they heaped upon one another's heads friendly curses and obloquy; but they were polite to Curly. He saw it, and it stung him as much as Ranse hoped it would.
I slipped out of the house and saddled Dancer myself. Good-night, neighbour." "Good-night," said Ranse. "Ride carefully over them badger holes." They wheeled and rode away in opposite directions. Yenna turned in her saddle and called clearly: "Don't forget I'm your half-way girl, Ranse."
"I won't stand this! I don't have to! Where's Dave?" she demanded, eyes flashing with contempt and anger. Ranse grinned, then turned to his companion with simulated perplexity. "Where is Dave, Brother Hugh?" "Damfino," replied the red-headed man, and the girl could see that he was gloating over her. "Last night he was at a dance on God Forgotten Crick. Dave's soft on a widow up there, you know."
I slipped out of the house and saddled Dancer myself. Good-night, neighbour." "Good-night," said Ranse. "Ride carefully over them badger holes." They wheeled and rode away in opposite directions. Yenna turned in her saddle and called clearly: "Don't forget I'm your half-way girl, Ranse."
His eyes were swollen slits; his nose a pickled beet; his hair would have made the wildest thatch of a Jack-in-the-box look like the satin poll of a Cléo de Mérode . The rest of him was scarecrow done to the life. Ranse jumped down from his seat and looked at his strange cargo with wide-open eyes. "Here, you maverick, what are you doing in my wagon? How did you get in there?"
Down his back from his mane to his tail went a line of black. He would live forever; and surveyors have not laid off as many miles in the world as he could travel in a day. Eight miles east of the Cibolo ranch-house Ranse loosened the pressure of his knees, and Vaminos stopped under a big ratama tree. The yellow ratama blossoms showered fragrance that would have undone the roses of France.
Soon, mounted on Vaminos, Ranse leaned in the saddle, pressed with his knees, and galloped eastward past the store, where sat Sam trying his guitar in the moonlight. Vaminos shall have a word Vaminos the good dun horse. The Mexicans, who have a hundred names for the colours of a horse, called him gruyo. He was a mouse-coloured, slate-coloured, flea-bitten roan-dun, if you can conceive it.
When I struck their trail they had always just gone. To-day I got Ranse leastways I would'a' got him if yore brother hadn't interfered. I'll meet up with the others one o' these times. I'll git 'em too." He spoke with quiet conviction, as if it were a business matter that had to be looked after. "Did you ever hear this: 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord'?" He nodded.
"I want you at the ranch," said Ranse. "All right, sport," said Curly, heartily. "But I want to come back again. Say, pal, this is a dandy farm. And I don't want any better fun than hustlin' cows with this bunch of guys. They're all to the merry- merry." At the Cibolo ranch-house they dismounted. Ranse bade Curly wait at the door of the living room. He walked inside.
After striking dry country Ranse had removed the wagon sheet from the bows and thrown it over the goods in the wagon. Six pair of hasty hands dragged it off and grabbled beneath the sacks and blankets for the cases of tobacco. Long Collins, tobacco messenger from the San Gabriel outfit, who rode with the longest stirrups west of the Mississippi, delved with an arm like the tongue of a wagon.
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