guessed he'd stick to town life for a while.

"Old Don Andres Picardo's a prince," argued Dade, "and he's got a
rancho that's a paradise on earth. Likes us gringos--which is more
than most of 'em do--and said his house and all he's got is half mine,
and nothing but the honor's all his. You know the Spaniards; seems
like Texas, down there. I told him I had a partner, and he said he'd
be doubly honored if it pleased my partner to sleep under his poor
roof--red tiles, by the way, and not so poor!--and sit at his table.
One of the 'fine old families,' they are, Jack. I came back after you
and my traps."

"That fellow you bought the white caballo from got shot that same
night," Jack observed irrelevantly. "He was weeping all over me part
of the evening, because he'd sold the horse and you had pulled out so
he couldn't buy him back. Then he came into Billy Wilson's place and
sat into a game at the table next to mine; and some kind of a quarrel
started. He'd overlooked that gun on the saddle, it seems, and so he
only had a knife. He whipped it out, first pass, but a bullet got him
in the heart. The fellow that did it--" Jack blew two more rings and
watched them absently--"the Committee rounded him up and took him out
to the oak, next morning. Trial took about fifteen minutes, all
told. They had him hung, in their own minds, before the greaser quit
kicking. I _know_ the man shot in self-defense; I saw the Spaniard
pull his knife and start for him with blood in his eye. But some of
the Committee had it in for Sandy, and so--it was adios for him, poor
devil. They murdered him in cold blood. I told them so, too. I told
them--"

"Yes, I haven't the slightest doubt of that!" Dade flung away a