hills over which wound a white trail. Between these hills and the
travellers was a moving mass of something. Adan reined in suddenly.

"Roldan," he said, "are those horses? You have the longer sight."

Roldan made a funnel of his hand. "Surely, surely!" he cried. "What
luck! I hate walking. They are probably wild, but I never saw the
mustang I could not lasso."

"Yes, you can do the lassoing," said Adan, grimly. "My thumb nearly went
off last night, and is twice its size."

"Adan," said his friend, laying his hand on his comrade's knee. "I
haven't thanked you. I haven't mentioned it; but it is because--well--I
lay awake an hour last night trying to think of something to say--and--
and--thinking that I loved you better than my own brothers--"

"That will do, then," said Adan, gruffly. "We'll be kissing each other
in a minute as we did at the Hacienda Perez; and I think that we are
getting too big for that. I hear that American boys never kiss each
other."

"Don't they?" asked Roldan, pricking up his ears. "How I should like to
know some American boys. They must know so many things that we do not.
Who told you?"

"Antonio Scarpia has been in America, you know--in Boston. He came back
last month and rode over a few days ago for the night. I asked him many
questions. He says they never show any feeling except when they get mad,
and that they walk and row and play ball--with the feet, caramba!--and