He suspected Tony Moreno very strongly of having stolen a
yearling from him many years ago.
Tony Moreno remembered his manners, and dismounted before handing Don
Miguel the telegram.
"The delivery charges?" Don Miguel queried courteously.
"Nothing, Don Miguel." Moreno's voice was strangely subdued. "It is a
pleasure to serve you, _senor_."
"You are very kind." And Don Miguel thrust the telegram, unopened,
into his pocket. "However," he continued, "it will please me, Moreno,
if you accept this slight token of my appreciation." And he handed the
messenger a five-dollar bill. The don was a proud man, and disliked
being under obligation to the Tony Morenos of this world. Tony
protested, but the don stood his ground, silently insistent, and, in
the end, the other pouched the bill, and rode away. Don Miguel seated
himself once more beside his retainer and drew forth the telegram.
"It must be evil news," he murmured, with the shade of a tremor in his
musical voice; "otherwise, that fellow could not have felt so much pity
for me that it moved him to decline a gratuity."
"Read, Don Miguel!" Pablo croaked. "Read!"
Don Miguel read. Then he carefully folded the telegram and replaced it
in the envelope; as deliberately, he returned the envelope to his
pocket. Suddenly his hands gripped the bench, and he trembled
violently.
"Don Mike is dead?" old Pablo queried softly.
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