Quick. There is little time to--"
Pablo rode up beside him and quite deliberately smote the man heavily
across the mouth with the back of his hand.
"There will be no more talk of money," he commanded, tersely.
John Parker had finished writing his letters and was standing, with his
wife and the potato baron, in front of the hacienda when Pablo and his
prisoner rode into the yard. Thin rivulets of blood were trickling
from the Basque's nose and lips; his face was ashen with rage and
apprehension.
"Why, Loustalot, what has happened?" Parker cried, and stepped out to
intercept the gray gelding, but Pablo, riding behind, struck the gray
on the flank, and the animal bounded forward. But Parker was not to be
denied. He, too, leaped, seized the reins, and brought the animal to a
halt. Pablo glared at him hatefully; then, remembering that this man
was no longer an interloper, but an honored guest of the house of
Farrel, he removed his sombrero and bowed courteously.
"Senor Parker," he explained, "thees man, Loustalot, have made the beeg
meestake to steal thees horse from Don Miguel Farrel. For long time
since Don Miguel he's beeg like leetle baby, thees Basque he cannot set
the foot on the Rancho Palomar, but to-day, because he theenk Don
Miguel don' leeve, theese fellow have the beeg idea she's all right for
come to theese rancho. Well, he come." Here Pablo shrugged.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158