From an impulse of careless kindness he said it, even though he had been touched by the peon’s anxiety for his welfare.  But Diego’s heart was near to bursting with gratitude and pride; those last two words—­he would not have exchanged the memory of them for the gold medal itself.  That his blue-eyed god should address him, a mere peon, as “thy,” the endearing, intimate pronoun kept for one’s friends!  The tears stood in Diego’s black eyes when he heard; and Diego was no weakling, but a straight-backed stoic of an Indian, who stood almost as tall as the Senor Jack himself and who could throw a full-grown steer to the ground by twisting its head.  He bowed low and turned to fumble the sweet, dried grasses in Surry’s manger; and beneath his coarse shirt the feel of the rawhide was sweeter than the embrace of a loved woman.

“You want to take mighty good care of this little nag of mine,” Dade observed irrelevantly, his fingers combing wistfully the crinkly mane.  “There’ll never be another like him in this world.  And if there was, it wouldn’t be him.”

“I reckon it’s asking a good deal of you, to think of using him at all.”  For the first time Jack became conscious of his selfishness.  “I won’t, Dade, if you’d rather I didn’t.”

“Don’t be a blamed idiot.  You know I want you to go ahead and use him; only—­I’d hate to see him hurt.”

To Dade the words seemed to be wrenched from the very fibers of his friendship.  He loved that horse more than he had ever believed he could love an animal; and he was mentally sacrificing him to Jack’s need.

Jack went up and rubbed Surry’s nose playfully; and it cost Dade a jealous twinge to see how the horse responded to the touch.

“He won’t get hurt.  I’ve taught him how to take care of himself; haven’t I, Diego?” And he put the statement into Spanish, so that the peon could understand.

“Si, he will never let the riata touch him, Senor.  Truly, it is well that he will come at the call, for otherwise he would never again he caught!” Diego grinned, checked himself on the verge of venturing another comment, and tilted his head sidewise instead, his ears perked toward the medley of fiesta sounds outside.

“Listen, Senors!  That is not the squeal of carts alone, which I hear.  It is the carriage that has wheels made of little sticks, that chatters much when it moves.  Americanos are coming, Senors.”

“Americanos!” Dade glanced quickly at Jack, mutely questioning.  “I wonder if—­” He gave Surry a hasty, farewell slap on the shoulder and went out into the sunshine and the clamor of voices and laughter, with the creaking of carts threaded through it all.  The faint, unmistakable rattle of a wagon driven rapidly, came towards them.  While they stood listening, came also a confused jumble of voices emitting sounds which the two guessed were intended for a song.  A little later, above the high-pitched rattle of the wagon wheels, they heard the raucous, long-drawn “Yank-ee doo-oo-dle da-a-andy!” which confirmed their suspicions and identified the comers as gringos beyond a doubt.