“That sounded sarcastic,” commented Jack, looking after him.  “What’s the matter?  Is the old fellow jealous?” Dade flicked his cigarette against the trunk of the oak to remove the white crown of ashes, and shook his head.  “What of?” he asked bluntly.  “Half your trouble, Jack, comes from looking for it.  Manuel’s a fine old fellow.  I stayed a few days with him here when I first left town, and rode around with him.  He’s straight as the road to heaven, and I never heard him brag about anything, except the goodness of his ‘patron,’ and the things some of his friends can do.  I’ll have to ask you to saddle up for me, Jack; this arm of mine’s pretty stiff and sore this morning.  Watch how Surry’s trained!  You wouldn’t believe some of the things he’ll do.”

He turned towards the horse, feeding knee-deep in grass and young mustard in the opening farther down the slope, and whistled a long, high note.  The white head went up with a fling of the heavy mane, to perk ears forward at the sound.  Then he turned and came towards them at a long, swinging walk that was a joy to behold.

“Do you know, I hate the way nature’s trimmed down the life of a horse to a few measly years,” said Dade.  “A good horse you can love like a human—­and fifteen years is about as long as he can expect to live and amount to anything.  Surry’s four now, by his teeth.  In fifteen years I’ll still be at my best; I’ll want that horse like the very devil; and he’ll be dead of old age, if he lasts that long.  And a turtle,” he added resentfully after a pause, “lives hundreds of years, just because the darned things aren’t any good on earth!”

“Trade him for a camel,” drawled Jack unsympathetically.  “They’re more durable.”

“Watch him come, now!” Dade gave three short, shrill whistles, and with a toss of head by way of answer, Surry came tearing up the slope, straight for his master.  The shadow of the oak was all about him when he planted his front feet stiffly and stopped; flared his nostrils in a snort and, because Dade waved his hand to the right, wheeled that way, circled the oak at a pace which set his body aslant and stopped again quite as suddenly as before.  Dade held out his hand, and Surry came up and rubbed the palm playfully with his soft muzzle.

“For a camel, did you say?” Dade grinned triumphantly at the other over the sleek back of his pet.

“What’ll you take for him?”

Dade pulled the heavy forelock straight with fingers that caressed with every touch.  “Jose Pacheco asked me that, and I came pretty near hitting him.  I don’t reckon I’ll ever be drunk enough to name a price.  But I might—­”

Jack glanced at him, and saw that his lips were half parted in a smile born of some fancy of his own, and that his eyes were seeing dreams.  Jack stared for a full minute before Dade’s thoughts jerked back to his surroundings.  Dade was not a dreamer; or if he were, Jack had never had occasion to suspect him of it, and he wondered a little what it was that had sent Dade into dreams at that hour of the morning.  But Manuel was returning, riding one pony and leading another; so Jack threw away his cigarette stub and picked up the saddle blanket.