gun on the saddle, it seems, and so he only had a knife.  He whipped it out, first pass, but a bullet got him in the heart.  The fellow that did it—­” Jack blew two more rings and watched them absently—­“the Committee rounded him up and took him out to the oak, next morning.  Trial took about fifteen minutes, all told.  They had him hung, in their own minds, before the greaser quit kicking.  I know the man shot in self-defense; I saw the Spaniard pull his knife and start for him with blood in his eye.  But some of the Committee had it in for Sandy, and so—­it was adios for him, poor devil.  They murdered him in cold blood.  I told them so, too.  I told them—­”

“Yes, I haven’t the slightest doubt of that!” Dade flung away a half-smoked cigarette and agitatedly began to roll another one.  “That’s one reason why I want you to come down to Palo Alto, Jack.  You know how things are going here, lately; and Perkins hates you since you took the part of that peon he was beating up,—­and, by the way, I saw that same Injun at Don Andres’ rancho.  Now that Perkins is Captain, you’ll get into trouble if you hang around this burg without some one to hold you down.  This ain’t any place for a man that’s got your temper and tongue.  Say, I heard of a horse—­”

“No, you don’t!  You can’t lead me out like that, old boy.  I’m all right; Bill Wilson and I are pretty good friends; and Bill’s almost as high a card as the Committee, if it ever came to a show-down.  But it won’t.  I’m not a fool; I didn’t quarrel with them, honest.  They had me up for a witness and I told the truth—­which didn’t happen to jibe with the verdict they meant to give.  The Captain as good as said so, and I just pleasantly and kindly told him that in my opinion Sandy was a better man than any one of ’em.  That’s all there was to it.  The Captain excused me from the witness chair, and I walked out of the tent.  And we’re friendly enough when we meet; so you needn’t worry about me.”

“Better come, anyway,” urged Dade, though he was not hopeful of winning his way.

Jack shook his head.  “No, I don’t want anything of country life just yet.  I had all the splendid solitude my system needs, this last summer.  You like it; you’re a kind of a lone rider anyway.  You never did mix well.  You go back and honor Don Andres with your presence—­and he is honored.  If the old devil only knew it!  Maybe, later on—­So you like your new horse, huh?  What you going to call him?”

Dade grinned a little.  “Remember that picture in Shakespeare of ’White Surry’?  Or it was in Shakespeare till you tore it out to start a fire, that wet night; remember?  The arch in his neck, and all?  I hadn’t gone a mile on him till I was calling him Surry; and say, Jack, he’s a wonder!  Come out and take a look at him.  Can’t be more than four years old, and gentle as a kitten.  That poor devil knew how to train a horse, even if he didn’t have any sense about whisky.  I’ll bet money couldn’t have touched him if the man had been sober.”