Forgotten while Teresita held back with one hand a black lock which the wind was trying to fling across her eyes, and murmured mocking commiseration over the half obliterated callouses on Jack’s hand, Dade loitered across the patio, remembering many things whose very sweetness made the present hurt more bitter.  He might have known it would be like this, he told himself sternly; but life during the past two weeks had been too sweet for forebodings or for precaution.  He had wanted Jack to see and admire Teresita, with the same impulse that would have made him want to show Jack any other treasure which Chance held out to him while Hope smiled over her shoulder and whispered that it was his.

Well, Jack had seen her, and Jack surely admired her; and the grim humor of Dade’s plight struck through the ache and made him laugh, even though his jaws immediately went together with a click of teeth and cut the laugh short.  He might have known—­but he was not the sort of man who stands guard against friend and foe alike.

And, he owned to himself, Jack was unconscious of any hurt for his friend in this rather transparent wooing.  A little thought would have enlightened him, perhaps, or a little observation; but Dade could not blame Jack for not seeking for some obstacle in the path of his desires.

“She says I’m lazy and got these callouses grabbing the soft snaps last summer in the mines,” Jack called lightly, when finally it occurred to him that the world held more than two persons.  “I’m always getting the worst of it when you and I are compared.  But I believe I’ve got the best of you on riding outfit, old man.  Take a look at that saddle, will you!  And these spurs!  And this bridle!  The senorita says the cattle will fall on their knees when I ride past; we’re going to take a gallop and find out.  Want to come along?”

“Arrogant one!  The senorita did not agree to that ride!  The senorita has something better to do than bask in the glory of so gorgeous a senor while he indulges his vanity—­and frightens the poor cattle so that, if they yield their hides at killing time, there will be little tallow for the ships to carry away!”

The Senorita Teresita would surely never be guilty of a conscious lowering of one eyelid to point her raillery, but the little twist she gave to her lips when she looked at Dade offered a fair substitute; and the flirt of her silken skirts as she turned to run back into the house was sufficient excuse for any imbecility in a man.

Jack looked after her with some chagrin.  “The little minx!  A man might as well put up his hands when he hears her coming—­huh?  Unless he’s absolutely woman-proof, like you.  How do you manage it, anyway?”

“By taking a squint at myself in the looking-glass every morning.”  Dade’s face managed to wrinkle humorously.  “H-m.  You are pretty gorgeous, for a fact.  Where’s the riata?”

Jack had forgotten that he had ever wanted one.  He lifted the heavy, high-cantled saddle, flung it down upon the other side and untied the new coil of braided rawhide from its place on the right fork.