Presently Jose was listening unwillingly to Manuel’s spite-tinged version of the talk at the San Vincente camp.  “The vaqueros are making a mock of thy bravery and thy skill!” Manuel declared, with more passion than truth.  “They would see thee beaten, in fight as well as in love—­”

The stiffening of Jose’s whole figure stopped Manuel short but not dissatisfied, for he saw there was no need that he should speak a single word more upon the subject.

“They shall see him try, unless he is a coward.”  The voice of Jose was muffled by the rage that filled him.

So it came to pass that Manuel saddled his best mustang within an hour and rode away to the north.  And when Valencia strolled artlessly to the Pacheco fire and asked for him, Jose hesitated perceptibly before he replied that Manuel had gone home with a message to the foreman there.

Valencia grinned his widest when he heard that, and over two cigarettes he pondered the matter.  Being a shrewd young man with an instinct for nosing out mysteries, he flung all uncertainty away with the stub of his second cigarette and sought Dade.

He found him standing alone beside a deep, still pool, staring at the shadows and the moon-painted picture in the middle, and looking as if his thoughts were gone on far journeys.  Valencia was too full of his news to heed the air of absolute detachment that surrounded Dade.  He went straight to the heart of his subject and as a precaution against eavesdropping he put his meaning into the best English he knew.

“Jose, she’s dam-mad on Senor Jack,” he began eagerly.  “She’s hear talk lak she’s no good vaquero.  Me, I hear San Vincente vaqueros talk, and Manuel she’s hear also and run queeck for tella Jose.  Jose she’s lak for keela Senor Jack.  Manuel, she’s ride lak hell for say Jose, she lak for fight Senor Jack.  Me, I theenk Senor Jack keela Jose pretty dam-queeck!”

Dade had come to know Valencia very well; he turned now and eyed him with some suspicion.

“Are you sure?” he asked, in the tone that demanded a truthful answer.  He had seen Manuel ride away in the white light of the moon, and he had wondered a little and then had forgotten all about it in the spell of utter loneliness which the moon brings to those who are cheated by Fate from holding what they most desire.

“Sure, me.”  Valencia’s tone was convincingly positive.  “Manuel, she’s go lak hell for tella Senor Jack, Jose, she’s lak for fight duelo.  Sure.  That’s right.”

Dade swung back and stared moodily at the moon-painted pool where the trout, deceived by the brightness into thinking it was day, started widening ripple-rings here and there, where they flicked the surface with slaty noses; and the wavering rings were gold-tipped until they slid into the shadows and were lost.  Dade watched three rings start in the center and ripple the whole pool.

“How quick could you get to the rancho?” he asked abruptly, just as Valencia’s spirits were growing heavy with disappointment.  “Could you overtake Manuel, do you think?”