Dalhart turned to her almost savagely.
“You promised me!” he said. “You gave me your word down there! Is this how you keep your promise?”
But between the two of them, the girl with her tears and the boy with his revolver, Cal Dalhart got on very ill with his wooing.
“I can wait,” said he slowly at last.
In his sobbing excitement the boy was dangerous as a rattlesnake, and Dalhart was wise enough to know it. Only one voice could calm him. Taisie spoke with decision.
“Throw down your gun, Cinquo! Drop it, I tell you!”
Cinquo obeyed. His tears came freely now. He trembled.
“Trouble with me is, ma’am,” said he, “I got chills and fever. To-day I got ’em both. I been up all night. I don’t give a damn for that man, but this here is awful hard for you.”
“Cinquo,” said Taisie, putting her hand on his grimy shirt sleeve as she drew him beside her, “you are as good a man as I’ve got. Listen now! I’m not hurt. I just ran into a tree in the dark and got knocked out of the saddle. For a long time I didn’t know anything—my head’s bruised; but I was going to get up and ride right soon. Now go and find the horses; they’re not far. I saw the bell mare just below.”
The boy, shivering in his saddle, racked by the native ague, went off dully about his duties. He cast an eye over his shoulder, saw Dalhart riding close to the side of the mistress of Del Sol.