“Faith, that settles it! From this on, Fogarty’s boss!”
“O, Dennis! You’ve hurt him cruelly, cruelly, I’m afraid!” said Carlota, slipping off her burro to kneel beside the prostrate brute and tenderly pat his head.
For the conqueror, she had no word of compassion, though he looked much the worse of the two. His fine attire was torn and dust-covered, his face scratched and bleeding, one of his gigantic spurs broken, and his gay sash in ribbons. Yet there was an expression of supreme content upon his features and his labor-bowed shoulders held themselves with a new and martial bearing.
“‘See, the conquering hero comes!’” mocked Jack, and waved his hat ecstatically.
Not a muscle of Dennis moved. Rigidly grand and imperturbable, he stood a monument for all to see. When sufficient silence was obtained for the full effect of his superiority he commanded, with great dignity:
“Cork, get up!”
The animal glanced at the man who stood above him; then, meekly as any burro might, the forever-tamed broncho staggered to its feet. With a look toward the still kneeling Carlota, which asked as plain as speech—“Could your Meegell beat that?” Mr. Fogarty slipped the bridle over his arm and airily strode away.
CHAPTER XXI
FOLLOW YOUR LEADER
“Carlota, where is your brother?”
“I do not know where he is now, Mrs. Burnham. He went—went away by himself for a little distance,” answered the girl, flushing painfully.