“It is that el señor is not well, si?” he suggested, suavely.
“Yes, I am well, too,” retorted the boy, who felt wretched, with a curious oppression on his chest.
“Imagine, Señor Leslie, what it must be to kill, to slaughter such a monster!”
“Ah! a monster, indeed! But I shall kill just such another, you’ll see. What’s the use of a ranch on the Rockies and not go bear hunting? They can’t keep me done up in cotton wool just because I used to cough a little.”
“Certainly not, señor.”
“Oh! shut up with your everlasting ‘certainly nots!’ You’re as tiresome as an old woman. I wish you’d stayed in San Diego, where you belong.”
Mateo was amazed. He was really devoted to Leslie and they had rarely disagreed. He scarcely knew the lad in such a mood as this and realized that something must be done to give a pleasanter turn to things. A bear hunt? Was that what the young señor had set his heart upon and been denied? An inspiration came to him.
“Caramba! Behold! I have a fine thought, me. Will it please el señor to listen?”
“Of course. That’s what I said to do—to talk.”
Then Mateo did talk. For five, ten minutes, with many a gesture and mixture of Spanish and English, till his listener’s face grew radiant and he sprang from his chair with a hip, hip, hurra! All his crossness was over and he now allowed Manuel to settle him for the night with a good nature not to be exceeded by anybody.