CHAPTER III
Donovan's Hand
Waring was up with the first faint streak of dawn. He threw hay to the horses and strode briskly to the adobe. Juan Armigo was bending over the kitchen stove. Waring nodded to him and stepped to the next room. The Mexicans were asleep; young Ramon lying face down beneath the crucifix on the wall, where he had knelt in prayer most of the night.
Waring drew back quietly.
"Let them sleep," he told Juan in the kitchen.
After frijoles and coffee, the gunman rose and gestured to Juan to follow him.
Out near the corral, Waring turned suddenly. "You say that young Ramon is straight?"
"Si, señor. He is a good boy."
"Well, he's in dam' bad company. How about Vaca?"
Juan Armigo shrugged his shoulders.