“You use it with great skill? I’ve heard that you do; besides having myself witnessed the proof.”
“It is complimentary of you to say so. But you are mistaken. There are men on these prairies ‘to the manner born’—Mexicans—who regard, what you are pleased to call skill, as sheer clumsiness.”
“Are you sure, Mr Gerald, that your modesty is not prompting you to overrate your rivals? I have been told the very opposite.”
“By whom?”
“Your friend, Mr Zebulon Stump.”
“Ha—ha! Old Zeb is but indifferent authority on the subject of the lazo.”
“I wish I could throw the lazo,” said the young Creole. “They tell me ’tis not a lady-like accomplishment. What matters—so long as it is innocent, and gives one a gratification?”
“Not lady-like! Surely ’tis as much so as archery, or skating? I know a lady who is very expert at it.”
“An American lady?”
“No; she’s Mexican, and lives on the Rio Grande; but sometimes comes across to the Leona—where she has relatives.”