“And you think we shall go there?”
“Certainly. They do not want the fourth part of our stuff here. We must carry it on to the head market. To the camp! Allons!”
Chapter Seven.
The Fandango.
In the evening I sat in my room waiting for Saint Vrain. His voice reached me from without—
“‘Las niñas de Durango
Commigo bailandas,
Al cielo—!’
“Ha! Are you ready, my bold rider?”
“Not quite. Sit down a minute and wait.”